Kiss Me, I'm Fuggin Irish Now...: That Shit Was Bananas.

I have never spent any of the major American holidays in a different country until this year. The holiday season is only really beginning, but it began with an epic All Hallow's Eve.

Every year, I struggle with the idea that maybe 'this year' I will follow the crowd of females who decide that they simply must follow the ol' Slut-o-ween rule (as my sister calls it), and dress like a complete tramp. Do I really want to walk the streets with my areola and vulva out for all to see and sniff? The whole month of October, I contemplate what kind of hooker I should be? Should I be a Princess Prostitute? Or Perhaps a Pussy... Cat? Maybe this Halloween I should just paste two leaves upon my nipples and tape a banana peel to my twat and be the biblical Eve? (Glad I found a way to use the terms 'twat' and 'biblical' in the same sentence.)

However, every year, about a week before Halloween, my incessant will for attention gets the best of me. If I dress like I'm trying to get-it-in, like everyone else, then I will not accomplish my goal of being the fucking atrocity of the night. This does not bode well. So I digress...

Being a banana for Halloween seemed fitting in more than a few ways. (A) I would be big and yellow. And unless somebody decided to be Big Bird, I would be the biggest and the yellowest. Fuck yeah. (B) I could break out into the "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" song at any given moment, which I tend to want to do on a daily basis, sans banana costume, usually on the street. (C) The sky was the limit in terms of what make-up I would accompany this get-up with.

This is what I did to myself...

The eyeslashes cost me 5 pounds. So worth it.

This is Bebe Machine and me when shit got bananas. B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

The night started out in Irish Stew's flat a block over from where my flat is. All I can recall is that I made it 'Peanut Butter Jelly Time' for a good 75% of the time I was there. There was one point when one of the Americans (dressed as an Arab, we will call him *ManBeard), came to the window of this flat. Manbeard informed me that their was a party going on in Flat 4E. I wanted to go, but nobody was coherent enough to finalize this migration towards said flat. So, I decide to be a lonely, migrant banana.

I was beyond smashed when I exited Irish Stew's flat without telling a soul. This was an example of my infamous ability to pull an Irish Goodbye.

For those who are not in the loop about Irish Goodbyes, listen the fuck up.

An Irish Goodbye is when a party-goer decides to leave without telling anybody. If said Irish Goodbye-er gets caught in the act, you make up an excuse as to why you are leaving. E.g. "I have to go get something... in my room. Be right back." It is meant for those who do not want to spend a half hour saying goodbye to 30 people who you may or may not see again later on in the night. Even if you don't... whatever, I'm drunk.

Anyway, back to my story. I did not get caught when pulling my Irish Goodbye. I waddled alone to the flat across the way singing Ke$ha's "Sleazy" to myself to keep myself from vomiting. To an on-looker, I must have looked really special.

Once I arrived at my destination successfully, I pushed open the door like I was God. Eventually, I ended up in a corner with a balloon up my banana costume saying...

"This is where bananas come from. And if I bang a Spaniard... this is where plantanos come from..."

I don't remember leaving this flat. My next memory consists of me dancing at the Student Union Bar with the hood of the costume down. For some reason, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to wear my nude heels with this outfit. Obviously the idea came after a heavy consumption of vodka and other naughty things.

Jersey and I decided that we wanted a kebab. Why did I decide to wear these fucking heels? I took them off and walked half a mile on the wet, cold ground with my red, technicolor tights. My footsteps were the juiciest they had ever been. I was not pleased with myself for choosing the nude heels. Not one bit. I mean, red tights and nude heels? Really?

The night ended with a kebab in my stomach and a cold walk back to the student village. I crashed into my bed woke up the next morning with glitter all over my pillow. What made me decide to plaster my face with glitter? Since when do bananas have glitter face? I justified that they do when they are drunk... apparently.

That's the end of my story. But here are some pics from my previous Halloweens:

Halloween 2010