Halloweenie

The pumpkins are out in full force and I’m looking forward to my first ever gay Halloween. Halloween has always been a mixture of awesome and terrible for me. As a kid Halloween was never as the movies made it out to be. Growing up in the sticks in Northern Minnesota makes trick or treating a lot different. My costume usually consisted of whatever old costumes we had from when my brother and sister were kids. I remember one year I wore a Batman mask and a Superman cape…I called myself Super Batman…I was that clever. Anyway trick or treating in the country kind of sucks. My dad or my step mom would take me trick or treating. If it was my dad I’d sit in the back holding my candy bag as he smoked cigarette after cigarette in the front seat. Houses were sparse so it’d be about 20 minutes in-between me actually getting to trick or treat. When we’d actually get to his friend’s houses he’d get more treats than me. Usually we’d go inside and he’d have a drink with his buddy and I’d sit there hoping that he had a dog to play with. Sometimes my dad’s friends didn’t even have candy so I’d get whatever random things they had in the house. One year I got a bar of soap…every kid’s dream. If it was my step mom driving she’d want to take me even farther into the woods to where she grew up because that’s where “the best” trick or treating was. We’d drive for 45 minutes and go to all the places she used to go…or about 4 houses because by the time we finished those 4 we’d have been in the car for over 3 hours. I remember the first time I went trick or treating in “town” I almost had a heart attack from the amount of candy that I got. I was soooo pissed for all those years I had wasted in the woods trick or treating.

Besides the candy Halloween has always meant one other thing…dances. I remember when I was in either 5th or 6th grade I went to my very first dance. The dance just happened to be at the Linden Grove Town Hall which was only 5 miles from my house so my parents were pretty much forced to bring me. I had never been to a dance before and I was excited. You see there was a girl and I was madly in love with her. Obviously I was a bit confused but still she meant the world to me. I had slyly figured out that she would be at this dance and that was when I decided that I MUST go as well. The problem was that I needed a costume. Being the smooth operator that I am, I came up with the absolute best costume to impress a girl…a hobo.

Yes, as we all know homeless people are the sexiest people on earth and every girl’s dream is to dance with one. For some reason at the time I was fascinated with Hobos. I had just learned what the word Hobo meant and I knew right away I wanted to be that for Halloween. My head swam with ways for me to be an authentic Hobo. “No more cheesy store bought costumes for me!”. I thought to myself. No sir…I was going to be the talk of the town with my authentic Hobo getup. I went through all our old costumes and clothes and I made the best Hobo outfit ever created by mankind. I then stored my garb were the dogs slept so that they would get that optimum Hobo smell (I wish I was making this up). When the night of the dance arrived I dressed myself up in the stinky clothes. I took one of my dad’s handkerchiefs and made myself a bindle and put it on the end of a stick. I rubbed REAL dirt on my face. I actually cut myself a little on the sharp pebbles I was rubbing on my cheeks. I looked and smelled like the world’s youngest Hobo and I was certain that this girl was going to fall in love with me for looking so real.

My dad drove me to the town hall and on the short drive I peppered him for compliments. “I look so real right Dad?!?”, I’d say to him. I remember him saying, “You smell like the dog.” To which I BEAMED with pleasure.

When we got to the town hall I got out and stared up at the doors. For some reason I had the weirdest view of myself as I stood there. In my head I was a dashing and handsome Hobo, standing with muscled arms as an American flagged waved behind me. I was going to the envy of every man and the desire of every girl. Upon entering building the really old 9th grader taking tickets gave me a strange look. I of course recognized it as envy. Soon my friends would show up and we would high five each other and laugh and eat candy. A while later the girls from our grade would show up and both groups would retreat to opposite walls of the dance floor. Finally as I was eating my 11th mini snicker bar I looked to the doorway and this little angel fluttered through. Literally my girl had come dressed as an angel and I remember thinking I couldn’t think of a more fitting costume for her…then doubt crept into my mind. Suddenly my brilliance was flashing before my eyes. As I looked at the angel joining her friends on the opposite wall I saw in my mind’s eye me learning what the word hobo meant…me digging through old ass costumes and deciding they smelled to fresh and putting my clothes were the dog slept…me rubbing dirt on my face, on the very cheek on which I wanted a kiss…then the guy at the door looking at me not with envy…but disgust. I panicked! I dropped my bindle and I made a straight line to the door, and I ran all the way home.
The pumpkins are out in full force and I’m looking forward to my first ever gay Halloween. Halloween has always been a mixture of awesome and terrible for me. As a kid Halloween was never as the movies made it out to be. Growing up in the sticks in Northern Minnesota makes trick or treating a lot different. My costume usually consisted of whatever old costumes we had from when my brother and sister were kids. I remember one year I wore a Batman mask and a Superman cape…I called myself Super Batman…I was that clever. Anyway trick or treating in the country kind of sucks. My dad or my step mom would take me trick or treating. If it was my dad I’d sit in the back holding my candy bag as he smoked cigarette after cigarette in the front seat. Houses were sparse so it’d be about 20 minutes in-between me actually getting to trick or treat. When we’d actually get to his friend’s houses he’d get more treats than me. Usually we’d go inside and he’d have a drink with his buddy and I’d sit there hoping that he had a dog to play with. Sometimes my dad’s friends didn’t even have candy so I’d get whatever random things they had in the house. One year I got a bar of soap…every kid’s dream. If it was my step mom driving she’d want to take me even farther into the woods to where she grew up because that’s where “the best” trick or treating was. We’d drive for 45 minutes and go to all the places she used to go…or about 4 houses because by the time we finished those 4 we’d have been in the car for over 3 hours. I remember the first time I went trick or treating in “town” I almost had a heart attack from the amount of candy that I got. I was soooo pissed for all those years I had wasted in the woods trick or treating.

Besides the candy Halloween has always meant one other thing…dances. I remember when I was in either 5th or 6th grade I went to my very first dance. The dance just happened to be at the Linden Grove Town Hall which was only 5 miles from my house so my parents were pretty much forced to bring me. I had never been to a dance before and I was excited. You see there was a girl and I was madly in love with her. Obviously I was a bit confused but still she meant the world to me. I had slyly figured out that she would be at this dance and that was when I decided that I MUST go as well. The problem was that I needed a costume. Being the smooth operator that I am, I came up with the absolute best costume to impress a girl…a hobo.

Yes, as we all know homeless people are the sexiest people on earth and every girl’s dream is to dance with one. For some reason at the time I was fascinated with Hobos. I had just learned what the word Hobo meant and I knew right away I wanted to be that for Halloween. My head swam with ways for me to be an authentic Hobo. “No more cheesy store bought costumes for me!”. I thought to myself. No sir…I was going to be the talk of the town with my authentic Hobo getup. I went through all our old costumes and clothes and I made the best Hobo outfit ever created by mankind. I then stored my garb were the dogs slept so that they would get that optimum Hobo smell (I wish I was making this up). When the night of the dance arrived I dressed myself up in the stinky clothes. I took one of my dad’s handkerchiefs and made myself a bindle and put it on the end of a stick. I rubbed REAL dirt on my face. I actually cut myself a little on the sharp pebbles I was rubbing on my cheeks. I looked and smelled like the world’s youngest Hobo and I was certain that this girl was going to fall in love with me for looking so real.

My dad drove me to the town hall and on the short drive I peppered him for compliments. “I look so real right Dad?!?”, I’d say to him. I remember him saying, “You smell like the dog.” To which I BEAMED with pleasure.

When we got to the town hall I got out and stared up at the doors. For some reason I had the weirdest view of myself as I stood there. In my head I was a dashing and handsome Hobo, standing with muscled arms as an American flagged waved behind me. I was going to the envy of every man and the desire of every girl. Upon entering building the really old 9th grader taking tickets gave me a strange look. I of course recognized it as envy. Soon my friends would show up and we would high five each other and laugh and eat candy. A while later the girls from our grade would show up and both groups would retreat to opposite walls of the dance floor. Finally as I was eating my 11th mini snicker bar I looked to the doorway and this little angel fluttered through. Literally my girl had come dressed as an angel and I remember thinking I couldn’t think of a more fitting costume for her…then doubt crept into my mind. Suddenly my brilliance was flashing before my eyes. As I looked at the angel joining her friends on the opposite wall I saw in my mind’s eye me learning what the word hobo meant…me digging through old ass costumes and deciding they smelled to fresh and putting my clothes were the dog slept…me rubbing dirt on my face, on the very cheek on which I wanted a kiss…then the guy at the door looking at me not with envy…but disgust. I panicked! I dropped my bindle and I made a straight line to the door, and I ran all the way home.