On the mend

What a difference a day makes. The swelling on my forehead has gone down enough for me to again show my face in public (pretend that that's a good thing). Last night the wife was giddy because the mosquito bite looked like a tit. I was considerably less enthused, but also a little turned on.

Because I'm feeling gregarious, here's what I dressed up as for Halloween over the years:

1981: Darth Vader. I had a high fever and fell in a ditch. It wasn't the fever that did it, however; it was that fucking mask.

1982: Superman. I got the idea and my mom made the costume. My older brother, the biter, also insisted on going as Supes. I had a broken leg at the time, and he looked taller and cooler than I did. No fair.

1983: A skeleton. I think the costume still fits me. My mom sewed felt bones on a black bodysuit. I almost refused to go out that year because the bodysuit showed a picture of a girl doing gymnastics. After receiving a girl Cabbage Patch Kid a few months prior, I was convinced my Mom was trying to turn me into a sissy boy.

1984: Winston Smith. I wore a pair of dirty overalls and carried an empty gin bottle. Kidding. I went as a grape juice drinking box. Sadly, I was too young to come up with a line like "suck my straw."

1985: Rambo/Rocky/Cobra. I slicked back my hair with Brylcream, wore a pair of bitchin' shades, donned a pair of boxing gloves, and had a toy uzi (do they still make toy uzis?). Unfortunately, because of the gloves, I kept dropping the fucking uzi until it smashed. And the shades were a bad idea. I didn't learn my lesson with the Darth Vader mask and nearly got myself killed a half dozen times. But I looked cool. Or at least I thought I did, at the time.

1986: Werewolf. After the Vader mask and the previous year's shades, I still didn't learn my lesson. That mask was hot! And after stumbling around all night in it, it smelled like an ass. But I still have it back at my folks place. Over the following years, my brother and I would use it to scare the shit out of my little sister. I genuinely regret doing that. If I could turn back time, I would have put the mask to better use, such as donning it to hold up a liquor store.

1987: A vampire. Not much to say other than fake vampire teeth can cut your gums the fuck up. And fake blood doesn't taste nearly as good as the real thing.

1988: Zombie. I bought a make-up kit and did the job myself. In retrospect I looked more like a kid who'd been in a (minor) bike accident than one of the living dead. Plus, I don't think zombies chew gum. At least none of the ones with whom I hang out with do.

1989: The Joker. Purple suit and tie, green hair...the works, baby! I even purchased a gun to complete the effect, and shot a police commisioner's daughter, crippling her. Sadly, in the years succeeding, they didn't allow us to wear costumes at the mental hospital I was confined to until age 26. But this year I'm going all out. I have this neat explosive device and a killer ski mask...but wait! I don't want to spoil the surprise. You'll have to wait until Monday. I recommend riding the no. 7 line subway if you really want to be scared.*

* There's nothing funny about terrorism (save maybe terrorists' hygeine and accents). I know I don't need to explain myself to anyone with half a brain, but just to be extra careful, I should emphasize that the above explosive device refers to the rad Magic: The Gathering T-shirt I recently bought. It's the bomb.