I thought dressing as Smurfette would make him want me. Not so much.
In October 2008, my life was falling apart.
I had just gone through a tumultous breakup with my boyfriend of four years. I was stuck in a dead-end job. As if that weren't enough, I was hopelessly pursuing an unavailable boy — yes, let's call him Boy, very fitting — the selfish, charming kind who exudes trouble. He had just spent six months carrying on our little fling, only to realize he still loved his longtime girlfriend and return to her.
Yup, I was the other woman. I am not proud of this fact. Years later, it still sticks to me like gunk to dishes. I pretty much want to reach my fist back through time and beat the shit out of myself. Don't get involved. He's making it clear he just wants to have fun. He has all sorts of issues.
But there I was on Halloween 2008, splayed out on my couch, starting in on a second bottle of white wine and loudly cursing Boy as I got ready for a party where his band would be playing. My friend Laura was in town — she was busy putting fake blood on herself and didn't realize how much I was drinking. No one did.
For weeks, I'd been planning to dress as Smurfette. My mind was so heroin-ed up on Boy that I couldn't admit to myself I only chose the costume because he once mentioned it'd be cute. One of my summer dresses reminded him of the impish blue character. At the time I told myself it would be a fun inside joke, it would bring us closer together, it would … He has a goddamn girlfriend, you idiot. Looking back, I realize I did it to get revenge. I wanted him to feel bad. "Look, I went out of my way to dress up for you, and you still dumped me!" I never realistically thought he would come back to me. I wasn't even sure I wanted him to, but I did want him to regret his decision. This Year's 5 Hottest Halloween Costumes For The Ladies
My costume was a snow-white bubble skirt, which I reappropriated as a dress, and lots of blue body paint. Blue body paint that I, after smearing my entire face and all uncovered body parts with the stuff, noticed came off on everything. The box said it wouldn't! Already deeply drunk at 8 p.m., I stumbled around my apartment leaving blue handprints on the white walls. My roommate Annie, in her subdued Man Men costume, was in the mood for a glass of wine and a normal, not wildly unhinged, night. She made a polite excuse to stay home at the last minute. Fine. You're no fun anyway. Go bake cookies and be celibate. I'm on a mission...whatever that may be.
When Laura and I got to the Lower East Side bar, which had candles and exposed-brick walls —not the type of joint where people usually get black-out drunk — the first person I saw was Boy. He greeted us smiling mischievously with two Jack and Cokes in his hands, and I immediately forgot that I was obliterated and that he doesn't care about me. For a few euphoric minutes, we flirted and exchanged jokes. Then he was gone, off to tend to some things before the show.
Suddenly I was lost in the crowd, stumbling over people and leaving blue handprints all over the bar stools, walls and costumed acquaintances who wrestled away as I tried to hug them. When I found Boy again, he was fiddling with controls in the sound booth. He said something to me, in response to which I expressed my love for his muscular forearms. He laughed and asked if maybe I'd had too much to drink. Then he helped me sit on the raised platform that held the sound booth, which turned out to be a bad idea, because I promptly fell about 4 feet to the ground. The nice part of being out-of-your-mind drunk is that you can't feel pain. But I was coherent enough to realize that Boy looked more annoyed than concerned about me. Blast From The Past: 10 Sexy 90s Girl Halloween Costumes
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