Stop trying to guess what my costume is and buy me a beer. I mean a soda.

We went out last night.

I am back on the wagon after last weekend. Last weekend looked like this:

This weekend I was stone-cold sober, and it looked a little more like this:

I was exhausted and emotionally drained, and with each email and phone call I got, I realized that everyone around me was on edge. It was a big weekend for roller derby, but it has also been nuts around here in general - as though I was navigating a web of personal, emotional and financial strings being pulled in about a thousand different directions. It was like the economy was kicking people's asses while they had the runs from food poisoning and then their dog died. You know what I'm saying?

Basically, October 2011 sucks big huge hairy donkey balls.
Yeah.

But as it turns out, even when you are exhausted and emotionally drained and absolutely positively NOT taking any pain medication because you need to be able to think clearly, if it also happens to be Halloween weekend, you have to put on a fucking costume and go tear some shit up.

I tore shit up from the couch.

Don't worry - the couch was located in a bar. The bar was filled with half-naked and'/or costumed deviants.
It was lovely people-watching.

I had a costume on, of course. Six inch red patent stilettos and a skin tight black tube dress that showed more than it covered and made wearing underpants a total impossibility. I rocked a massive, spiky head of hair and bright red lipstick.

No, I'm not Ziggy Stardust.
No, I'm not Joan Jett
I don't want to talk about this anymore. I hate it when I wear a costume and no one knows who I am supposed to be. I hate walking through a parking lot and having people point at me and shout out their guesses like I am a goddamned prize on The Price is Right.

I hate Halloween, actually.
There. I said it. I used to think I hated dressing up - but I don't. I hate Halloween. And by midnight I was completely over it. Which was right about when my girlfriend stepped on a broken glass and cut her foot, and I was so happy to be sober and able to take her back to the hotel we were staying at and climb into bed with my heating pad after making sure she had all the neosporin and hydrogen peroxide she needed.

I was dehydrated from the events of the day, and despite sipping on juice and water and coconut water, I was not feeling that great. I passed out almost immediately.But in the morning, I felt worse.

I wasn't expecting that - I figured if I didn't drink, I would feel fine. So I wandered out to the pool and found a shady spot and settled in for the day - I napped while the kids played on the water slide. Before heading out to the pool, I had carefully applied lotion to every square inch of my face.

Would have helped if that lotion had contained sunscreeen.

My newly colored hair and my entire upper body are monotone. And that tone is a horrific tomato red. My forehead wrinkles have tan lines again. My scalp is itching. And now I am dehydrated times, like a thousand. Sam took one look at the sunburn on my chest and made the executive decision to pack up. I followed him to the car without a peep. I needed to take a shower and go to bed. Inside, this time - sleeping outside had been a poor choice, it turned out.

When we got home, I made a beeline for the bathroom. While the kids were still arguing over who was going to take the first shower, I beat them to it. I only realized I still had sunglasses on my head when I started to shampoo my hair.

I kept shampooing.

I am going to wash this god-forsaken (literally, I do believe) holiday right out of my hair. But first, I have to take the kids trick or treating. Please give me chocolate.