It all began that fateful night so long ago when a group of friends and I went trick-or-treating...
"It's the first time I've ever gone," I said, adjusting my Speed Racer helmet.
"What? You've never gone trick-or-treating before?" My friends - aside from roommate Micah, who had also never gone - all looked aghast. I could practically hear their thoughts. What manner of person is this to have never gone trick-or-treating? Is he even human? What did he do on Halloween?
Oh wait. That last one was an actual question. "I handed out candy. We always thought it was great when not very many kids came to the door. All the more for us."
I could tell my friends were still having a hard time believing me, but I didn't care. We were going trick-or-treating now, and I was most definitely going to make the most of it.
After a brief drive, we all piled out of the car like so many lethargic adolescents before they've hit their sugar rushes. Carrying my Trader Joe's reusable bag, I fairly skipped up to the first door. The doorbell was rung, and there we stood, waiting for our first catch of the day. Shadows through the window - moving shadows. The door creaked open, and there stood a kindly-looking elderly lady.
"Oh! They're getting bigger this year." Her voice reminded me of an overripe banana. So sweet as to be almost sickly.
Bite-sized cavities were dropped into our bags, and off we again went. It was truly a great night. There were even a good many people who managed to guess my costume - unlike last year. I didn't care though. In my two years of dressing up, I've never done it to impress others.
Instead, fragile remnants of my childhood are reinforced by gaudy costumes that confuse many. My favorite comment of the night came from a very sweet couple: "Oh look! A football player." I just smiled and nodded. They were the hand feeding me, after all, and everyone knows what you don't do to that hand.
By the end of the night, I had managed to fill my bag over half way with sweet, sugary goodness. In my mind, it was a complete success.
~ ~ ~
Later that night, on the way back from trick-or-treating, we decided to stop by the house of a very dear friend of mine. A party was being thrown, as is wont to happen at bachelor pads. Music was playing, and costumes were worn boldly. I could tell that here were people who didn't care what people thought. Or perhaps they only cared that people thought that they didn't care what people thought. Wrap your head around that one.
I hugged my brother, and he took pictures of my little group from Vanguard. It was quite the event. I'm glad we came. But then my brother and his girl vacated for another party. Since my friends aren't exactly the biggest party animals in the world, I decided it would be best to all head back to the dorm.
And so we did, eventually dumping out our candy to sort into piles of what we did and didn't want. A major trading then took place. What I didn't want, one of my friends did, and vice versa. It was like a bunch of addicts in a field of poppies.
Okay, bad analogy.
~ ~ ~
After the night had settled down a little bit, I realized it was nearing midnight, which would signal the beginning of an event so massive, I actually managed to involve another person this year.
Collecting our laptops into bags, my friend Chelsea and I headed out of the dorms to the Cove - a place free of smooth jazz, smooth drinks, and smooth talkers.
Settling down, I opened a word document. It was 11:58. Only two minutes to go before I could begin unleashing my brilliant novel. I opened ITunes, turning on an internet radio station that plays nothing but soundtracks.
11:59
My fingers tensed, crooked just so to fly efficiently across the keyboard. I slowed my breathing. Must be calm. Must be calm.
12:00
And off I went! Words began appearing on the page as if by magic. A story began to reveal itself in all its nuances. We wrote and wrote for two hours until the place had to be closed up for the night.
NaNoWriMo had begun.
And since that day, all my free time - barring the time I spend hanging out with friends, eating, or just sitting there doing absolutely nothing - has been devoted to writing. As it stands right now, I am just past the 35k marker in words. This means the thing is practically over. The last 15k is always the easiest. It's the homestretch. The end is in sight, and you begin to go just a little bit faster. Success can be tasted, and it tastes delicious.
Two nights ago, however, my flow was disrupted by Woo Fest here at Vanguard. Woo Fest is a night that happens once a year in which the men of Huntington Hall woo all the Vanguard women through song and dance. Our floor went first, and we put on a stellar performance involving dancing to Grease Lighting (See? The title isn't completely random yet!), a Justin Timberlake-ish dance, and a strip tease.
I was so lucky, I managed to be both a Greaser and a stripper. I got to gel my hair back. Boy, was that an experience trying to curl that one little lock in the front.
Someone on our sister floor videotaped the thing, and I have to say I am pleasantly surprised by the way it turned out. Heck, it actually looks like we put a lot of practice into the thing. Of course, you can't really hear the music over all the girls screaming, but I think the point gets across. I believe everyone should watch this video. If you're interested, just ask, and I'll do my best to provide the link. It's on a friend's Facebook, so I may have to try to save it to my computer first.
And that's been my life throughout November.
Oh, and there's another ROC writing contest I'm thinking about entering. Application due date is on Dember 13, I believe. Wish me luck!
EJB out.
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