Mike’s Halloween History

October 28, 2009

Dammit, I have nothing new to say about Halloween (click here for 2008 and 2009 Mike’s thoughts on this god-sent amazing holiday… I think that line just gave away 2008 and 2009 Mike’s thoughts on it. Oh, well.) so I will give you a brief history of my past Halloween costumes:

1994 (the first grade): For some odd reason, I have been opposed to buying generic Halloween costumes my entire life . For instance, in the first grade, when everyone bought the same black ninja costumes, my mother made me an orange Crayola crayon costume (complete with pointy hat for the top of the crayon). Call it what you will. I call it original. And awesome. This started a long history of home-made costumes.

1997 (the fourth grade): I was my Martin Brodeur, goaltender of the New Jersey Devils, and my favorite athlete at the time (my costume did not include the part about him cheating on his wife with her sister). I wore my own goalie equipment (that excitingly will come out of retirement this Thanksgiving for the first time in 4.5 years), complete with my goalie mask (to hide my disapproval of the thirty other black ninjas in the class).

2001 (freshman year of high school): After realizing that middle school Mike was totally uncool for not trick or treating or dressing up (I think it had something to do with girls my age hadn’t found out about slutty costumes yet, or matured enough to fill slutty costumes properly), I sewed my own costume with a friend. We were Towelie from South Park. Granted, no one really appreciated it (“What are you a smurf?” “A towel that does what?” “Get off my lawn”) but I loved the costume. I still have it hanging in the basement of my house, where for some reason, it is still not appreciated (“Why does this towel have a face on it?”).

2004 (senior year of high school): This was a crowning moment for my friends and I, as we were Oompa Loompas, decked out in orange paint, green wigs, white overalls, and a certain creepiness that repelled all women. It was pretty classic nonetheless. We carried around a boombox playing the original Oompa Loompa songs on repeat (not to be confused with the songs in the Johnny Depp version that came out one year later). This kind of signaled a full circle type thing for my high school friends and I: our fifth grade play was Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory so this was an ode to that. Plus, who would turn down sweating off orange face paint onto people you don’t like?

2007 (junior year of college): This year was when I truly began to realize how awesome Halloween could be. For the first two years of college, I mainly stayed out of the spotlight with my Halloween costumes (mainly because I just wanted to be an anonymous spectator) but this year, I dressed up as one of my closest friends, mainly because he had some distinct character traits and lines that people would recognize and appreciate, but most importantly, I wanted to prove that I could be a better him than he was himself (that’s a tongue twister). I will not write what my actual goal was for the evening (inquire within) but I’m sure you could figure it out. However, for days after Halloween, I found myself finding Gold Bond in places no one should have it.

2008 (senior year of college): This year, I dressed up as Cartman (what can I say I love South Park). Here, I also made my own costume, as I saw a Cartman costume in the costume store but it was $80. Screw that. I think I want to bring up this Halloween mainly because of the absurdity of that Halloween night. At the local college bar we frequented a lot (including two weekends ago, which just ended with me waking up wondering why me and every one of my friends signed our bodies with permanent markers), AXE (yes, the body spray) hosted a Halloween event for the release of their newest spray, “Chocolate.” From context clues, I’m sure you guessed there would be a lot of chocolate products, and this just did not go well with the idea of having a couple hundred drunk college kids who were hungry. I woke up the next morning with my costume still on (including the pillow I put in my stomach to make myself Cartman sized… this probably was the greatest idea to sleep with though) and my shirt covered with chocolate (damn you fondu) that got all over my bed. I searched my pockets and found about 15 full-sized candy bars, pretty melted and gross. I have a lot of memories (and some fleeting ones) of this evening where I learned a valuable lesson: don’t be drunk and play around hot fondu.

As for 2009, I still have no idea what I’m going to be. For the past couple years I would watch one of my friends find and pay for a costume (i.e. the tooth fairy in 2007… still one of the bigger wastes of $50+) and suddenly I come up with a better idea. Unfortunately, he is in Washington, D.C. so I think I will take the next couple classes of Contracts (I can’t pay attention in that class anyway) to come up a with a (not-so) great plan. Results to follow soon.

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My Green Apple Vodka Story

October 13, 2009

So a couple of weeks ago, a close friend came for the weekend. Needless to say, we devolved into our college selves–drinking heavily, eating a lot of pizza and mainly just having a great time without a care in the world (i.e. worrying that: 1. I had a ton of law school work to do the next day. 2. Yom Kippur was the following evening as well and being hung over for a fast would be the challenge of a lifetime… challenge accepted). However, my friend, who most of the time displays pretty good judgment (minus a couple lady choices), displayed the worst judgment in how he spent close to $30 at the liquor store: he brought green apple vodka. With just one sip of a mixed drink I immediately had a flashback to three years ago and started uncontrollably throwing up. Yes, sober Mike started throwing up a lot (of course he rallied, but that’s a way different story). After this (quite hilarious) scene, we started talking about how nothing good comes out of green apple vodka (I’m sure it had an influence on the last couple Sylvester Stallone movies). Everyone has a story about how only bad things come out of green apple vodka, so here’s mine (if you have your own, which I’m sure you do, please share).

What? You didn’t think all my posts would have some kind of overarching big picture view of society or myself, did you?

It was the fall of 2006 and young Mike was in a pretty shitty place. He was coming off of a bad break up and didn’t have confidence around the ladies (yes, can you imagine him, the one who says virtually whatever is on his mind today, being quiet around people? It’s true. Boy, have things changed). He thought he had finally found a girl he liked but didn’t have the confidence to say much to her.

Okay, I have to stop talking in third person. It’s really hard to write like that.

Anyway, there was this girl who I had become kind of interested in (behind her back we called her “Pinkeye” because the first time I met her she had pinkeye). Soon after meeting her was, what I now see as the bane of my existence (besides law school of course… which reminds me: I have a final in two days. Should I really be writing a blog?), Simchat Torah came along. Simchat Torah is the Jewish holiday where Jews get really drunk and dance with the Torahs because they have finished the entire thing (why celebrate when you have to do it again? Oh wait, us Jews will do anything to be able to get drunk and have a reason for it). Well, at this point in my life I was just getting back into the Jewish scene (you kind of fall out of it when you date a non-Jew and resent 16 years of Jewish education), so my comfort level in these types of situations were pretty low (as opposed to now where I love dancing and all things Jew). I started out sober (mistake #1) where I watched uncomfortably as 200 Jews danced and sang songs (not Top 40, which was quite a disappointment. I was really looking forward to singing the Thong Song with a torah in hand). As I sat there more and more uncomfortably, an urge to get really drunk arose in me (when your a 19 year old male, the only way to handle uncomfortable situations is to get drunk. It’s actually still the case). So, I turned to one of my friends and said, “Let’s go back to the apartment and get really drunk. I can’t handle this.” Luckily he agreed and we went back to my friend’s apartment. We searched through his freezer to find green apple Smirnoff, the good lord’s worst creation ever (excluding Nazis and terrorism, but a close third). I filled up 2 whole CUPS of liquor and just chugged it straight (my now very religious friend can vouch for me; mistake #2). We returned and I was very ready to dance and sing. And that’s about where my memory ends.

I woke up the next morning thinking, “How the hell did I get home?” and, “Holy crap I’m still drunk and I have a test tomorrow!” Long story short, I forced myself to throw up (it was my first of many hangovers) and fought through the suffering to study (I got an A on that Economics 200 test). Long story short, I was filled in on my memory loss from the night before. Minutes after I tried physically assaulting all of my friends (seriously I kept on punching one of them, he wrote me an angry Facebook message), Pinkeye walked in, and boy, did I notice her. I kept on talking about her, referring to her as Pinkeye and her name right after, really loudly in front of her. Essentially, it ruined my chances of ever hooking up with her (I heard she’s married now) and made me look like a total ass. I had a friend walk me all the way across campus to make sure I got home safely.

After that night, I made three big life changes: First, I decided to not get nervous around girls anymore. I’ve been cool around them before so I would try that again, instead of acting like a fool. It was pretty much a wake up call that I needed to move on from the past and just focus on becoming a more happy person, a better friend and have a better life (all of which I think I have accomplished). Two, I put myself on a Pete Rose-like Simchat Torah ban (still going on to this day). Third, I decided that I will never, never drink green apple vodka again.

Getting back to a couple of weekends ago, I had kept my promise to myself never to drink it again up until that point. However, I took one sip and learned my lesson… again. I wish I could blame it on my friend (come on, HE was the bonehead who bought it) but I am just an idiot. I guess I’ll stick to Jack Daniels from here on out.