The Witching Hour

Now not to give you a false idea of unemployment, but I find myself continually writing about going to parties on this blog. Being on the dole isn’t all fun and games you know; it can be quite hard work.

In fact just yesterday I ripped my favourite jeans and had to go out and buy new ones. As most girls know, finding the perfect fitting pair of jeans can be an troublesome and lengthy process, but I had set myself to task and was not to be thwarted. I even had to face the terror of shopping on Princes Street as, as much as I enjoy adventuring to the small boutiques of Cockburn Street and the like, affordable denim is not really their forte. So I bravely marched up and down the ghastly congested hell and tried on about every pair of jeans in the city.

I find it odd when in one shop leg length 32 is too short, then the next too long. Same goes for the waist. In New Look I tried on a size eight that was too big and in H&M a size 12 that I couldn’t do up. Now I know a little variation is to be expected, but this seems like madness to me. I thought the whole idea of standardisation of sizes was for the that very idea- to be standard. When buying jeans are you meant to to take three sizes of waists along with three sizes of leg length? This would result in approximately (to get all the waist and leg combinations) 9 pairs of jeans per shop multiplied by each shop say 10, meaning that to buy one pair of jeans, you have to try on 90 pairs. Pure madness. I didn’t quite try on that many pairs, however it did begin to feel that way. You’ll be glad to know, that yes I was indeed eventually successful in my quest and yes, I did go back and buy the first pair I tried on. I now have the unenviable task of wearing them in- it is a hard life!

Anyway back to parties! It was Halloween on Saturday- what a fortunate day for this holiday to occur. It’s always rather disappointing (unless you are a lazy student) when this occasion falls on a Tuesday or the like as often the opportunity of having a party to attend is reduced or the length of time/effort of the costume is reduced by work/time/getting the blasted make-up off in time for work constraints. Not that these things currently affect me.

So the lovely kiddie doc Jenny and I attended a party of one of her colleagues which unsurprisingly was me and a bunch of doctors and curiously a stop motion animation producer. Her friend who had thrown the party had put a terrific amount of effort in to the affair. Her entire (rather spacious and delightful Morningside abode) flat was transformed into a terrible cocoughany of fake blood oozing from the walls, famous art work given a Halloween make-over and an array of ghoulish sweets and nibbles including punch with eyeballs floating in it. I was very impressed.

Also impressive were the costumes of her attendees. I was concerned, it being a house party that people wouldn’t make the same effort. I was wrong. There was some real blood and sweat put in to these costumes, of particular note were the Ghostbusters who came complete with Slimer and Janine the secretary. Their ghostbuster backpacks were spectacular. On the other hand while some people put effort into their physical costuming, others put their effort into the idea behind their outfits. Without question the two men who came dressed as Joseph and Elizabeth Fritzl certainly made the biggest impact on me for inventiveness, but that is not to say I shared their taste in this rather interestingly themed costume.

Personally, I use Halloween to dress like I never normally would- a harlot. This year I dressed as the iconic Sally Bowels from Cabaret (I just love Liza) and enthusiastically attempted to recreate her costume from the show stopper Mein Heir. I thought I’d done a pretty good job, when my mother and fancy man came to visit the night before Halloween and suggested I should get a cheap wig as my hair is brown and long whilst Sally’s was short and black. I wasn’t sure I would be very successful in this mission, but I found one I thought looked appropriate and on Halloween I brought it round to Jenny’s to ask for her help in affixing it.

On looking in the mirror, I got quite a shock. Below I have put some photos (I’m getting the hang of it now, well almost). You can decide whom I looked more like- Sally Bowles or my mother.