Halloween Adventures

Today, a thoroughly Catholic country if only by name and nationally sanctioned holidays, is another one of those glorious public holidays. I have lazed about all day, pretending that there are neither classes to plan nor attend tomorrow. On Saturday night I went to a Halloween party, a celebration that I have really never celebrated in my adult life but now feel obligated to after expounding at length as to how important it is to current American culture. Sometimes I feel sorry for my classes, because I most definitely give them my version of American culture, which is much more likely to be my skewed, particular version of Southern culture, or worse, a hodge-podge of all the places I have lived, including Spain. Thanks to Cathy's linguistic influence, the lines between Southern, American and Irish/British English are blurring more and more. Potato Chips are, in a moment of weakness, likely to be called crisps just as quickly. But I digress: I was the first person to leave the Halloween party, as it began to spiral into dark regions of everyone else being overly drunk except for me. My friend Katie even brought liquor-soaked cherries to the party, which tasted awful and too much like pint-sized shots of Robitussin. Roommate Cathy and I went as twin ghouls to the party, but since she was way more into her costume and much scarier in general than I, everyone compared me to a raccoon or simply Dean, all in black and with makeup. I took many pictures, thanked God for the slimming effects of an all-black attire, and walked home in the rain, my makeup sliding off my face and my twin horns of spiked hair slowly drooping. A Halloween for the books.