Happy Halloweekend, Gentle Reader! I hope that your holiday itself was absolutely magical, and that you have an absolute whirlwind of masquerades, cocktail parties, and balls lined up for the weekend. I know that I certainly do. I hope that you win the costume contest, and that the sexy corn or whatever totally gives you their phone number.
As for myself, yesterday was a chance to follow some charming local customs that we totally made up last year. According to my roommate, S*, in an obscure Celtic dialect the word for this holiday was not in fact Samhain, but an unpronounceable word that directly translates as “Winter Sea Otter.” I first learned this last Halloween – Miss P had just left for work, you see, and it was five in the morning. S and M, our other roommate-at-the-time, had not yet been to bed, and were greeting the pre-dawn morning with Pumpkin Pie Vodka Cocktails. Their giggling woke me, but gently – I rose to greet the day, and was handed a cocktail of my own. This is all documented on Twitter, by the way, if you want to dig back a year. We had another drink, I put the coffee on, and put on my costume, while the roommates went to bed.
Sadly, no photos exist of my rendition of Coco Chanel, and the various pieces I used to put together the outfit have been repurposed. It was seven a.m., I was feeling pleasantly tipsy, and dressed in very classy drag, with a small bubble of hilarity lodged in my chest. Approximately, I looked like this:
Clearly, the thing to do was spend the entire day drinking, but drinking responsibly – there were things that needed to be done! My clever little game was this: For each task I accomplished, I would award myself one glass of wine. I adore prizes.
The morning and afternoon slipped swiftly by – do you know, doing dishes can be a positive riot, if you’re tipsy enough? It can. The roommates arose; we baked some goods, with apple and pumpkin and spice. I was contemplating my evening plans – Winter Sea Otter had fallen on a Wednesday, you see, and while I had parties lined up for both weekends framing the day itself, I had neglected to come up with a plan. Enter my Uncle Syn, the kindly curmudgeon, out in Olympia. Syn was planing on spending the evening alone, working on Art†, but a little festive company wouldn’t go amiss.
We both pulled in favors, and Syn offered to pay for gas for whatever poor sap ended up driving me out to town. My ride arrived in a slew of mud and rain; I delicately picked my way to the car in my high-heels, and off we went. Once there, we discussed all sorts of esoterica and other assorted oddities; Syn showed me their collection of antique speculae, among other marvels, and plied me with wine. We had a marvelous evening, and I knew that it was time to go when I fell off their porch while breaking a heel.
Now, I don’t want to recreate this experience exactly – at least, not without an invitation from Syn – but there are many elements here that will certainly make a merry holiday.
* S is prone to exaggeration, but his facts are usually rooted in, well, fact. However, I cannot find a single source on the internet to back this up.
†Uncle Syn is a working artist; that’s how they make their living. A night off for a holiday just isn’t a thing in such a career.