Sunday, November 1, 2009


The above photo is a During picture. Below that is an After picture. The photos below are Before pictures. This morning was not one of my finest. Wilted bunny. Halloween was one for the books. I wrote this last night while waiting for my guests to arrive:


A priest smokes outside, pacing on the sidewalk. His cross swings with each step. A French bunny sits inside, drinking wine, and typing precariously so her freshly painted nails won’t bugger up. Devendra sings in his mother tongue on the north side of the red house. Yellow curtains are swished to one side of the window impatiently and the traffic blurs past, unabated by the rabbit girl standing in the giant window frame.

I am waiting for my guests.

There is bread and oil and vinegar, there is chocolate, cheese, carrots and wine aplenty. Trick or treat.

I am wearing a rabbit hood from the Forties (it is nearly crumbling it is so old), a fakey fur jacket the perfect shade of winter white, the heavy rimmed glasses (I only wear the black frames when I want to feel like a spy), a satin pin up body suit from the Fifties the color of lapis lazuli. Grey pantyhose expose more thigh than ever before and the sky-high patent tuxedo heels do not help. To finish, there is an oversized pink raw hemmed silk bowtie with white polka dots.

It is Halloween.

Better yet, it is my first Halloween in this amazing neighborhood.

I just looked out the window while surveying my neighborhood from above. After spotting the smoking priest, I saw a leopard being zipped up in a tight, tight bodysuit behind the till at Ragpickers. My eyes shifted and I saw Trainor walking to the corner wearing nothing but a black bra, a black tutu, black polka dot tights, unbelievable shoes, and a million black feathers encasing her giant hair. Instantly I snapped my fingers and said, “crow” to myself. She knocked on my door on her way up to the sixth floor (I am on the first floor) and said she was a crow. After Trainor, I saw the boys from Royal Canoe drive up and pull away. After they drove away, some fair lady from My Fair Lady swept down the stairs leading up to the second level of Ragpickers (my favorite vintage store) and poked her gigantic-hatted head out the door. Our eyes met (I was still standing in the window) and I curtsied and she did too in her giant frock. Her hat fell off and I felt bad.

After my guests come and the wine is gone and the food consumed, we will walk one block (in our tallest shoes) to Ace Art where Sula’s party is unfolding as I type.

I love Halloween. BYOTC.


Now I am sitting at the coffeeshop, poaching internet and listening to Andrew Bird. Everything hurts. My head hurts. Good party. I woke up naked and holding a brick of cheese. Oh to be young. As good as this year was, I couldn't help but wish a certain Ursula and the Sun himself were at my thigh high side last night. Next year.

I need to go drink a liter of water.


  1. In the after photo you look like a painting. Munch, or Klimt maybe. Holla.

  2. I want to steal your jumper. You look ravishing. I completely agree that next year we should try for Halloween in the same city.