does she walk? does she talk?

I attended an 80s-themed Halloween party on Friday night. 'Twas fabulous! J.R. Ewing, The Greatest American Hero and a Rubik's Cube were among the icons in attendance. The Younger Sister wore a black dress, pulled her hair into a tight bun, slapped on some bright red lipstick and dark eye shadow, strapped on a guitar and voila! Instant Robert Palmer Girl. She looked excellent.

Originally I wanted to go as V.I.C.I., the girl robot from Small Wonder but the search for a dress was fruitless so I scuttled the plan. I also considered being Webster briefly and then decided against it on account of my being tall, female and you know, white.

With time running out, I did a quick mental inventory of my clothes and accessories and then inspiration hit... Dieter from Sprockets! I already had the black clothes so all I needed was a pair of wire-framed glasses, some gunk to slick my curls into wet-looking submission and a picture of a monkey (so's that I could ask everyone if they wanted to touch it).

It was a really easy costume to assemble. A quick search on Google images took care of the monkey. Then I bought cheap wire-framed sunglasses and took a hammer to the lenses. You know, this is the second year in a row where my costume required a bit of demolition. Breaking shit on purpose is fun. I highly recommend it.

For the hair, I decided on L'Oréal's Absolute Wet Gel because it promised "Wet Shine with No Greasiness." It wasn't greasy, I'll give them that, but as the night wore on and my hair dried, there was a whole lot of clumping going on. The end result: Rather scary straight-looking dreads. Not a good look on a pale Irish chick, FYI.

It's partly my fault that the hair got a bit unruly because, well, if a song like "Rio" by Duran Duran is played in my presence, I WILL toss my hair around as I dance and thrash about. Sometimes I even stand on furniture and do a damn fine impression -- if I do say so myself -- of Molly Ringwald getting down in The Breakfast Club.

I'm not going to lie to you... if 80s music is played in a public setting, more often than not, I attract attention. Like, people form a ring around me on the dance floor, chant my name and make me promise to hang out with them and stuff. Oh, the ego I have as a result! I'm a bit particular about what songs I'll dance to though (and the people I actually hang with, of course). For example, I tend to sit out the likes of Toto and Quarterflash, but if "Just Like Heaven" or "Bizarre Love Triangle" or something similar comes on... get da fuck out my way as I've got some Molly-like moves to bust, yo.

While I was wiggling it (just a little bit) to "Rio" on Friday night, I was bestowed with the honor of wearing the most popular costume of the night -- the Rubik's Cube. The owner, my younger sister's best friend, slid it over my head and BAM! I felt instantly transformed. That thing was like fucking Frosty the Snowman's magic hat.

I was dressed like Dieter wearing a Rubik's Cube, which was quite ridiculous, but I got in character and worked it, clumpy white-girl dreads and all. I mean, I didn't just embrace the absurdity of the moment, I felt it up, French-kissed and then fucked it for good measure.

The pièce de résistance? Yes, that would have to be my, I mean Dieter's interpretive dance to "Centerfold" by The J. Geils Band.

Oh yes, I'm quite serious. It was inspired. Several party-goers even professed their love for me afterwards.

I'm totally wearing that costume on my next date.

Happy Halloween, everyone!!