Wednesday night I was in a panic. There was this big concert thing for Halloween going on in Dave's town at a cool nightclub I want to go to, and somehow Scott managed to score the money for tickets. I got tempted enough to say "Okay, fine, I'll call in sick at work!," then spent the next few hours trying to find an alternate costume. If they're all going in vampire/black fairy gear, I am not showing up in my flourescent 60's getup, you know? (Dave said he wanted to be a Nosferatu. Ugh!) I got incredibly upset trying to find my black wig that I knew was in the back of my closet in a plastic bag somewhere and I just couldn't find it. (Fortunately it showed up the next morning, so I could be a Goth girl.) Dave said that when I do anything, I do it big and right, including having a panic attack.

Halloween at work was cool. There were several other 60's girls, one of whom may have had an even more blinding flourescent outfit than mine (she said "I'm not so sure..."), Dr. Evil and Mini-Me, my coworker went as an 80's choreographer, there was Velma, Daisy Duck complete with big giant head... and we went on parade around the building, going up the floors. People kept leaving candy out, so I had my own private er, trick-or-treat moments. We even headed up to the chancellor's office, but he wasn't there (figures).

At lunch, someone brought in a dish that looked like pooed-in kitty litter. (Presumably this was Mr. Bigglesworth's?) Dr. Evil went around plotting to drain all the water from the building via filling up plastic bottles and stationing people to spigots.

And no, nobody did dress up like Austin Powers. Hmmmm....

After work, I got into Goth hair and makeup and headed off to the train station. I seriously thought I was going to die on the bus ride into Sacramento. It was just me and the driver. I'm not sure if he was a speed demon or the drivers on the street were just morons, but people were coming to a near-stop right in front of him, swerving around the road, doing MAJOR cuts in front from the far right lane to the far left and vice versa, the driver was screaming out the window... There's a Halloween scare for you.

I am gratified to say that Dave was very sufficiently ka-WOWED by my black hair and makeup look. Drooling. Had we not been in public... I'm really going to have to wear makeup more often around him. He had a surprise for me too: he'd let S&D dye his hair blonde. We went as Spike and Dru. The reaction to his hair dyeing is amusing: half love it, half hate it. His dad thought it was cool, his mother about had a cow, and his grandmother went on to me in great detail about how she thought I should flush his head down the toilet.

We headed off to this club, known as the Blue Tattoo. It was also ka-WOW. Four floors of fantasticness. Eight bars, two per floor. Most floors had a dance floor, one had a band, one had an arcade and pool tables set up. We even found a pillow room to lounge in (or uh, get felt up in in some cases). Mostly we just hung around, checking the place out, drinking (I actually did a shot, if you can believe that. Gotta love test tube shooters), bombing at pool, etc. Great costumes around there too, including Ursula the Sea-Witch and a brother and sister act that dressed up as penises. The brother wore a sign asking if you had what it took to get him hard, and (reportedly- I didn't see it) even squirted. There were also some of the most hoochie-mama costumes I'd ever seen. Filthy Catholic schoolgirls, Girl Scouts, and angels. Shorter than short shorts and one girl that Dave spotted with a slit so far up you could see she wasn't wearing anything underneath. Damn.

After having been there for about an hour, I wandered up to the top floor, where I found Scott looking out the window. At the street, which had been blocked off entirely by police cars. Cops, the SWAT team, and private security were swarming all over the place. Scott knew some of the security people because his uncle owned a security business, and he said they told him someone had called in a bomb threat.

I was all panicky and wanting to Get. Out. of the building, especially since we were on the top floor. The rest of them, however, were almost totally blase about this. Maybe it comes from them being more used to living in a wild and wooly area than I am. But seriously, they reacted pretty much like a BOMB THREAT gets called into their houses every week or something. (Dave: "I used to call in bomb threats on the high school proms. I had to do something to get that school back for expelling me.") Oy vey. I didn't much like being told to "slow down, don't panic!" when we finally gave up and left the building.

Turns out that we left for nothing- as the building did not get blown up. The radio station that sponsored the bash went on all weekend about the penises instead.

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