As a youngin', Halloween was a sign that there was a higher power that wanted me to be supremely happy—or at least the best gift I could ever receive, by far, from monstrous candy corporations like Hershey and Nestle. I never really put too much creative thought into my costume, considering I went as a witch four years in a row.
My main concern was getting as much candy as humanly possible and devouring it all upon returning home until I had successfully obtained a food baby and a coma. I was not one of those kids who tried to save their candy until Christmas, or (God forbid), a whole year. As you can imagine, when my mom so heartlessly informed me that I was too old to be trick-or-treating anymore my freshman year of high school, I was devastated. I thought my Halloweens would never be the same and all the pumpkins, haunted houses and scary movies in the world would never bring the same light to my eye or extra eight pounds to my waist.
However, my first experience of Halloween in Madison proved me dead wrong. I am thoroughly convinced that no other town, let alone university, in the entire United States enjoys celebrating this annual holiday more. Dormitory gossip was filled with Freakfest, costume ideas and drunken tales from previous Halloween adventures. I knew this was going to be the highlight of my entire year, and it was my duty to do it right.
I immediately set out to find a costume and buy my Freakfest ticket. I told all of my friends to come visit for the greatest weekend of their entire lives. I'm not sure if it was the fact that it was about 30 degrees or that we would all be forced to sleep on the streets since Sellery Hall sics the cops on you if you bring anyone who isn't a resident anywhere near the premises, but none of them ended up coming. Lucky for them…
My entire night (as filled in for me by my newly acquainted friends on 2A) consisted of the following: I began the evening by not eating nearly enough dinner in anticipation of beginning to take shot after shot of good ole Fleischmann's (what can I say, I'm a poor college kid)—what a rookie mistake.
Then, as we made our way to a pre-gaming party, I suddenly realized how tremendously famished I was. So I concluded it would be a good idea to raid this stranger's fridge, stealing odd foods such as baby carrots and pickles. Warning: stealing food from people you have never met is not a good way to make friends—especially if you are a naïve freshman.
Following my feast, we traversed to another house party in which I became slightly ill and decided to hang out in the bathroom for a while. While I was in there, I guess I could not seem to keep my balance and ended up falling multiple times in a probably not-so-clean bath tub and severely bruising my tail bone.
After all this, my dear friend Isabel decided it was time to get me home before I did any more damage to my reputation or my ass. She tucked me safely into my room, with the garbage can kindly placed right next to my head… or so she thought.
Apparently, several people on my floor found me doing the following: battling a guy dressed as a Ninja Turtle, washing carrots and pickles from my hair in the sink, walking around the halls with one eye open (possibly from a battle wound?) and, last but not least, lying on my dorm floor clutching my garbage can for dear life and resting my head inside.
All in all, I would say it was probably a good thing my friends did not come to visit since I didn't know my head from my asshole that night and I certainly would have lost them somewhere in the depths of State Street. But this experience wasn't all bad—I learned valuable lessons about what to do before a heavy night of drinking in a town like Madison, and believe me, I did not make the same mistake during Mifflin.
This year, I fully intend to be at least aware of where I am and have a general idea as to what I am doing, so that when I look at pictures and/or hear stories I don't have to stare at people in horror at the catastrophically idiotic things I did the night before.
