So this year, I was a murdered schoolgirl, after having been Amy Winehouse last year, a dead Indian previously, the hidden dead sister of the Williams sisters before that, a dead actress from the 50's before, and a series of highly interestting crazy dead people that I've now forgtten.
Don't ask me where I find the imagination to interprete all these dead people, for some reason when it comes to death, my imagination flows
My roomate was a butcher.
We went to a house-party in la Garenne Colombes, a cosy suburb 30 minutes away from Paris.
Few french celebrate Halloween, which I find kind of sad.
See, my people think dressing up is kind of ridiculous, at best childish,
I think it's bullshit, hence I dress up whenever I can.
Anyway, the hosts of this celebration did things big.
Candies and skulls and plastic rats, brooms, skeletons, fake fingers, vodka and strawberry juice...
The real shit baby,
So the party's on, and it's all fun and everything, and my schoolgirl's outfit has succes because a bunch of 22 year-old boys are hitting on me, which is always flattering.
And then I talk with this guy disguised as the Mask, and he happens to be quiet funny.
So I give him my number -which is something I never do anymore, but now I'm a bit worried that he's just ugly when I see him for real.
A similar incident happened to a friend of mine during a costume party. He was disguised as a goth and brought a sexy lady punk at his place. Turned out she was a real one, and it was no disguise. The actual tatoos of the girl got him scared -wuss!
Well I'll see. If it turns out that young man has an ACTUAL green skin, weel, at least, he's gotta have a good sense of humor, right?
Anyway, my roomate and I stayed to sleep over there -his cousin lived by the house of the party.
It's always a bit gloomy and nostalgic, kind of romantic in the real meaning of the word, a bit poetic, the day after Halloween, especially in here since we all go to the cemteries in order to give flowers to our deads. I left my friends, heading to the station, still had fake blood on my clothes, was hungovered and you took a train, listenned to Nina Simone sing her melancholy, and it was rainy so I craved fudge lollipops -somehow I associate rain and fudge lollipops.
I arrived in Saint-Lazarre, and it reminded me of that impressionist painting called "L'arrivee a Saint-Lazarre" -effective title indeed.
Passed by the Galeries Lafayette, which were closed as always on sundays,
And went back to bed all day long.
Halloween is my Xmas, it's funny and it's sad, and I like that.
