The Shinigami Halloween

For most years, Halloween has always been another excuse to get drunk while dressed in something silly. It has always been unscripted, disorganized – save for last year’s decision to go uniformed-, and filled with memorable moments laughing at other people.

You see, Halloween in Singapore has degenerated to nothing more than a silly costume ball. It is the one time in the year that everyone is entitled to leave the house draped in a table cloth or drenched in paint and still be normal. This is also the one time you can walk out the house dressed like a terrorist and still have people coming up to you for a photo.

Halloween has lost its ghoulish themed costumes and makeup from one of gore and blood to increase eyeliner and lipstick. No one wants to be Chucky’s bride now, especially when you can go as Tinkerbell and look so much prettier.

For women, it's become about having an excuse to pull out that fish net stockings and corsets. It’s about deeper cleavages and shorter skirts. It’s about darker lipsticks and thicker eyeliners. It’s about experimenting and blaming failure as an intentional Halloween get-up.

For some strange reason, Whales tend to think that Halloween is a time they get to wear female clothes – instead of things they should be in like a body bag or straightjacket - like corsets, halter necks and mini-skirts. It’s hard even imagining them in one, so when I actually saw them, I believed that they were perpetuating the scare factor and Halloween night is a riot playground for them.

Me: “These fat people have some of the most creative costumes. Just look at that girl, I think she came as ‘Cellulite’.”

I’m partly guilty for not respectfully embracing the nature of Halloween, because the whole group of us looked like we were going for a Cosplay convention instead. You see, we went as characters of Bleach – a Japanese manga for the ignorant – and if I really had to argue my way about it, I would have said that we were death gods.

This wasn’t a casual impetus, but more of a well thought theme, initiated largely by the fact that Nana was pushing for the Bleach theme because he already had it and there was this shop in Chinatown that had an abundance of these costumes, which immediately solved the problem of finding enough for everyone.

This time, we decided to charter a bus for the 13 of us since there was some heavy mobility drafted out on the itinerary, which drew a subtle protest to our ailing livers but was drowned by an immediate promise of Trance, vodkas and champagne.

When we got to St James, it was just Lapi, RotiPrata, Totti, Faith, Poca, Nana and me, which wasn’t so bad because I would have felt silly if I was the only one in that costume. You see, the thing about costumes is that singularly, you look dumb, but collectively you can make even wearing things like trash bags, pampers or New Urban Male clothes look cool.

Obviously, I knew some people were bound to be clueless on who we were supposed to be, because I get people’s costumes wrong all the time. One year, I shouted ‘Marvin the Martian!’, only to be corrected that he was supposed to be a Spartan.

Some waitress thought we were sushi chefs. I would have told her that we were manga characters but she didn’t look too bright and I figured I might need to explain other huge words like ‘manga’, ‘fictional’ and ‘ignorant’ so I decided to ignore her instead.

We started off with 2 bottles of Belvedere and a table spread of Red Bull – which should be everyone's choice mixture if you know you need to survive another 5 hours partying. Reznor and Bev arrive, dressed to our theme, but entirely clueless on what Bleach is about. Next year, we are convincing everyone to come as transvestites.

When we left St James, we were all decently well behaved. We were still capable of speaking without shouting, walking in an orderly file and insulting people when there is a need to – or maybe it was just me.

Poca: “Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress slutty.”

That’s only for the normal girls. The Whales have it tough because despite what they wore, they all looked like they came dressed as Teletubbies, dinosaurs or bean bag couches from Ikea.

Me: “Doesn’t matter what they wear, we all know they came from TAF club.”

Em Studios turned out to be the best choice of the night. There was some pretty orgasmic Trance that was teasing my feet and if I didn’t have straw slippers on me, I would have gotten an erection. LB bought champagne, Nana was concocting an insidious mix of whiskey, vodka and Red Bull and next we know, ‘Liquid Cocaine’ – champagne, vodka and Red Bull – became the default toast drink of the night.

When we decided to leave for Butter Factory at 3am, it became clear that etiquette, civic mindedness and volume management was beyond us. We no longer spoke without shouting, though walking was still very much within our abilities, which shows that the more we drink, the more our ears cease to function.

Me: “Where’s Nana?”

This suddenly became a concern because Nana was already wasted before we left Em Studios, and we know this for a fact because this always happens when there is champagne around him. And then we started shouting for him so loudly, that everyone started staring at us. When Faith finally managed to drag him to the bus,

Us: “Where the fuck did you go?! Everyone is waiting for you!”
Nana: “有一个，美丽的小女孩，她的名字叫做。。。”

Yes, apparently he is drunk.

All we needed is a fire and we would have passed off as Church camp having a campfire sing-a-long session, only that we were singing Mandarin songs and a lot of vulgarities.

Then we got to Butter Factory, got off, deliberated over entering, decided we should head straight to Zouk instead and got back into the bus. All except for Nana, who was standing outside the bus, struggling to tie his pants.

Me: “Nana, get in, we’re leaving.”
Nana: “I can’t tie my pants!”
Me: “Get in first. You can tie later.”
Nana: “I need to tie my pants!”
Us: “Nana!! Get in!!”
Nana: “I CAN’T! I need to tie my pants! I can’t tie my pants!”
Us: “NANA!! GET THE FUCK IN!”

There we were, yelling hysterically at him to get in and there he stood, rooted and equally determined to tie his pants. It took us about 5 minutes, from yelling to coaxing to convincing him that he could still tie his pants in the bus. If only there was champagne on board, it would have been so much easier, much like convincing a gay to go for an anal probe.

Then he got on, continued to grumble about his pants and then showed his displeasure by biting Poca on her arm. I don’t really remember what happened on the ride, because I know I was trying to grab his balls, Lapi was making out with MinnieMouse, RotiPrata and Faith were having some religious discussion and the bus driver might have plotted to sell us to Cambodia and we wouldn’t have known.

As soon as we got to Zouk, I got out to see a chick in Sari, so I did what all Hindu film lover – or actor - would have done. I broke out into a song,

Me: “Made in India, made in India..”

She was not the least bit amused by me. Fuck her.

Then we got in and we bumped into KK who told me she was some character that I will not remember with that much alcohol in me, unless it is Sailor Moon, Harry Potter or Hannibal Lecter.

Me: “All you need is 2 oranges and you’re all set for Chinese New Year.”

To MM, who went as some Victoria Secrets persona in a sequined bra no less, with wings strapped to her back. Or perhaps it was white bag. Alcohol clouds my perception of matter.

Me: [pointing to her bra] “From Mustafa!”

Then some girl walked pass wearing a mouth mask,

Me: “This girl came as a H1N1 patient!”

She immediately stopped and turned to me,

She: “I’m not!”
Me: “Ya, that’s what we all say when we catch a cold.”