Halloween in a Foreign Country

This post is the child of my sudden realization that I will be missing Halloween, the most revered of all holidays that are not Christmas and Thanksgiving, in the United States. You know, I wouldn't be as upset about missing Halloween had I been able to make the biggest zombie walk in all of Europe that was held in the city where I currently reside. My father happened to be visiting that weekend and I didn't think it too kind to tell him I'd rather be with the rest of the freaks in this town walking like a god damn zombie for a mile. But honestly... missing the biggest zombie walk in Europe? Cut me a break, baby Jesus.

Reasons Halloween in the United States is superior:

1. It's expected of me to have at least two to three costumes because Halloween is not one night. It's like a three day thing. Let us celebrate multiple personality disorder and cos-play.

I'm talkin' blood-lusting zombie to smooth-as-velvet greaser to fucking Jack Sparrow. I once was Edward Scissor Hands and wore a leather coat. my mother's leather coat. backwards. get at me.

My chameleon status.

Note how zombie me fails to have feet.. clearly, I ate them myself. Also, I refuse to draw hands. That's why zombie me's left arm looks like a skinny penis and Jack.. has uncircumcised penis arms. I'm actually just noticed Jack's arms. I'm appalled. Greaser me is fly as fuck, however. Can we talk about those purple shades? I may or may not have those in real life and I may or may not wear them regularly.

2. In the United States, it's only mildly frowned upon to go from house to house past, like, 9th grade in high school. I continued to go until, well, now. I was never shunned or spat upon but I feel like here in France (where apparently it's considered inappropriate to smile at people on the street) I would be seriously judged. In french. I also don't know how to say "trick or treat" outside of my mother tongue and I feel like stumbling my way through the closest thing to it: "give me all of your candy," would seem like a threat.

Here is Audecdote and I. Clearly, she is Bellatrix Lestrange and I am supposed to be an asylum escapee, however, I look more like Ozzy Osbourne post bat-devouring. We were in our senior year, I believe.

3. In America, we have a wonderful love of scaring the shit out of ourselves! Hence all of the seasonal, murderous hayrides, haunted houses, disturbing porch displays with motion-activated screaming mummies, the Halloween movies on constant repeat on television, our use of black cats as a scapegoat for our shitty luck, and the obesity in a cup that is Pumpkin Spice Lattes from Starbucks (oh, how I long to suckle at your teat). Contrastingly, in France.. I have yet to see a pumpkin, much less a god damn gourd with those horrific warts!

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Sweet fuckery, that gourd's mother HATED him! Can I ask how that is even evolutionarily advantageous?? Yes, let me look like exposed body fat, terminal acne and a Hagrid's scrotum all at once, that'll keep me on top. However.. I miss them.

The only reason Halloween might be better in Europe is for the ladies. In the States, Halloween is your one chance to dress like a complete slut and be only semi-judged for it. In Europe, apparently they dress like sluts on the reg:

That's "slutwalk" if you didn't catch it.

 I'm going to miss being in the limousine of death, driven by a middle-aged man with red eyes and a mullet and his female (?) cohort. Then there was being dragged out of said limo by chainsaw-wielding clowns. sigh.. it's just not the same.

Quimsical's European Adventures (part 1?)

What the fuck. I haven't been in the blogosphere in like, many months and, for that, I apologize because I know how much my presence has been missed: page views have been off the charts - not. Flatline. You've all killed me with your lack of love. Just kidding, I did this to myself.

Anyway! I have so much shit to fill y'all in on. Since the last time I wrote a post on this majestic blog, I have been to 5 European countries and am now residing in one. I'm not gonna say it because I don't want to get stalked. Just kidding, it's France. The point of me telling you this isn't to be like, "oh, I'm so worldly now and I only condone wearing leather jackets and high top sneakers.. Meehh," in fact, it is simply to tell you all how much WEIRD shit has happened to me, or I have witnessed since being here. I will tell my anecdotes in order of least strange to most strange, or on the scale of "public toddler urination to gypsy curses."

1. I was admiring the gorgeous architecture in central Berlin and glanced down at my arm to see two bugs fucking each other on it. I flicked those shits off but later reflected on it and decided I was actually kind of flattered. My arm screams sketchy motel hookups.

2. An elderly woman was walking down the stairs as I was walking up them in a beautiful old castle. She must have been super excited because she decided to skip a step and consequently fell into the wall nearest her, ricocheted off of that wall and was making a beeline for me. My instinct for self preservation manifested itself in me sticking my arm out (I also hoped to save her from falling down stairs made of pure stone). Did I save her? No. She has already semi-caught her footing and I ended up punching this poor, old German woman directly in her chicken cutlet breast. Needless to say I blushed and wanted to fly away like Russel Edgington in True Blood.

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3. "I just wanna go out and dance tonight!" The harmless utterance that resulted in.. Well, you'll see. So, Wrocław, Poland has a pretty decent nightlife and my mates (friends don't exist in Europe..) and I decided to give it a try. Ah, the bar with the red awning looks good! Enter we did. The bar had a nice vibe and the downstairs dance floor was pretty decent. As the night went on and the shots started to wear off, strange things were noticed.. Like, the portrait of Mao Zedong on the wall and the one of Stalin opposite him. Oh, then the one of Che Guevera. Then I began to notice that everyone was at LEAST 38-45 in this bar and all dancing like they had no arms. As I rested on the guard rail, I observed the fine detail work. Hmm, a sickle. Man, all of the lights in here are red... And so was the awning. In .002838 seconds, my eyes widen, my buzz dies like it was shot in the face, and I realize that we are in a middle-aged Communist bar. The despicable dancing should have been the first sign.. We left alive, un-sacrificed, and uninitiated into any sort of underground gang.

4. To begin with, public transportation isn't my strong point. I am always clammy-handed thinking that I will end up on the wrong side of town. So, with this worry floating around in my mind, I wait for my tram. Waiting at a tram stop late at night is also not one of my favorite things to do, which is why I always pretend to be talking to someone, whether it be texting or speaking, on my phone. Not the best strategy. Noot the best strategy. I'm approached by two men. My heart's pace quickens and I get really involved in the 'text message' I'm composing, only this time I wonder if I should actually compose something - a cry for help or my will. I'm spoken to. [I'll translate the french into true English]
Guy: "Eh, j'ai besoin de ton portable" = Yo, bitch, I need your ghetto ass phone, you're not even texting anyone.
Me: "Euh.. non, je ne fume pas." = Umm, no thanks, I don't smoke. <-- me being a fucking idiot
Guy: "Non! Ton portable. Donne-moi ton portable." = No, you piece of shit, give me your phone, I wouldn't ever offer you one of my cigarettes anyway.
Me: "Uhh, non merci. Je n'ai pas de..." = Um, no thanks.. I don't have <-- me stopping myself from saying that I don't have a cellphone.. because I realized that it was in my hand.
Guy: grabs phone from me and calls his girlfriend, then shoves it back in my hand.
Me: "Merci!" = thank you for not killing me, do you have any hand sanitizer?

See how that played out?? I was the one who ended up saying thank you! After being harassed for my phone, I said thank you; probably because I was thankful that I still had a heartbeat and that I had my phone back. Fuck. At least I got on the right tram.

5. Just chillin' in the park. Little toddler walks by with her mother and she is complaining about something ridiculous. Oh, she has to pee. Well, hold it like the rest of civilization. No. That mother was on her game and spared no time de-robing her very own daughter in public by ripping her frilly tutu off. Then, something happened that looked way too well rehearsed: the mother lifted the child up so that the child's back was against the mother's stomach and her legs were in stirrup position. What ensued, I have not words to describe. Shameless, the child exploded a stream of pee that made Niagra Falls blush. It went on for a solid 25-30 seconds, too. This little girl was not kidding. Tutu was pulled back on, scooter was remounted and off they went into the sunset.

6. Waiting to pay for a delicious dinner of mystery-meat dumplings in Poland, a pregnant gypsy and her son began to approach my group's table. Let me say, dis ain't no Esmerelda. She looked like she had just crawled out of Katy Perry's garbage can, if that helps you visualize her. I immediately girded my loins and felt for my wallet in my pocket. It was there. She would have to cross many a boundary to get to it, however, I felt that she wouldn't object to violating me. Her squinty eyes scanned our table and then, of course, because my life is a joke, the kid next to me, who has decided to pay with nearly all coins, drops them ALL on the ground. Her tongue flicks and she whips her head in our direction. "Jesus, pick it up!" I say, keeping my eye on the gypsy kid, I can tell he's already a swift thief. Phew, all the coins have been picked up and the gypsy slows her pace. All is well until HE DROPS EVERYTHING AGAIN. This time, the gypsy screeches and throws her hands in the air and her son turns into the devil and runs straight for me. At least, that's how it went down in my head. He picked up the coins again, this time in the nick of time, as the gypsy rounds our table. She then murmurs some ugly words and makes some hand motions in our direction, the whole time, her stare unwavering. And that was the day I was presumably cursed by a gypsy.

These are just some of my stories and I'm more than certain that more will come.. Until next time!

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