Kids, I F-cking Hate Halloween
Seriously. I know it’s the holiday for all the weird kids, but I guess I’m the contrarian, again, because I just can’t get into it.
I’m down with dressing like a superhero and eating candy. Let’s be very clear on that. There’s nothing in my vague and situational belief system that is against wearing a cape and eating an entire pillowcase filled with Kit-Kats and Reese’s Cups.
I’m pretty sure that’s how my perfect date would end; on a rooftop, caped, the two of us enjoying a sack of candy as the city sleeps quietly under a blanket of justice.
However, Halloween, I can’t really get behind.
First off, I never plan ahead for my costume which always means I’m a ninja because A.) as a fat guy most of my wardrobe is in dark colors, B.) I own several pairs of nunchuks and I’m always happy to walk around with them in public and C.) y’know…the Asian thing…
Or I’m Green Lantern because A.) I love the Green Lantern B.) I own several Green Lantern shirts, and C.) my week’s just not complete if I don’t get to explain, out loud, who the Green Lantern is and what he does.
“Uh…he’s a superhero, but only on Earth, otherwise he’s like a space-cop/military guy. His powers are that he has a wishing ring. It becomes more or less powerful depending on his willpower. Yes, I supposed it does depend on whether or not he wishes hard enough, but that’s not how I’d put it. You’re going to leave now and go talk to those people over there, now? Excellent. I look forward to an entire evening of ‘accidental’ eye contact with you.”
See? Why would I ever want to give up that sense of awkwardness?
As a straight, red-blooded, American male who likes his beer cold and his steak rare I’m supposed to get excited about women using the holiday to whore it out hardcore.
And I do get excited about it.
Ladies, if I could pause for a moment during my sad bastard rant and get real, keep doing what you’re doing. People are going to tell you that it’s dumb or cliche to dress like a sexy nurse, Slave Leia, or a slutty Care Bear, but just remember, them bitches are trifling bitches, and trifling bitches always be jealous. This is both Troof and Real Talk.
Where was I?
Ah yes, my excitement for all the sexy women costumes.
I do get excited. I get so excited that I actually try to talk to these women. This is rare for me. I’ve had some bad experiences. Maybe I should be more self-confident. Maybe I should stop walking up to women, pointing at my crotch and saying, “Oh? This?” then winking “seductively.”
I just don’t know. It’s a mystery.
I will usually approach a woman who’s dressed as either a superhero or something nerd friendly to make conversation and then get shot down.
Now, this isn’t different from 99.5% of my interactions with the fairer sex, however being shot down by Wonder Woman, of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or a Sexy Prostitute is especially crushing.
It also doesn’t help that I look like this:
But, you know, all the time.
Third, I don’t like being scared. I don’t get it. Jumping out of a plane, which I will never, ever, ever do, I understand. You’re looking Death in the eye and then cheating it. Bungee jumping, running with the bulls, cage fighting, and all the other scary things a person can do to get their adrenaline up makes sense to me in the theoretical sense, but scary movies?
You sit down to be creeped out by either your own home, strangers, old buildings, or to jump as the movie startles you over and over again. Why?
Psychologically, I can’t jive with the M.O. of most horror movies; the victim has to just take it. They can’t or don’t fight back. The entire Scream series would have never happened because the killer would have been caught ten minutes in if someone in that movie just took a self-defense class at the Y. I love all the Alien movies, because even though the characters (except Ripley) are completely fucked and out of their depth, they get to fight back. The SAW movies, which I will never watch, are people just having to take it. It’s not the gore or the blood, it’s the feeling of helplessness. I hate it in real life, why would I pay to do it to myself?
It’s largely vanity. I don’t want people to see me jump or be scared. A lot of it is instilled Chinese patriarchy and Cowboy machismo, but I hang out almost exclusively with comedians and writers and those cruel and callous motherfuckers just do not forget. I’d rather show weakness in front someone who wants to fight me than any of my friends.
I recently moved to a nice part of town. This means money and free time. So a lot of the homes on my walk to and from work went overboard decorating for Halloween. If you’ve never been to LA, most homes are enclosed. This was the most jarring change for me from the Midwest. Every house has iron bars on the windows and is surrounded by a wall or fence. Many people, have a hedge wall.
These people stick claws and witches’ boots in the the hedges. One house put those hologram monster eyes that follow you around the room in their wall. I’m utterly convinced that as we approach Halloween, these homes will turn all their decorations on; everything will lurch or scream at me; I’ll jump, and then everyone laughs at me. Bear in mind, I’m walking alone, and there’s no one around.
The final part is, I have a very active imagination. Thanks to a lifetime of comic books, scifi novels, monster movies (like Godzilla monster, not Pumpkinhead monster), video games, and the fact that I am a story-topper, I can take any concept and run with it. Plus, like Batman, I like to plan for everything. I did a blog a while ago about how to survive anything, zombies, ninjas, robots, dinosaurs, etc. I didn’t write that blog for fun. Most of the advice is stuff that I thought up walking around, or cooking, or as the credits roll on the movie I just watched.
However, unlike Batman, I’m an idiot.
So I eventually will run into a problem I can’t solve. There will be a contingency with no way out. I’ll watch a movie, see something I never even thought about, and then the gears just start racing again. My imagination is not exactly fire and forget.
This leaves me wandering around an empty house wondering if every noise is the home settling or if the building’s now filled with ninjas or chainsaw maniacs. I walk to and from work early in the morning or late at night when the streets are empty and all I can think about is how boned I’d be if there was suddenly a zombie attack or we were invaded by aliens.
I’m being completely serious. These are thoughts I think all the time.
So take me just hanging out and being me, and combine that with a horror movie and I can’t sleep. Because Freddy will get me. Or Michael Meyers is out there and if I’m asleep I can’t stop him from murdering me. Or if I’m asleep I’ll be the last to know about the zombies.
I’ve completely psyched myself out of a holiday that is all about dressing like Spider-Man, sexy women in costumes, and candy.
It sucks, and I hate it.
Matt Loman is the Scaredy-Cat editor for Nonstop Karate. He’s completely aware how ironic it is that one of his favorite bands is the Misfits.