Hitting the Snooze Button ... on Life

Halloween is the greatest thing ever.

And if you're from Texas, and are friends with a lot of Texan deer hunters during a year in which Halloween weekend coincides with the start of deer season, the weekend before Halloween is the greatest thing ever.

The difference in how October 31 is celebrated by the different age groups within our culture is fascinating. From around the time you start to kind of understand the nature of your own existence until about fifth or sixth grade, it's all about costumes and candy, and Halloween is the greatest thing ever. Then there is a lull, from about middle school through high school, when it's not cool to dress up, the candy just isn't as big of a deal anymore, and Halloween at this point becomes pretty lame. This, fortunately, is simply an unfortunate phase, one that lasts until your first Halloween of college.

This is when you realize that wearing costumes and making revelry is the shizit.

Last night was only my third opportunity to celebrate Halloween since entering this phase of it re-becoming an awesome holiday amongst my peers. Whether it be debutante balls, studying abroad, traveling abroad or working abroad, there's usually been something that rained on my parade. This year, though, there was nothing holding me back...

This is how you're supposed to pose if you're a Southern girl, right?

...from dressing like a woman.

I was a Strake Jesuit cheerleader last night. Strake Jesuit is where I went to high school. My little sister Garland, a senior, is now the captain of the squad at my alma mater. She graciously donated an old uniform, pom pom's and a ribbon for my curly pig tails for me to wear. She also lent me her letter jacket, with my last name scrawled across the back in cursive for me to wear.

I must say, for a guy, clearly I don't have "good legs." But for a girl ...

It was really, really hard to get the top on.

I made Garland, 18, come to a party being thrown by a 24 year old. Figured it would expose her to what college parties are going to be like. In truth, I did not "make" her doing anything, but that's what she, and everyone else who witnessed me talk her into it, is calling it. But I swear to God I did not "make" Garland come to the party. I simply persuaded her. By not allowing her to say no.

"I don't even have a costume," she tried to protest. I had gotten her to drive me to Andrew's and drop me off there, since I had no intention of driving home that night.

"Sure you do. John Michael's Strake football uniform." John Michael is Andrew's little brother. "Throw on a little eye black and you're good to go."

For some reason I found it extremely funny that every single girl at the party would go, "Awww, that's so cute" when they saw me cross dressing in my 18 year old sister's threads

Can you blame people for assuming we were a couple? No. No you cannot.

I did a lot of cheering last night. Mundane things, things you would never normally think needed a rhyming chorus of encouragement, were met with cheers. "Tap that keg! Tap that keg! Taaaaaaaaaap, THAT KEG! Yaaaaaayyy!" If I have any regrets from last night, it's that I didn't cheer enough. "More cowbell." Same idea.

I don't know if I'd make varsity.

I had refused to divulge what my costume would be for weeks. Only two or three people knew. All of them I trusted to keep the secret. And it was worth it. The looks on the faces of every single person at the party when they saw me roll up were priceless.

I had some competition, though, from a rival cheerleader.

Pretty face.

A Cowboys cheerleader.

But just a so so butt.

Certainly not as nice as mine.

I'd call it an even draw between myself and the Cowboys cheerleader girl. My friend "PP6," though, clearly preferred Cowboys cheerleader girl.

Step 1: Lay the foundation.

"Oh, yeah, me too. Uh huh. Right. Yeah I am totally listening to the words that you are saying, and I am processing them, too, because they mean so much to me. Yeah. Fascinating."

Step 2: Transplant black face paint onto her face.

Step 3: Just so that everyone at the entire party will know, "Oh, she was making out with THAT guy."

"Man, can you imagine how awesome it would have been if it had been ME hooking up with random Cowboys cheerleader girl?" I asked Andrew today on the phone, as he drove back to San Antonio. "I mean, it would have been the greatest photograph in the history of the camera."

"Yeah," he said, "who knows what could have happened, too? Maybe she'd get into it, and before long both of you would be taking your skirts off."

Andrew and his brother Tony went as the Blues Brothers.

And pulled it off quite nicely if you ask me.

Miguel, the host, also pulled out quite a dandy. For those of you from parts of the country (or world) that don't have Buc-ee's gas stations, this means nothing to you. But for us Texans, it was an awesome costume.

It was fresh and unique and it cost $100, as opposed to my costume, which was free. But hey, it was worth it; Miguel was the only Buc-ee the Beaver at the party. The same could not be said for his little brother Marcus and his status as Banana Man.

Which is more wack: being one of two bananas, or being the guy that doesn't wear a costume to a freaking Halloween party?

You know when Marcus watched Banana Man Pt. 2 walk up the driveway, he's just like, "F***!"

(Let me take this opportunity to point out the pooch I had popping out between the shirt and the skirt. I need to start doing crunches.)

For those of you patient enough to read up to this point, you are about to be rewarded with a brief account of the best part of the entire night.

I almost got in a fight while wearing pig tails.

A general rule of thumb for manhood is that, if a dude wearing pig tails starts to talk shit to you, you cannot allow it to stand. I wholeheartedly agree with No Costume Guy's reacting the way he did.

It started out pretty innocently. I was taking a photo of something; some guy not wearing a costume was in the way; I called him "No Costume Guy" and told him to move, so that I could take my photo.

This is when things started to turn south.

I don't really remember exactly what happened. I know he got mad at me. And that I found this very amusing, which prompted me to continue egging him on with taunts of "No Costume Guy," "Where's your costume?", "Who comes to a Halloween party without a costume?", and my personal favorite, "What are you dressed up as tonight? A frat boy?"

The guy, who, as it turns out, is cousins with Miguel's roommate, was dressed like a kid from an SEC tailgate. These were his clothes, and not a costume.

At some point during our discourse, which escalated from words to shouts to a straight up commotion, he started calling me a word that starts with "F" and rhymes with "maggot," laying out in graphic detail just what it was that he intended to do to me after lifting up my skirt. I, in turn, threw out the rhetorical question of whether that would make me the thing that rhymes with "maggot" or he. He became even more angered at these insinuations being shot back at him by a man in a cheerleading outfit and pig tails -- (which were clearly my own hair, and not extensions, as so many assumed when they first saw me) -- and proceeded to go into "Hold me back! Hold me back!" mode in the middle of a crowd of people. I continued to taunt him, knowing that I had a 50/50 chance of getting punched in the face, but unable to resist, seeing as I knew as it was unfolding that this was going to be my favorite story of the night.

In the end, though, my big Lebanese friend came to the rescue and used his intimidation index to force No Costume Guy to leave the party, leaving me happy as a clam that I'd come up with a heads instead of a tales on my coin toss.