Halloween

It is Halloween weekend in Austin, which means tens of thousands of people, wearing all sorts of costumes will head down to 6th street tonight and drink. I wish I could dress it up more [wow -- only two sentences in and already he's wielding such clever puns?] -- but tonight boils down to two things: costumes and alcohol. It is this simplicity that appeals to the young adults of Austin. Become somebody else and get drunk. Sounds fun enough.  And it is also this simplicity that makes tonight a "no refusal" night for the Austin Police Department -- meaning if you are pulled over, you have no right to refuse a breathalyzer test. [I feel a desperate need to write a sentence, cleverly talking about the "tricks and treats" found on 6th street, but I just can't bring myself to do it.]


I've been in Austin for four Halloweens now, which roughly equates to four years, which roughly equates to twenty-eight dog years, which roughly equates to .000000786 light years. I must admit something to you. I lied about the light years number. [A light year, contrary to its name, measures length not time.] 














I'm glad we've left all that behind. The lies, the light years. 


We're back to Halloween. You're probably wondering what it's like to be on 6th street, surrounded by drunk people in costume. You might also be wondering how many light years long 6th street is itself -- but we've agreed to not talk about light-years, remember? 


All that I can share with you is what 6th street is like on Halloween. I've been one of the 10,000+. 


It was a few Halloweens ago and Joe was sick and decided to stay home and rest, so Brogan and I went downtown in costumes that we had obtained from our friend's girlfriend at the time [my friend and the girl are broken up, but Brogan still proudly holds on to the costume]. Brogan went as a playboy bunny -- complete with bunny ears, a short dress that had a cottontail on the rear and showed his chest hair, and tube socks that nearly tore as they went up his legs. I was a naughty police officer, which was really just a tube-top dress with a badge on the front complemented by a hat too small for my head and a set of toy handcuffs. The dresses covered all the essential parts they must cover, though it was far too cold to be wearing dresses, but we wore them anyways and with his bunny ears and my officer's hat, we went downtown to be one of the ten thousand. 


If that night proved anything to me, it is that the best costume a man can wear on Halloween is one that makes him look like a woman. [Is it sad that these are the life lessons I'm learning?] 


For instance, I can't tell you the number of times I walked into a bar and spotted another naughty cop -- though this one was actually a woman [or at least looked the part more than I did] -- and I'd go over to her and say something like "this town isn't big enough for two sheriffs," or "I hate to be the one to tell you this, but I think you're out of your jurisdiction here." If she understood the word jurisdiction, they'd laugh and just like that, the awkward first step of approaching a girl, of staring rejection and humiliation in the face was broken because I was wearing the same dress she was. [A lesson I definitely plan to impart to little Jack -- possibly during the conversation he and Joe have over beers on his 15th birthday]. 


The night carried many similar triumphs. When Brogan and I walked down the street, we were constantly stopped and asked to take photos, which we were more than happy to do [Brogan looked like pedophile, and I looked like a character from Silence of the Lambs with my toy gun pointed at the camera], and then after the photos were taken and reviewed and laughed at, they would hug us and thank us and carry on down the street and so would we, wondering why the hell we were more desirable to women when we wore a dress. 


I drank a fair amount that night, but I do remember one conversation with surprising clarity. 


-"You look hot in that dress," a drunk woman said to me as I stood outside a bar. Not the normal opening line to a conversation, I grant you.
-"Thanks. I was going to get it in a small, but decided it might be a little too scandalous."
-"I think they would have arrested you if it got any smaller," she said.
-"I'm a cop, remember?" I flashed her the handcuffs and badge, to prove I actually was a cop. "And as far as I'm aware, being sexy isn't a crime." 


She laughed. The truth is that "being sexy" can be a crime, especially if it involves indecent exposure /lewd conduct. But she wasn't the type of girl to mention things like that. 


As I stood outside the bar, I started to look around. 


-"What are you looking for?" she astutely asked.
-"My friend."
-"What do they look like?"
-"He's six-foot three, and he's wearing a black dress."
-"What?"
-"I said he's six-foot three, and he's wearing a black dress."
-"Your friend's wearing a black dress?" she asked.
-"Yes," I said, though a sarcastic nooo would have worked just as well. "He's got on bunny ears and tube socks, too," I added, just in case there were other tall guys in black dresses. I didn't want her wasting my time with false alarms.


She looked at me to see if I was being serious. I was.


-"I haven't seen him," she said. She was a pretty girl, but as you can tell, she had an unpleasant tendency to tell you things you already knew. 
-"Well let me know if you do."
-"Are you gay?" she asked.
-"Am I gay?"
-"Yeah. Are you gay?"
-"Why? Because I'm looking for a tall guy in a dress, or because I'm a tall guy in a dress?"
-"Both."
-"What do you think?" I asked her.
-"I think you're gay."
-"How would you feel if I told you I'm not gay?"
-"I'd tell you to prove it."


I stared at this girl for a second, and even as she bathed in the generous view that I hold everybody in when I've had too much to drink, I couldn't find any desire to prove anything to her. 


-"I'm gay," I said. 


And then I walked off to find Brogan so we could go to another bar.




Tonight I didn't partake in the madness. I worked [though I did dress up as a woman -- one of our bartenders, who we decided looks better than I do in jean shorts], and when I was done with work I went home and slept until I woke up for no reason at 12:30 am, which is why I'm up now and writing this blog. It's strange to think that a few miles away there are naughty cops and playboy bunnies stumbling down the street, trying to find a way home, trying to find somebody drunk enough to sleep with. It is strange to think I was one of them. 


It is even stranger to think about how famous a person must be before they can be assassinated instead of murdered.