Season's officially over — paint half wiped off, corset half undone, and I'm stalling on both in front of the mirror. Tell me Halloween doesn't have to end just because the calendar says so.
Season's officially over — paint half wiped off, corset half undone, and I'm stalling on both in front of the mirror. Tell me Halloween doesn't have to end just because the calendar says so.
Green-Wood throws its Day of the Dead celebration this afternoon and I refuse to show up with amateur Catrina paint — so I'm up practicing until it looks intentional. Come find me among the marigolds.
Cheered strangers through all five boroughs and it wrecked me — voice gone, feet done, and the bed finally won an hour after I swore I'd be asleep. Tell me you'd rub my feet anyway.
Line-up opens soon and the vampire is fully assembled — fangs, cape, and a plan to march straight into the Vampire Ball in Brooklyn afterward. Come find me on Sixth Avenue before the crowd swallows me.
Face paint first, then I'm claiming my spot in the parade line-up before the whole street fills up. Tell me you'll be watching when I march past.
It's done — hanging on the closet door where I can stare at it from bed, and tonight it finally gets its night out. Tell me you'll be looking for me in the crowd.
The costume is one seam from done and the final fitting ran way past midnight — everything else came off for the proper check. Tell me it was worth staying up for.
Dead Disco is already going strong downtown and I'm still in front of the mirror negotiating with this dress. Tell me I can walk out the door like this.
Trick-or-Streets takes over Canal Street today, so I'm running quality control on the candy stash before anyone else gets a vote. Come be my taste-tester.
The Bryant Park rink opens tomorrow with free skating, so my skates are officially out of hibernation — blades checked, socks up, and I'm not remotely ready for how cold that first lap will be. Tell me you'd wobble through it with me.