Scare me why don't you?

Halloween is almost upon us. I could care less. I am going to Chiller Theater next weekend in Seacaucus, NJ. That should be interesting. To be honest, I am not real clear about what it is exactly except to say that apparently a plethora of D-list stars will there, signing autographs and the like. (Like Pee-Wee Herman, "Q" from Star Trek Next Generation, Christopher Atkins from The Blue Lagoon). My husband Powell assures me it will be a good time and that the event will sponsor plenty of horror themed displays and booths for our perusal. Powell is the horror affectianado, not me. For the most part, I can't stomach it.

I haven't dressed up for Halloween for a while. I went to a party five years ago in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, with a friend, a strange guy named Theo. His real name is Franz and he's from Austria, but he adapted an English sounding name for the stage; he's a musician. I'm pretty sure Theo thought it was a date. In fact, earlier that week he had asked me if I'd marry him so he could get his green card. I actually considered it believe it or not, until he got stoned, made a pass at me that I immediately rebuffed,lost his temper and in his pot-induced paranoia, predicted I'd take him for all he was worth should he miracuosly find fame and fortune. Don't get me wrong, Theo is enormously talented. I have a couple of his self-produced CDs. His songwriting and his voice are both incredible. But I didn't exactly see Theo as my meal ticket. He was and I think still is a busker, strumming his guitar for coins in New York City subway stations. I told him I wouldn't marry him.

Theo had asked me last minute to attend the party and we schlepped from his apartment in Astoria, Queens, on the G train to a brownstone in Greenpoint owned by Kyra Sedgewick's brother who was hosting the shindig. I have no idea how Theo knew him, but then again, Theo came into contact with a lot of different sorts of folks because of the time his spent in the subway. I hadn't had much time to pull together a costume, so I did what I could with clothes and supplies I had at home, and presented myself as the personification of a rose in a pink skirt and stockings, a green shirt and a lei of plastic roses that I wrapped around my neck. Pretty lame. Theo didn't have a costume.

The party was tedious, at least for me. Theo was mad at me and so universally avoided me and sadly, Kevin Bacon didn't show. I drank a couple of beers in the corner of the room, danced solo to a couple of songs, then got on my coat and left. It was the last time I hung out with Theo.

I dressed up again in 2003, the second year of my graduate studies. Despite having lived in NYC for five years, I had never seen the Village Halloween Parade, NYC's festive, raudy procession of costumed revelers, many of them drag queens. I spent twenty dollars at Ricky's boutique on devil horns, a plastic pitchfork and a spiky red tail that I pinned to my backside. I wore an inexpensive red turtle neck I bought for the occasion, a pair of black pants and black cowboy boots.

I met an ecclectic assortment of grad school friends downtown, only one of them American, the rest from Turkey, Thailand, Germany, and the Netherlands. We pushed our way through the thick crowd to try an get a spot at the guard rail that lined the road. We found room to stand about four of five rows in. Needless to say, I couldn't see a thing. So while I did attend the parade, I didn't actually witness it.

It didn't matter. I wasn't having a good time anyway. Dororthy, the girl from Thailand was going a bit mental on us, and Ingrid, the German, was argueing ad naseum about how I should pronoune her friend Sven's name. I cut the night short and rushed away in the bitter cold towards the subway station to take it uptown to my apartment.

Anyway, that's the last time I dressed up for Halloween.