Notes From a Walkman Junkie: Breaking Up Marriages One Costume At A Time
Bust out your whips, capes, and tiny tarts, it’s party time. I was recently in attendance at a costume party, dressed as Annie Hall. My friend, Casey Awesome, was planning to go as Woody Allen, but due to wig complications, etc… she dressed as Lady Gaga in lieu of Woody. It actually worked out quite well. I disregarded the subtle/slight costume switch and just referred to her as Woody Allen for the duration of the evening anyway. Although my boyfriend, Jackson, threw together a spanking good Woody Allen last minute, I feel my Annie Hall was recognizable enough to stand alone. This was not the case, however, of the dress-up soiree I went to a couple of years ago dressed as Sharon Tate. Jackson did not go as Squeaky Fromme per my suggestion and instead dressed as Sawyer from Lost which everyone of course recognized immediately; meanwhile, I am just some jamoke in a 60′s style shift dress with weird hair and a butt-ton of eyeliner.
After the previous costume misstep, I decided to go to the party the following year as something very distinct, simple and creepy: a nun. For the most part the nuns I have encountered have been some mighty mean, disturbing old bags. My eighth grade teacher was a nun and would never allow the girls in the class to push the T.V. cart, claiming that we would not be able to bear children as the cart pushing would somehow damage our reproductive organs. Had I been dim enough to believe this idiotic notion I would have pushed the shit out of that cart. There was also an unfortunate run-in with a nun while I was visiting the Vatican City in Rome. I was in close proximity to St. Peter’s Basilica when a nun marched towards me and began shouting at me and poking me in the chest. I had committed the mortal sin of revealing my bare arms kind of sort of close to the church. My Sicilian companion was livid about the event and was dedicated to seeking out the nun responsible for the offense, asking that I point out the specific nun to him. This was complicated and a bit problematic as there are a multitude of identical looking nuns in Vatican City, not to mention, there is also an Italian superstition that if you spot a nun you must hit the closest person to you or you will be cursed with ‘bad sex’ for seven years. Therefore, our jaunt around Vatican City went something like this… My companion: “Is that her?” Me: “No.” This was followed by the two of us smacking each other in unison.
So yes, nuns are readily distinguishable, mean and eerie, making the nun getup itself a fine choice of costume for my friend Mug’s Halloween party a few years back. I opted to wear a dark simple fitted suit dress and the classic nun headdress. As to be expected, there was another nun at the gathering, but she had a good twenty years on me and was donning a floor-length shapeless job. The party was fun, we rocked out to some classic jams like XTC’s “Making Plans For Nigel”, had tasty nosh and beverages and then went home. A seemingly grand time was had by all, so naturally I was markedly addled the following morning when I received a strange phone call from my friend and host of the aforementioned gathering. The awkward conversation was prefaced by her saying, “I hate to even ask this, but were you in the bathroom with Mindy’s husband?” Apparently Mindy had called my friend, Mugs, in a frantic state, claiming that she saw the ‘nun girl’ coming out of the bathroom with her husband. This delusional vision had consequently caused a colossal argument between the couple and had resulted in the ‘husband sleeping on the couch’ scenario. My response to this unexpected and derisory accusation was to brusquely offer, “Maybe it was the other nun.”
I am attaching a video from the recently recommended to me, Amanda Blank. This song seemed fitting somehow.