Great Halloween Party; Vote! Vote! Vote!

 

So. Just an update on our rename Sandra the OR Nurse contest. Thirty-one distinctly different submissions, and Sandra is so far stuck on Ninja Butt Operation Girl. I’ll keep the contest open until November 15th.

SAC Ellen and I went to a Halloween party last night, and I must say that I dreaded it days in advance. Friends of the SACster have this party every year, woo-hoo, and I committed to go with her during one of my several recent stints in the dog house.

When dressing, I whined, “I don’t have a costume to wear,” me thinking this might get me a pass from the party.

“No problem, Mooner. I’ve laid your costume on the bed.” When I opened my mouth to whine again, she said, “Go get dressed. I want to be there when the kids begin to arrive.”

I dressed in the gray jeans, white dress shirt with the Mooners Compost Plant logo stitched on the pocket, undies, socks and the shoes- the regular outfit I wear to work. When I finished dressing, we walked to the car and drove to the party. I kept wanting to ask her what I was dressed as, but got distracted by thinking of excuses to leave the party early.

When we arrived to our destination at 6 pm, the street was already crammed with families dressed for the festivities. “What the hell is going on?”

I mean really, it’s not even dark yet. What the hell is all of this?

“Happens every year, dumbass. People in this neighborhood all decorate and dress for Halloween, and people from all over town bring their kiddies to Trick-or-Treat.”

Me, I’m thinking traffic congestion, noise and parking problems. “What a fucking mess.”

I get this paint-melting stare. “Mooner Einstein Johnson, you disruptive sonofabitch, if you make a scene tonight…” Then she started sputtering, searching for an appropriate punishment.

“Fine,” I told her. “Best behavior, I promise.”

Then, “Here,” and she clipped a name badge on my pocket. All it said was, “GFA,” in fire engine red with fire images drawn around the border.

What’s this, I’m thinking.

“What’s this?”

“Don’t worry about that. You just behave your inappropriate self.” Then she added, “Or else!”

Our hosts greeted us on their front porch dressed as Cleopatra and Marc Anthony, and realistically as well. We were first to arrive and toured their newly remodeled home, lovely, and I spent time playing with their little wiener doggy. I’m a sucker for dogs. “We should have brought the Squirt.”

This comment got me the paint melting stare again.

“Fine,” my new mantra. “Fine, I’ll just sit on the porch and observe.”

I get another dose of the stare to which I add, “Fine, I’ll sit quietly on the porch and observe without inappropriate comment.”

So, I did and maybe an hour-and-a half later I realize how much fun I’m having watching all of the kids. I’d met each person as they arrived at the party, but I hadn’t given any a second thought because I was entranced in the parade of costumed kids.

Then I had the thought that me sitting in a porch swing for hours on end watching little kids and offering them candy might be inappropriate, so I went inside with the adults. They were all gathered around a big pot of tortilla soup, so I filled a cup and enjoyed it.

Everyone was talking about their costumes and when they got to me, and I was asked, I said, “I don’t know, the SACster dressed me this year.”

One lady lifted my name badge and said, “GFA, huh.” Then she looked inquisitively at SAC Ellen and asked, “Mean what I think it means?”

“Yep,” SAC Ellen’s only reply, and all of the women burst out laughing.

We men are all looking for the one of us on the inside of the joke, but none was found.

This one lesbian lady, a nice woman I have previously met at one of Sister and Anna the Amazon’s lesbian soirées, provides the answer. “Giant flaming asshole,” she says. “My wife’s pet name for me.”

Well of course.

Anyway, I had a great time with wonderful people, even though many were psycho therapists. And the parade of kids was incredible.

Manana, y’all.

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