Halloween with the royal court

Man am I sleepy. Again. Last night as I was waiting for my Friend to pick me up I heard trick-or-treaters in the hallway. I panicked. Mine is an apartment building with - I thought - no children and I had no candy. I rifled around and located a tiny Snickers, a tiny Almond Joy and a ring pop left over from the Kickin' it Old Skool party I went to like a year ago. After that I was eying the apples, which would no doubt have made me an enemy for life among the children.

Fortunately they never showed up at my door. They did, however, wander in adorable droves around my neighborhood.

Friend and I went to the WeHo Halloween street carnival and wandered around. Once more she was dressed as punk rock riding hood and I was dressed as a boxer, only this time I put on my gloves and held them up as I walked down the street.

For some reason this made me very popular. People took pictures with me and of me, and about eight million men and women tried to punch either my glove or me. One drunk guy actually tried to fight me one-handed. He seemed somewhat surprised when I blocked his shots.

Several people tried to convince me to punch their friends in the face. I declined. On guy dressed as Travis Bickle (Taxi Driver) asked me to show him my best left hook so I threw a right cross and nearly caught him in the jaw. I have difficulty following directions.

But the queens - the queens were lovely. It's a land of gay men in the entertainment industry - there's no better place to see elaborate costumes poured onto insanely skinny and tan male bodies. I especially liked the Transformer Transvestites. And why are trannies always so damn tall? Don't short men ever like to put on women's clothing?

The only people in the crowd not having fun were the self-righteous fundamentalist Christians who stood in the median holding up signs admonishing us all for our sins and ordering us to repent immediately. Lighten the hell up and have a good time, fundies. There were several Jesuses in the crowd; surely that's a sign that Halloween is okay, right?

The best thing about walking up and down a street full of queens in costume is the overheard comments I can now use in a script. My favorites:

"....a blow job in this outfit?"
"No. Fuck that. Fuck a fucking clown, man."
"I think I was just molested by a drag queen."
"Yeah, but that's a fucking football referee. That's a fucking gay sport. Soccer's a real sport, man."

On the way out through the ridiculous amount of traffic we drove right past a gay couple dressed as Little Red Riding Hood and a Boxer. We were so excited we tried to roll down the window and explain the awesomeness of the situation of them being the gay male version of us but the car in front of us moved forward, and when you're stuck in post-West-Hollywood-Halloween traffic and the car in front of you moves, you advance your ass or someone will ram you. So those dudes will never know.

All in all, it was totally worth the stupid traffic and $20 valet parking in the ghetto lot up the giant hill. I was really glad I was wearing tennis shoes.