Annual costume contest at work; I revived a costume from nine years ago that didn’t work so well and learned that “Marty Mouse, Mickey’s disgruntled, bitter, alcoholic brother” does not work quite as well as simply “Drunken Mickey.”
Dressed as above, clutching a bottle of Glenfidditch and chomping on a cigar, I proceeded to scowl and swear at people, hit on chicks, give people the middle of just four fingers, and announce to the room that not only did I have a hangover but I could tell them horrible things about Michael Eisner and The Little Mermaid. Somehow, I won the office costume contest. I don’t know what I won and I’m happy, but not sure why. I really just dressed up to have an excuse to dress up. And swear two octaves higher than my speaking voice. (Okay, one octave.)
At night, I went out in GB gear and passed out flyers. It was better this year; lots of kids out, some adults that “got it,” and nobody ran away thinking I was trying to sell them something like they did in Burlingame. Damned yuppies. I’m not here to hurt you, I’m not even going to scratch your Beemer–I’m just having fun. But this time, no yuppies–all real people. And they couldn’t wait to get a flyer. So that’s fun.