Zombiance

Okay, so, let’s just start with Friday night and let me just say right off that the zombie dance was a little disappointing. I’m sorry to say it but it’s true. As with many things the build-up to the dance way overshadowed the dance itself. Remember how I said that the day before the party we’d been getting all obsessive about when to snap the head on three and all that, but had not, in fact, seen the actual space in which the dance was to be performed? Yes. Right. My first question, when I and my lovely friends arrived at the huge warehouse-y space (which was freezing cold and made me regret my decision not to wear my sweater) was “Uh, which way do you think we’re supposed to face?” There was a tiny little stage for the band but clearly nowhere for anyone to dance and I was very confused. All the other zombies I ran into were similarly confused, although one lovely zombie cheerleader did help me out by putting some suitably zombie-like makeup on me. I figured I’d get the cue when it was time to dance and spent a lot of time looking at costumes.

The people at this party were mainly people who spent multiple months on their Halloween costumes. I had sort of cobbled my own for that evening together and I felt a little out of place…especially since I had come with a Powerpuff Girl, a hiker mauled by a bear (complete with severed arm tucked into his backpack to take to the hospital), and a falafel sandwich. I wore an orange wig and a horribly unflattering skirt with even less flattering tights. Fortunately there were so many interesting people to look at that no one paid any attention to me. We ran around taking pictures (which maybe I’ll get around to posting here this evening or something) of crazy dressed up people and looking at the beautiful aerialists and the interesting props and sets they had up. On the whole it reminded me of Burning Man, except no one was naked and it was much colder and there was a marked absence of playa dust and the blissful, joyous presence of flush toilets, even if I did end up using the men’s bathroom at one point because the line for the women’s was SO long.

So I walked around and talked to people I didn’t know and met some friends of friends and sat in the first row for the Rubberboy, who performed a dextrous feat that most men only dream of accomplishing, and ran into other zombies and asked what was going on and when we were supposed to go on and where the stage was and so on and so forth. While I was talking to a group of zombies one of the circus people ran up to us and asked if we were dancing and then told us about a major choreography change and then ran off. We were a little stymied by this but we finally did get out onto what eventually became the dance area (which I don’t think anyone could see because people were just standing around it) and did our dance. I’m sorry to report that I didn’t get my head snaps timed correctly because I couldn’t hear the band and also that I was in the wrong row (actually, there were no real rows, because we HAD NEVER DANCED IN THE SPACE BEFORE) for the monster walk. It was good fun anyway and I’m glad I did it…mostly because I feel that the knowledge of the Thriller choreography, along with my ability to do pimp hands and my love of strippers, makes for good icebreakers in awkward situations.

So that was Friday night. Saturday I woke up late and felt sick from being dehydrated, and I watched some DVDs in bed and finally dragged myself to the grocery store for Brussels sprouts purposes. One of my bellydance friends brought me over a bunch of her gear for the party I was going to that night and I spent the rest of the day eating cruciferous vegetables and doing laundry and reading books before putting on a skirt and pantaloons and choli and bindis and a turban (my first correctly wrapped turban, yay!) and makeup and hip scarves and everything and venturing out.

Now, it’s a truth universally acknowledged that you can bare your belly week in and week out at class and never give it a moment’s notice and not even bother to suck it in after a while. It turns out that what is true for bellydance class is emphatically not true for a regular Halloween party, especially when you are for some reason, early-ish and know exactly one person there. Taking off my jacket was sort of nerve-wracking, I’m here to tell you. I felt like apologizing every time I ate a piece of candy. Fortunately for me (and everyone else) there happened to be a woman I went to grad school with and while we were catching up the past three years other people arrived and I even did some stealth bellydance moves at various points. I was pretty proud of myself for going alone to party where I didn’t know many people. I was even prouder of attempting to swing dance with my friend Dr. M, who was dressed as a very realistic spider, complete with mandibles, and had lots of extra legs attached to her, which made dancing a challenge, to say the least. Feeling brimful of sociability I made my way home at the end of the night and even managed to remember to take off my makeup (seriously, how do people do this every day?) before I went to bed.

Sunday bright and early I received a call from the volunteer coordinator for the polling site I’m working tomorrow. “Usually I bring something to do while I’m there,” she said, “but I’m not sure I’ll have time this time around.” I honestly have no idea what to expect from tomorrow. I’m really wishing I’d absentee voted now since if it’s really crazy I may not be able to stand in line long enough on my break to actually vote. I’m bringing breakfast, lunch and dinner with me as well as a book and my knitting, but I have no idea what it will be like there. Will voter-supression people attack my site? Will we have a cadre of lawyers there? Will I be really bored? What will the other volunteers be like? No idea. I’m a little nervous about tomorrow…well, a lot nervous. A really really ton of nervous. I didn’t read the blogs over the weekend (I was busy getting my zombie on, you see) and so I’ve been unaware of the polling data and the latest attempts to discourage voting by various groups. I think all I can do now is just show up tomorrow at six, cast my vote, cross my fingers and hope hope hope hope.

By the way, if you haven’t already seen it, please check out this amazing video. I wouldn’t characterize myself as an Eminem fan, really, but I have to tell you I’ve been watching it twice a day since last Monday and I still find it oddly moving. Also, if you are interested, here is an Election Protection card. You can print them out and have them on hand when you go to the polls and give them to anyone who might be having problems voting or is concerned about voting irregularities.

Okay, back to my weekend. Uh, let’s see. I went for a walk around the lake with my lovely and beautiful friend whose pseudonym on this journal I have absolutely forgotten but I think it’s Moxie. Moxie, you know who you are, right? Anyway, she and I absolutely negated the value of our crispy sunny windy fall walk by consuming some truly decadent hot chocolates at my new favorite place, the hot chocolate bar near my house. I had a hazelnut-caramel this time. It was wonderful. On the way back from dropping her home I swung by John and Treasa’s and hung out there with various costumed mathematicians and improv actors, and then went to a friend of a friend’s house to watch scary movies.

I am not, in any way, a scary movie person. I saw Bubba Ho-Tep with Sundry once and watched the whole thing from between my fingers, shivering in fear the entire time. We watched 28 Days Later, which of course I hadn’t seen, and which of course freaked me right out, so much so that one of the very kind and generous women there actually covered my eyes during several particularly gruesome bits, much as my mom did when we saw Indiana Jones and that one guy gets severed by a plane propeller. I was able to peek out between my fingers enough to decide that I did enjoy very much the rain-wet torso of that chisel-cheeked main actor guy. Although, seriously, when the end comes and we all die from zombies, let me tell you that I’m going to be the first to end it all with sleeping pills and vodka, I don’t care how hot the survivors are, nor how delightful their accents.

When I got home all seven of my house’s jack o’lanterns were lit up and there were the remains of some dry ice. I had to sprint up the walkway because C had told me that she was oraganizing people to jump out of the bushes and scare kids and I didn’t want to let anyone even pretending to be a zombie get me. Fortunately I made it in safely and got the rest of my laundry and even managed not to have any nightmares. And now it’s November (rabbit rabbit!) and I’ve got a lot of travel and top secret stuff going on this month and the next. And then it will be 2005 and we’ll maybe have a new president (hope hope hope hope!) and then I will be thirty and maybe next Halloween I’ll think about this one and marvel at how different my life is and everything else is.

Now, who thinks I should do the Thriller dance at the polls tomorrow?