Halloween.woopz!

First and foremost, because it’s too important to not include, I am blogging naked.  Drew is gone for the weekend (sad face), so I have been hanging out in the room in my birthday suit.  A lot.



Rachel has skills with Photos



I cannot for the life of me decide whether or not this is going to be appropriate.  I guess just a word of caution?  This blog will be raunchy.  Real creepy-freaky-weird-nasty-dirty-shamless(ful)-overthetop-filthy-trashy-classy-wonderful things ahead.  Maybe not a blog for the family?  Then again, this is my place.  You chose to be here.  Sorry to those who think better of me; I am but a young, collegiate male in London.  When you give it context, it almost seems normal or appropriate…almost!

So remember when I said that I would be retelling a tale of Halloween in that novel of a blog post about Scotland.  Well, kittens, the time has come to gather round, drink a bottle of wine—or two, depending on how you cope with a wealth of over shared details and the occasional nitty, gritty, dirty, little freak—and enjoy living vicariously through me in Edinburgh, Scotland on October 30^th, 2010.  (I get it.  It’s not actually Halloween on the 30^th.  Given the amount of time we were out and about, though, you’ll understand that a majority of the action does indeed take place on All Halllow’s Eve.  Wait, is it apostrophe then s or vice versa.  And what the hell is a hallow?  Meh.)

The night began as most nights of epic proportions do: with wine.  Wine, wine, wine.  Actually, I like to think it started with wine, when in fact, it started with gin, vodka, tequila, rum, coke, lemonade, and a lemon wedge.  That’s right folks.  Scotland, specifically Bar 50, had LONG ISLANDS!  OH.  EM.  GEE.  I was actually so excited I peed a little. 

That’s a lie.  I didn’t

They were only £4.  Are you kidding?  How could I not have two before dinner?  Oh, I didn’t eat dinner that night because I thought it might work in my favor to ignore sustenance all together so that Halloween could be celebrated in great, great measure.  This was both wise and foolish.  More later.

ANYWAY, back to dinner.  It was Stacy, Allison, Izzy, Steve, Jacque, Jenny, Jamie, Michael, Kelly, and I.  I think.  I might have forgotten someone there or even thrown in an extra.  Either way: we had food, we had drinks, we were merry.  Following the three pitchers of different cocktails that everyone split, while tossed back 8 shots of cheap, rail level liquor, we journeyed back to our rooms to prepare for the haunted tour of “Edinburgh” and, most importantly, change in to our costume(s)!

Enter the Trainbow.  A little while back, I had the idea that some of us should go as a rainbow for Halloween, and, seeing as Steve is an actual leprechaun, it only made sense that he should don his typical dress and then one of us could go as a pot of gold.  Jenny, a lover of all things shiny and bright—we like things similar to ourselves—was more than happy to get into a HAWT dress and be our pot of gold.  Frankly, our costume was killer when we were all together.  Seriously, how good do we look!    

So good.

We take some pictures.  Now, here is where I may or may not get the events of our night in the right order.  If I mistake them, sorry!  I guess most of you will not know the difference.  Still, you like to try and be accurate, ya know?  So: we go on this terrible, terrible tour of the haunted vaults of Edinburgh.  It starts in this shady alley where we meet our terrifying guide and wander around ONE block to see some of the spooktacular sights around.  When we wander through the first winding alley, a majority of us realized that the bathroom was just too far away in the future and we really, really had to go.  I think 7 of us peed in the alley.  Did I mention it was slanted? Did I mention there must have been a river of urine after our visit?  That is more frightening than this tour ever was.  Hopefully no one slipped.

Then we went into the vaults where, apparently, many people have had instances of pure, utter terror.  I just thought the walls were nice.  And wet. And a little smelly.  I voiced my opinion loudly, though unintentionally.  I got a dirty look.  I smiled back because I have problems with being in trouble.  If I’m smiling, you can’t be mad at me!  I’m afreakindorable. 

Also, I wore my sunglasses throughout the tour, even though it was definitely dark out and there was plenty, and I mean PLENTY of things to run into.  Whateva!  Wearing sunglasses at inappropriate times is probably one of my things.

So the tour ends with a shameless attempt at scare us as we’re leaving the vault.  Lame.  We did, however, get a free shot of whiskey at the end to “calm our on edge nerves.”  I took two shots and just made one big drink.  Probably not the classiest thing I’ve done in the UK. 

I think we wandered back to the hostel/ Bar 50 at this point to get a little extra fun in.  All of us were hanging out in costume and had congregated at some tables in the center of the bar.  Being loud, drunk, Halloween loving Americans, 20+ of us started to play some drinking games at the tables.  First we played this game called fives, and then we switched over to thumper.  For real: who doesn’t like a good, loud game of thumper?  I don’t remember what my sign was, and frankly, nor should I.

At this point in the night, just before we all left for our club destination, Espionage,—how amazing is that name—we had all had a lot to drink.  Let’s recap what I had before I went to the bar and reflect on how I should not have been awake the following morning at 9:00am.  I had three long islands, two shots of whiskey, 2 double vodka crans, and a bottle (yes, bottle) of wine.  Oh did I forget to mention that we went out and bought wine somewhere in there?  I think it was before we got back to Bar 50, but it might have been for our walk to Espionage.  Somehow, I had a bottle of wine in my hands and I drank it all. 

Oh, Espionage, what is it about you that turned my night into a freaky-creepy-weird mess?  Oh, it wasn’t you?  It was the copious amount of alcohol I consumed combined with the fact that I hadn’t eaten since 1?  Ah yes, of course!  So we’re dancing.  Dancing, dancing, dancing.  I think that my inner breeder—I just learned, last week, that this is a term for straight people!  Is it derogatory?  Probs—comes out when I am dancing, because all I want to do is get nasty with anyone who’s willing to dance back.  Turns out IES must actually be a codeword for sexually frustrated, reckless college students because everyone wanted to dance back.  At one point, I was interlocked in a threesome of erotic dancing with—I won’t use their real names—girls we call Memily and Emgan.  When things started getting really nuts (ie. kissing, grinding, groping), I thought it would be a good idea to take off my shirt.  Subsequently, things got crazy steamy on the floor because skin is a catalyst to a good time.

It was about this time that I realized there was a metal fence/rail lining the dance floor so I decided to hop up on to it and lean with the crowd below and behind me.  So, locking my legs around the bars of the fence, I leaned backwards into the mobs of people and danced like an absolute stripper.  Pure. Class.

A bunch of people took pictures with me, people I will never know or see again in my life.  Now, I am sorta wondering if I will ever stumble on those epic photographs and be reminded of that time in Edinburgh that I brought Halloween in with style and sophistication.  Right.

After dancing on the railings for a good amount of time, I was slammed up against the wall by some girls who insisted on dancing more.  We were having a swell and sweaty time when, over the DJ’s microphone, everyone in the club hears, “Put your shirt back on, fatty.”  I looked around like it wasn’t me, but then I caught the DJ’s eye and he shook his head, smiled, and laughed in my direction.  Ah, yes, I was the fatty without the clothing on.  Well, problem solved sir…if I only I could find my shirt…  Eventually I did, but by that time I wasn’t aware of how to put a t-shirt on, exactly, so I more or less wrapped it over my head and proceeded to groove. 

Then, we left.  It’s hard for me to explain how it happened, or why, but it was like 2:30, after having gained an hour from DST, and we were just ready to go.  So Katz and I walked back and talked about the evening, consoled each other about irrelevant issues, and shared some chips.  It was nice. 

I was in bed by 5, the last person to arrive to our room.  Steve was going to be up in an hour to go hiking, and I was actually ready to join him…for a second or two before falling back to sleep.  I think Halloween was a success.  Perhaps a little gross, but when isn’t it.

Andy Sharp, a wise little Columbian friend of mine who dressed as a baby last Halloween, told me that life is about “Taking chances, making mistakes, and getting messy.”  I was so impressed with this philosophy, but even more excited when I learned it was actually from The Magic School Bus.  Who knew that in my twenties I would be applying the lifestylings of Miss Frizzle?  I took chances, made mistakes (smiles), and got more than a little messy/sloppy.  

If I can compare Halloween to the Magic School Bus, I think I must have had a pretty damn good time.