Crazy Bitches, Scary Movies & One Hell of a Party

A couple of months ago I received the following text message from my dear friend, Linda: “Would you be willing to wear nothing but a t-shirt and panties and have a hatchet in your face for the Halloween party? Kostas will be wearing a bandana diaper and an Indian headdress so you wouldn’t be the least-dressed. Let me know.” I read the text, cocked my head to one side, shrugged my shoulders and typed, “I’d be willing to consider that.” In my world, this is a completely normal text exchange to be having on a Tuesday morning in June.

And so it begins - preparations for my friend’s annual Halloween Party Extravaganza. This year the theme is Friday the 13th (the original). It’s our first slasher film and we gave some consideration to each of us dressing in the outfit in which our character died, hence the t-shirt and panties for me (the party-planners typically come as the cast of the film after which the party is themed). But that would also mean my boyfriend – a newcomer to this group – would be wearing only tighty-whities with an arrow stuck through his neck. Don’t get me wrong, Troy is not only a very good sport, but also completely capable of rocking the tighty-whities, but I recognize that’s probably too much to ask (at least this early in the relationship – maybe next year).

I have so many hilarious memories from this party, but one of my favorites is from the year we did Rosemary’s Baby. Linda was Mia Farrow’s character, Rosemary. For the first part of the night she was “pregnant Rosemary” and for the second part, “half-crazed, what-the-hell-happened-to-my-baby Rosemary.” When it was time to make the switch, Linda pulled me aside, leaned in close, held both hands slightly in front of her in a “remain calm” gesture and said furtively, “OK – I’m going upstairs to give birth. Get that devil baby out of the pantry and sneak it into the creepy bassinet.” Then she turned on her heel without waiting for my reply and rushed up the stairs. This exchange took place directly in front of the bar where Sheldon, the bartender who has been working at this party for at least four years, stood shaking his head in disbelief. You’d think by now we could no longer shock him, but at least once a year Sheldon shakes his head and mutters under his breath. I can’t be sure, but I think he might be saying, “Crazy bitches.”

• "You drank all this vodka while you were setting up for the party? (Crazy bitches.)"
• "Lori, stop! You can’t pound that wire into her shoe while her foot is in it!" (Our idea to make the birds “fly” at Traci for her Birds costume.) "(Crazy bitches.)"
• "Yes, I can hide these extra jugs of blood behind the bar in case you need them later. (Crazy bitches.)"
• "You can buy a box of plastic Jesuses on eBay? (Crazy bitches.)"
• "OK, I won’t set up the bar in front of the gateway to hell. (Crazy bitches.)"

I can’t wait to see what will inspire Sheldon’s head-shaking, “crazy bitches” moment this year. Creating an event as elaborate as Linda’s Halloween party requires months of planning, attention to detail, an entire weekend of hard work and a healthy dose of crazy. I love the crazy bitches with whom I work on this party. They are my dearest friends...truly my soul sisters. Halloween party weekend is my favorite weekend of the year because it’s about far more than a scary party. It's about friendships so strong they're imprinted on my heart and love and laughter so powerful I'm renewed and energized for an entire year.  Of course it's also about fun, far too much Tex-Mex, booze & cigarettes and scary movies and all the poor souls killed off in them (this year courtesy of Jason Vorhees, circa 1980’s Friday the 13th). And nothing could be better for my soul.

Last week I received an e-mail from Linda with a picture of a large shipping crate. Her e-mail said, “You know it’s getting to be that time of year when this arrives on your doorstep.” Upon closer examination I realized that printed on the side of the crate was, “Life Size Jason Vorhees.” I have to admit, I teared up a little. I love my crazy bitches.