Hubby and I attended my friend Lindsay's Halloween party last night. (She was dressed as JonBenet Ramsey, complete with babydoll dress and pageant sash that read "never good enough.") I was Amy Winehouse and Hubs was Kenny (f*cking) Powers.
Not many people knew who Kenny Powers was, but Hubby worked it. And it was amusing to see him wearing a mullet. I wished to make my ensemble as realistic as possible, so in addition to my bouffant wig, wife beater and black skinny jeans, I added dark circles under my eyes, temporary tatts and bruises on my arms. I also puffed on fake ciggies all night. Indeed, as the evening wore on, my pretend nicotine habit escalated to two or three smokes at a time. (Very hardcore. People kept asking me for a light.)
This morning I reflected on the fact that I'd posed for many a snapshot, always in character. I even mugged for the camera with a friend "burning" my forearm with one of the fake cigarettes. At one point the girl dressed as Courtney Love pretended to shoot her syringe into my arm. (Say cheese!) Surely these photos will be ones to show the (hypothetical) grandkids.
We live in a one bedroom apartment, always tight on space, but somehow I don't have the heart to throw my Winehouse weave away. She's been hanging out in our hallway all day, smoking and cursing...
Surely there must be room for a bouffant in my life? Perhaps I'll wear her to work tomorrow.
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