What Buying a Halloween Costume is Like in Your Mid Twenties


When it comes to Halloween two things become abundantly clear – you now have an excuse to buy and eat a whole bag of Reese Peanut Butter Cups and it’s that time of year again where guys get an opportunity to don fake blood and crazy, goofy outfits while us girls have a pick of sexy nurse or sexy school girl costumes. Of course, there are always a select few creative females who make cute and culturally relevant costumes that make the rest of us look like unoriginal skanks, but (and I’ll speak for just myself here), “ain’t nobody got time for that.” Because really, who has time to go to Michaels, and Joan’s Fabric Store and an inevitable stop at Spencers in the mall to build their own DIY costume; all so they can get asked a million times, “What are you?” while the rest of your friends scurry around in lingerie? Hard pass for me on that one.

So starts the dilemma of deciding whether or not you’ll go as something scary or sexy. About a week out from Halloween you grab your closet gal pals and head to some previously abandoned warehouse to try on a bunch of overpriced dresses with garter belts and cheap accessories. Because we’re a fat shaming society, female Halloween costumes come in size small, medium, or large and that’s it. Your inner brain will try to tell you that this is stupid and you are too old for Halloween because you will see pictures of your 16 year old cousins and friends of your younger siblings dressed as if they’re shooting a Maxim cover instead of going out for Halloween. You also run into the problem of having already been every cliche sexy Halloween costume there is already. Those facts, coupled with that you’d would much rather be spending you Saturday in your sweatpants, makes you want to leave the store immediately.

You decide to pick a few things that are sexy but also appropriate enough that if anyone from work saw you in it they wouldn’t wonder why you were dressed for a Playboy party. The dressing rooms are just sheets hanging from metal bars but you manage to squeeze yourself into, what seems to be a 10,000 piece costume before pulling back and taking it all in. It looks ok. You can foresee several “likes” in your future when you post a picture of yourself (much drunker than this I might add) in said costume. You are only moderately irritated to hear the college girls next to you talk about how they need to go to Zumba everyday this week to fit into their costumes even though their about a size 0. They are going as a group costume of sexy M&M’s. Gross.

For a minute you debate going as a decapitated zombie like the little boy running around as you wait in line to buy your $35 sexy scientist outfit (hey- it’s still feminism). You realize that as much as we blame male society for creating this sexualized idea of Trick-or-Treating that it’s kind nice to have a holiday where you get to express your sultry side. You’re tempted to say empowering before you realize you need to stop at Target for a new Push-up bra and immediately recant your sentiment. In front of you is a little girl with a simple princess costume like you had when you were young and you smile at her and ask her what type of Princess she’s going to be. “Queen Elsa.” She says with a duh expression on her face.

You somehow manage to get out of the store spending $20 more than you thought. You try on your costume again only to see a small hole in it – figures. You end up spending the day before Halloween at Ross throwing together a sexy cowgirls outfit before calling it a night and swearing you’ll do better next year. If there is a next year. Fuck Halloween.


A Guy I Dated in College is About to Have a Baby and This is How I Feel About It

I’m back bitches! After a nearly 3 week hiatus from writing on this blog I have an exclusive piece just for you. Enjoy and expect lots more original stuff in the weeks to come!

He was the only guy I ever really dated. Meaning we weren’t ever really “official” but we often spent weekends together, seeing movies and going out to dinner before going back to his apartment for wine and.. .you know… other things. I was in my sophomore year at George Washington and he was a 24 year old bartender at the restaurant I hostessed at. I guess you could say I was a total cliche for my age, thinking I was grown up and yet being much more naive than I cared to admit. He was what the most interesting guy I’d ever met. He was from a small town in Arkansas and looked every bit like it. Blonde hair, bright blue eyes, built and slightly taller than me when I didn’t wear heels. But he was different than his what he looked like. He spoke three languages fluently, read classics and meaty philosophy books in his spare time. He was incredibly fit but also visited a rock climbing gym a few times a week. He was charming, cultured, and an extreme foodie, always taking me out to great hole-in-the-wall joints in Virginia and classy sushi places in the heart of DC. One time he even came to a holiday christmas party with my family and when I foolishly got piss drunk of off a mixture of brandy & eggnog and Sangria (I was 19, don’t judge me) then threw up all over the bathroom he cleaned me and it all up, put me to bed, and called me the next day. That’s the kind of person he was.

Thinking back on it now it felt like we dated for a while but reflecting on it even further I realize it couldn’t have been much more than a season (I told you I was cliche). It ended clean and without drama; we both agreed that . For a girl barely out of her teens it was the first experience I’d ever had where no one felt vindictive or spiteful afterwards. We mutually decided it had run it’s course, and we went our separate ways. We worked together for another few months before he decided it was time to go travel the world and experience life. His last day at the restaurant I gave him a bottle of wine and a hug, which he received well and told me to keep in touch. We did via Facebook, and without even remembering him I went on with my life.

He would sporadically pop up on my news feed ever now in then. I would often like his pictures from Brazil and New Zealand. Somewhere around my senior year I started seeing picture of him with an older woman and watched as the pictures turned to home life, them moving in together, and small wedding ceremony I think. Then a few months ago a sonogram photo with a caption about finally becoming a dad. I paused and thought about him deeply for the first time in a long time. I remember his apartment and the long metro rides I would take to visit him. This person who was now going to be a dad had at one point been a part of my life – even if for a moment, and that made me happy and sad all at the same time.

I am now the age he was when we dated. I aways saw him as so put together when now I realize he was just getting his head on straight. Now he’s married, starting a family and it seems that the markers of my youth are also aging. We he was in my life all I wanted was to speed up time and get to this end – to that part that he’s in now and yet seeing it makes me want to go to room and hide under the sheet. I wanted to save him too. I know that sounds bad because he’s about to experience the happiest moments in his life, but to me he will always be this free spirit, untapped by anything, dreaming about everything.It was as if seeing him all grown up made me see how much time has passed, how we all move forward and that chapter in his life has finished. I desperately wanted to grab him back through the pages, but selfishly – so that I could still feel young, so I could stay in my ending chapter of early twenties where he had once been.

Those feelings have sense faded and for now I just like his many baby update statuses and send him good wishes. It feels weird to want that because I still feel too young to be wishing any of my ex’s good luck on his new baby. Still, these type of life events will continue to happen to more people I know, and then my closet friends, and then me because time can’t stop, the best you can do is take each chapter and write the hell out of it.