Closing up The Halloween Store and other spooky adventures

I have been blessed and spooked by my temp job at The Halloween store.

My first observation – My God! What kind of world do I live in? There is absolutely nothing anyone needs to buy in this store and yet people are. I bought my fair share today on 50% off day.

Want to know what people got? Rick Grimes. I have never seen Walking Dead and probably never will but I know what he wears.

I wish I had come up with that caption but I am too uninformed.

Most asked question:  Do you have the mask from  (fill in  comic  book/horror film/cosplay which I ( the writer) have never heard of). Describe it as a kind of a white mask.  My answer to this is, ” I heard they have him at Hot Topic downstairs.”

Oh another most asked question, “Does my butt hang out of the back of this, ( fill in your choice of nurse, soldier, convict, policewoman, first mate outfit)?”  My answer: “You can wear leggings.”

Scariest question: ” Do you have a Slender Man costume?”

Looks like me and my father

What did I buy? I bought only things I could wear on a regular basis such as some lovely red dalek knee socks and a waist cincher that turns any skirt into a pirate/peasant/hippie dress.  I also got a Pirate over the shoulder bag which will be my new go to bag for when I just want to carry my id and a key while riding my bike or on board a leaky boat, (it’s 100% plastic, thus waterproof.)  I dressed in my own private pirate wear for Halloween. One of the basic pieces is a pair of bright red balloon pants I got in Paris.  Some times people are confused because it is not the sexiest of pirate looks. I tell them that middle aged pirates are meaner.

 

The hair scares young people to death!

I got some funny items to use for dramatherapy which is another one of my work identities. These  costumes are silly so that individuals and families can have fun with their issues. They are easy to characterize and don’t take much fit. Best of all they were free discontinued items such as The Annoying Orange, and Framed art work into which you can put your own head such as a self portrait of Van Gogh and American Gothic.

I made my own costume for a party I went to.  I tried to think of the thing most everyone  fears the most. Gluten. I wore all tan, drew on an eye mask, taped the  title “Gluten girl” on my tee shirt, used an old sheet for a cape, wore brown stockings and carried a loaf of bread.   Two people immediately announced that they were Celiac  ( about 1 in one hundred are) and the majority of the rest admitted they were gluten intolerant.  It wound up that the minority of people at this event could actually eat gluten. I persisted in hitting all the gluten haters with my loaf of bread until they laughed.  I could have come as halitosis or herpes and started fewer health related discussions. Gluten freeness is the new Stay Free Mini pad.

I love how I look bloated with carbs here

Did I mention I have half a pizza box on my head as a helmet?

Now let’s show you a really scary picture. I was hiking up a mountain with some friends the other day.  It was very misty and we couldn’t see much. We thought the climb would be worth the view on the top but the view was like this.

This was actually the furthest we could see on the whole trip.

But look what I got a  nice clear shot of.

Clearly droppings from a bear who likes berries

On a happier note, The Halloween store provides a bit of joy and laughter to the world. There is an ice rink in the mall where I saw a fine adult skater wearing one of our “Ollie the Ostrich” costumes which makes you look like you are riding on the bird’s back. It made me proud.

Three cheers for goofy people!

Enunciate like a sea-faring thief day

Je suis une pirate! Mais oui? ARGHHHHH!

Talk like a pirate day is coming! This is one of the happiest holidays we have here in the U.S.  Most of the other ones have to do with somebody who died, (even Christmas, although he didn’t know it at the time.)  Then there’s New Year’s where people actually do die. Talk like a pirate day allows me to celebrate the evil which lurks within and wants to f* with everyone.

Tomorrow I will probably lose my voice because I expect to arggh all day.  I will be alone in my office most of the time so no one will hear me except when I answer the phone.  That will be so much fun. There was a pirate pub crawl in Anchorage on Saturday night which I did not participate in as I saw the wonderful Wanda Sykes instead.

The outfits at the comedy show were better because no one was enforcing a particular genre. Some of the audience appeared to have just walked off their job as meth dealers. Others were dressed in short shorts with enormous stiletto heels which were supposed to be hip and trendy but did not coming off that way at all. There was a good deal of leopard around the bus tline amongst women my age and plenty of plaid flannel.  I wore my Midnight cowboy jacket which looks better in the dark as it needs a bit of cleaning.  There were no pirates at the comedy show. There were a couple of hecklers who got absolutely nowhere as Wanda does not  f* around.

The word “dick” gave the word “f*” a run for it’s money in every routine which is just fine with me. This is the essence of really talking like a pirate. The funny voice is fine but sometimes a bit of sewer mouth is refreshing. My mother used to say, “I don’t smoke, I don’t drink so I swear like a sailor.”  These are words I live by, except at the job at the half way house in Gloucester where they made you put a dollar in the pot for swearing.  The supervisor bought marijuana for the staff with the money!

Now I know Somali pirates are bad but so are bankers and priests and just about anybody who lusts for power and/or wealth. Even the repression of these desires is bad which is why we have Mardi Gras (  again connected to the death of you know who) and talk like a pirate day. As many people know I am saddened by the modern “booby”- ness of Halloween and talk like a pirate day. I observed many lovely maidens clutching their chests while racing across the nippy streets of Anchorage last night. I am pretty sure that most successful female pirates would have dressed more ready to work than a corset would allow. I would really liked to have seen some giant codpieces to compensate for the enormity of the breasts displayed  but alas that was not to be. My guess is that  the Virgin Mary in the Christmas pageant will  be wearing a bustier next year.  Every American holiday must feature the female bosum as a tribute to the American man they seek to entertain.

I got many strange looks on my way from the comedy show to The Identity fundraiser. I believe drunken young people were trying to process my costume  – pink tie dye fedora, fuchsia bell bottoms, fringed leather jacket. Perhaps just a male gigalo trolling for gay pirates? How about an old white lady who doesn’t give a shit? At midnight I saw three older men walking towards town in British admiralty regalia. What the F*? Then I figured that Dooley’s (the costume shop) had probably long run out of pirate wear and these fellows had improvised an adversarial role.

I admit I had my Facebook set to pirate talk for awhile but it’s really better to do it for just one day a year. Too much pirate talk is pretentious, like Wanda Syke’s wife speaking French even though I guess she was born there.  A long time ago my old roommate Rose Anne and I had a very successful pirate party. We served hard tack and grog and I personally locked some children in the basement. I wish we would have given out prizes for the most body parts missing. That way women with mastectomies and hysterectomies could win more booty.  I also remember playing the two truths and a lie game on a bus full of Princess tour people coming back from a violently truncated train ride. Working on a train crew was the closest experience I have ever had to an actual pirate’s life.  We found out that our tour guide only had one testicle and the guy who cleaned the toliets had an IQ of 185! Guess which one I slept with? Arrgggh.

How do I know I’m actually listening to God?

Does God talk like a pirate? I believe he does sometimes. That’s because God makes me laugh. I think that’s where laughter comes from. I’m not sure about other stuff, like coca cola and chocolate which are wonderful but not as healthy as laughter. Laughter doesn’t give you cancer or cavities. Laughing at others can be tricky.  I think God lets me laugh at friends making silly mistakes and Craig Ferguson because there’s no harm done. I don’t laugh too much at Sarah Palin because she’s not really as funny. Talking animal movies are funny because they’re harmless and good natured.

Does that mean that I’m some God centered comedian who believes that certain subjects are sacred? Not really.  Some of you know Armand Volkas who would say “F*** them if they can’t take a joke.” He encourages people to joke about their deepest pain and sorrow in order to own and transform it.  Not that I think Armand is God, but he does look quite biblical, you must admit. I like his opinions on humor.

I think God is funny and ridiculous. He kills babies and drowns poor people. What kind of loser is this guy? I mean talk about screwing up. He makes me look like a genius. You’ve got to have pity on the bloke and everybody connected with him. He’s just not all there.

Like I’m not supposed to be writing this at all. God told me to stop. He keeps making my right wrist hurt  but look I’m doing it anyway! I took a nap today and so my hand feels just enough better to give God the finger. No, not really. I listened to the Broadway score of “The Book of Mormon” yesterday and that made me think about how we create God, and prophets who stand in for God.It also made me sing the line ” I believe that in 1978 Jesus changed his mind about black people” all day.

I think about how I profess that I believe in a higher power. But what does this really mean? The bottom line is that I will always struggle between what is best for me and what is best for others and this point of light or laughter, which I may call God, will serve as a compass.  God, sometimes looks like this. That is, somewhat drunken, at sea, but mysteriously attractive. I have to keep my distance as I’m sure he’ll lead me into trouble. Such is life. How do I listen to him? It’s not with my ears that’s for sure. Although sometimes a sparrow or a gull can carry a message. I don’t trust words so much as I can spin them to mean anything I want. God, or the good, is something I am learning to recognize and it’s all around even in some nasty people and places. I just need some clues in this treasure hunt, if you please, Captain.