I’m sorta erg, trying write a blog that isn’t whiney or annoying or what not. Then I fear I might be utterly incapable of being either, so I say fuck it, let’s roll.
The first weekend in October I have a Hallowe’en themed birthday party for my cousin Thomas’ big 0-6. Thomas is my BFF. We became BFFs one day during a visit a few years ago, when he said: “Boy, you’re really fat” to me, in his blunt way, and I came right back with “Yeah? Well you have a really big head.” (Which he does. Seriously. I’m an adult and his head size is waaaay bigger than mine.) He responded to this by looking at me thoughtfully and nodding his head as if to say “touché”. Since then we’ve been like this [crosses fingers]. (A relationship built on a common respect for honesty.) My BFF is a unique individual. He was born 45, and is going through life as if he’s trying to learn how to be a little kid. Like he’s some sort of reverse Pinocchio who has suddenly realized that he’s a real boy after all and not made of wood. Even as a baby he was serious, scrupulous and completely OCD – and little has changed. Last year they asked me to try and talk him into liking the thought of going to school for the first time. He argued me at every point, and told everyone that he “feels that it really isn’t necessary.” He really talks like that.
My BFF also has the world’s worst allergies – all of them at once. Seriously. You name it he’s allergic to it. I’m surprised he doesn’t run on positrons like DATA (although I don’t think he can eat bananas). So he requested that I make “those awesome candy apples from that party with the disco ball” by which he means my brother’s ‘wedding’. The wedding was last November and he’s been asking on a regular basis to have them at his birthday, so I must deliver. He is, after all, my BFF. (Plus I like that there is one thing he likes that I can make for him and he won’t die eating it.) So I am making about thirty of those. Which isn’t a problem. I’m good at making candy, it is fun and I don’t eat it, so there you go. I’ll probably make him a bunch of skull pops too.
The problem is that it’s a costume party, and as much as I love them, I also hate them because as a fatty I never get to be who I want to be. BB will be going as the prerequisite gorilla. Thunderball will be going as Princess Leia or a Sith, or both, or she’ll wear the extra gorilla suit (because every family has at least two gorilla suits, right?) and maybe change later into another costume. Last year I went marked up as though I had just witnessed The Silence. I kept a little pencil on me and continuously marked myself up throughout the party. Pretty much no one got it until my friend’s eight year old son saw me, pointed and said “Doctor Who”. Then I applauded his parentage.
This year I wanted to go as Henry Killinger, which I could probably pull off. But this summer was really shitty for me, and I was going to make the mask and slippers but had forgotten (not to mention I still have no access to my studio or supplies) so that’s out. I’ve always wanted to go as Death from Sandman, but I’m too fat, whatever. So you know, last night I’m having trouble managing the pain, walking around the house and trying to apply ice to my intestines (don’t be weird), when I say “fuck it”, go to the bathroom mirror, find my only makeup (a black pencil from LAST Hallowe’en) and do my face up in full Death goth glory. And you know what? I looked fukking awesome. So this year people, Death is gonna be a FATTY. I don’t care anymore. If someone has a problem or wants to post me as a joke on Twitter or shit go right ahead. It’s not my fault that Gaiman got her weight wrong in the novels…
And then next year I’m going as Slave Leia.
Okay, maybe not.