Introvert Shaming: Halloween Edition
The caramel from a Snickers bar is melted into the side of the bed where a man should be sleeping next to me. I’ve been alone for like, nine months, because the dude who used to occupy that space (only for certain hours during the day because we were NOT married, and I AM Catholic, and my mom WILL read this) decided to go double dribble in the Philippines and leave me all alone to die in the heat of California by MYSELF. I’m not resentful or anything, but if you’re reading this, TRAVIS, what the hell, bro?
I don’t eat Snickers. I never really liked them. I didn’t even KNOW they had peanuts in them. And yet, I’m chain eating them like they are the only thing sustaining my diet right now. Lowkey, they are. The gas has been off at my apartment for weeks, not that I’d cook anyway, but the idea is nice and considering I’m living off candy bars — probably necessary at this point. I know there’s celery rotting in the refrigerator, but as if I’m going to eat THAT.
I bought two FULL-ASS bags of candy from Target in anticipation of trick-or-treaters. I grew up in a warehouse and we NEVER had trick-or-treaters come to the house; only street people who like, wanted to break in and hock our belongings for booze money. Snickers, Skittles, and M&M’s — not really the JACKPOT, but I’m poor so shelling out 15 bucks on candy instead of buying a candle I don’t need is a SACRIFICE. It took everything in me not to say, “fuck them kids” and dip out of Target with my vanilla-pumpkin-cupcake 68-hour burn Yankee Candle in hand. Imagine how freaking ecstatic I was to be in a neighborhood in LOS ANGELES knowing that some cute as hell little kids were going to be marching up to my door, banging on it, and lisping through “trick or treat”. I was READY. It was like, 80 degrees here yesterday, too. I celebrated Halloween in ALASKA, y’all. We wore our costumes UNDER snowsuits. These kids in LA don’t know how easy they have it and GUESS WHAT. I only had TWO (2) trick-or-treaters. I waited, watching out my upstairs window like some creep and only had TWO. So, you know what I have to say to all that? Fuck them kids. The little Spiderman and Joker not included, obviously, because bless their hearts.
Now I’m sad eating all this candy in bed and watching The Death of Stalin on Showtime by MYSELF, which is obviously EXACTLY how I imagined my life going at this age.
To be honest, I love staying home. In fact, I’ve always loved staying home. Sleepovers used to give me mad anxiety and I would end up having diarrhea at Victoria or Caitlin or whoever’s house and would have to spray their Victoria’s Secret perfume over the scent of my dying intestines and it was a bad time. My ideal situation would be to be 100% fulfilled and satisfied within the confines of my own home — which I pay 1100 a MONTH to be in because LOS ANGELES — but alas, I’m human and sometimes need human interaction (GROSS). But Halloween ain’t it, man.
Halloween is like New Year’s Eve. There’s all this hype and pressure around it. “What are you doing? Where are you going?” NOTHING AND NOWHERE. I once made the mistake of going out for Halloween in Chicago and ended up swallowing the Vampire teeth I bought off Amazon that day (45 BUCKS!), blacking out at a club, and FaceTiming some dude in Alaska I DID NOT KNOW and THEN agreeing to a date with him. Dante couldn’t even write that. New Year’s Eve is the same way, man. I don’t want to be counting down to midnight in some club full of people who hate me for being there (including myself) and then puking behind an Arby’s. I want to, as always, be home. Can I bring my dog and bad attitude to a club? NO. Can I wear sweatpants and shotgun burritos at a bar? Probably. And definitely in Anchorage. But do I want to? NO. I would like to do that from the comfort of my own home (or car), thank you very much!
My guide for going out on Halloween for introverts has one step: don’t. Stay home. Stay home and feel good about staying home. You don’t have to answer to anyone! Wear your costume in bed. Watch Hocus Pocus and pull your wedgies out right there in the open. Eat the damn candy that was SUPPOSED to be for the trick-or-treaters that never came. And if it melts into the other side of the bed, who cares? Roll over to your side. You’re okay. Life is okay. But for real, fuck them kids.
