crush crush crash

This weekend I played hostess to a five day long organic café tour and slumber party at my place in Silverlake with my beloved Bryanboy, who was not only visiting LA but California for the first time. Ever. This also of course happened to coincide with Halloween so we spent a good chunk of time combing Hollywood Toy and Costume, Wasteland, and H&M, him to put together his "sexy Tavi" look (an approximation of her Proenza Schouler in case it wasn't glaringly obvious) and me to browse aimlesssly and buy lots of things that didn't relate to each other (deciding at the last minute to be a movie character so obscure that no reference points exist on the internet drained what little spirit I had to dress up this year). I'm partial to my newly assigned fraternal twin, but gage how he fared against the competition on Refinery 29. I ended up putting together a boggled failure of a costume that can only be described as broken fairy/confused raver/crushed insect circa 1990-something/drunk Tinkerbell. We went through the proper procedure of going to a few parties and freezing in between them with Colin, who came up for the night, but the highlight was definitely 7-11-ing at the end of the night all bundled up. And watching Bryan try to get away with a crotchety old woman act with multiple cab drivers. And discussing tapeworms at length in a car full of people that probably didn't want to discuss tapeworms. And remembering that Silly String and Blow Pops exist. And hailing that last cab so triumphantly that it pretty much happened in slow motion. Halloween never goes the way you think it will.