Halloween

There is a song we learn in kindergarten about how to spell this wonderful word and to this day I always hum it while typing the letters: “H-A-double L-O-W-double E-N spells Halloween!” played on a scratchy turntable. Ahh, memories.

Speaking of memories, home sickness of an insidious nature has hit AoY hard. Maybe it’s the suddenly frigid temps, the totally backwards school system (Brits will agree with this) or the loneliness that surprisingly easy to experience in a city of 7 million people but it’s happened. It never happened in Italy (I could live and die there) or Germany (I just didn’t want to be there!) but I find myself missing things like gardenias, mac and cheese, venison, fall foliage (stealing magnolia leaves from the church for table decorations), the marshes and Intercostal, even the small town feeling of Columbia. It’s not that I actually NEED to be there, it’s just like a constant drumbeat in the back of my head. Combine that with the banking troubles of late and the absolute lack of ideas about future employment and hearth and home suddenly look damn appealing.

But enough of that! On to the spookiest night of the year! Quick note about British Halloween (still hum the song)-1) People dress up as scary and spooky things here like the undead, vamps, witches or Margaret Thatcher naked and 2) Trick or treating is not so big in the city (I can’t comment on the suburbs) and 3) costume parties are known as “Fancy Dress”. I love the last part-it’s so darn British. Flat mate and I sought out a costume store and after going into a sex store by mistake (we were looking for stockings, we didn’t need props) we found a Swashbuckling Wench outfit and a red 1920s red Flapper from Charleston (told you I was homesick). I even bought fake eyelashes and we both invested in fishnets.

The Event: McC’s Housewarming and Halloween party near Marble Arch. Transportation: The original idea was Tube after a run to Tesco for daiquiri mixers. We learned that Tesco no longer sells any mixers-just booze. I find this disturbing on so many levels. T’s fishnet hose ripped a tad in the package so the garter-belted wench poked out more holes. A quick check with McC confirmed the details for the part but we both wore LONG black trench coats just in case Bridget Jones’ Fancy Dress party reincarnated itself where we walk into a house full of bankers in suits while we look like street walkers. Thankfully this didn’t happen. We hadn’t gone 10 feet before being offered a ride ‘anywhere we were going, for free’. Hmmmm, thanks but no thanks. We ended up cabbing it to Marylebone (apparently pronounced MER-IL-BONE-EY). The party was amazingly fun. There was a mix of Aussies, Brits, Yanks, and a Paki dressed as Britney. Liquor flowed like oxygen, yummy finger foods abounded and an iPod constantly rotated back to Cyndi Lauper. Their fault is AMAZING-I just felt badly that it got trashed so soon after they moved in! I love meeting new people and it was such an amalgamation of groups that everyone got along, so well that I have the distinct memory of being slapped on the ass several times by various people-red; whodathunkit?

Only 2 major disasters of the evening occurred-1) No single people at the party save McC and he’s practically family and 2) AoY came down with a migraine. The lights-flashing, don’t touch me or make a sound or I might throw up on you variety migraine. This is NOT a good thing to get whilst in the middle of a rager. T was feeling frisky and didn’t want to leave for hours despite my whimpering and flat out bitching at one point. We FINALLY left around 2AM (I had stopped drinking at 11:30 when auras appeared) when I pretty much begged to leave. Now, Marble Arch might be cute and fun during the day but it gets a tad shady in the evening. Plus, there were ZERO cabs. I was so desperate to leave that we didn’t call one to the house (BIG mistake) so we tried street hailing; I then called every cab number in London and got an hours wait time for those even taking reservations. We got an unlicensed minicab driver, which is a big NO-NO for women in London (there are over 10 sexual assaults a month by unlicensed minicabs on London), offer a ride right as some asshole in an apartment pelted eggs onto the street. I now had a screamingly painful headache, sore feet and egg running down my stockings (we hid in a phone booth until the ambush ended). Interesting-we had a rickshaw driver offer to drive us after watching our flailing for 20 minutes (T had physically tried to manhandle a departing customer but lost the cab). A rickshaw! We laughed but he seriously offered to pedal back to Earls’ Court: 2 full grown girls (one healthier than most), a ride that takes 10-15 minutes in a cab w/o traffic, and multiple hills. His only asked 60 pounds (which could drive you almost to the coast!). We finally saw a cab across the road and flagged it down. Problem: A gate in the middle of the road to prevent jaywalking. T dashed down the street skirt the barrier but I saw two couples bearing down on our diesel savior and jumped it. In the middle of a major roadway I flashed everyone to Christmas and back and vaulted the damn thing in heels, migraine or no I was GOING HOME!!!!! I think the cabbie was so impressed (or horrified) that I would go to such lengths that he fended off the vultures until I got across four more lanes of traffic.

Now the question is, is such behavior commendable by Southern standards or have I jeopardized my entrance into the Junior League? I mean, straddling a fence in a dress and heels might be considered unladylike but I think the sheer resourcefulness of scaling something and subverting the system deserves kudos from the Cackalackins. Either way, we made it home in one piece, although I felt like pieces of my brain were slowly leaking out, but then T wanted to wait and see if some cute guys walking down our road were interesting. I fled the scene and crawled into bed with drugs. She apparently scored big and we met our French neighbors downstairs. One apparently was going to drag me out of bed to sit up and chat but I truly think I would have physically maimed him if T hadn’t talk him out of it.

All in all, a really fun experience of costume hunting, dressing up, and playing war games in the streets of London. Happy Halloween (dum di dum-still singing it)!!!!!!!!

We never did go pumpkin picking-a weekend out of the city is needed and SOON; this much smog cannot be healthy!

New terminology:
Netball: An entirely bizarre game that is a bit like basketball; there is a hoop with no backboard high up in the air and one receives the ball whilst standing in a circle. A girl can then pivot on one foot but can move at all. The goal is to shoot a basket. WHAT KIND OF LAME ASS SPORT IS THAT??? At least in badminton you have to lunge for the shuttlecock occasionally.