As those of you who’ve read this site since its shrieking, red-faced infancy may remember, back in the day - we’re talking years ago, now - I was so goth. And the best part of that is the whole site thing barely caught the tail end of the whole goth thing; there was only perhaps a year of overlap before I sort of degerated into the miscellaneously weird-haired chick I am today. So what I mean is that even if you have been around since I was a senior in high school, that doesn’t begin to compare to the gothosity you’d have experienced had you seen me as, like, a freshman in high school, or heaven forbid a sophomore.

Anyway, so the point is: I used to be this cuddly little cheek-pinchable early teenaged goth, and I looked the part and everything. And when I would wander around Boston on the weekends with my cuddly little cheek-pinchably goth friends, people used to comment on our gothosity, comments along the lines of HEY, ISN’T IT A LITTLE EARLY/LATE FOR HALLOWEEN, et cetera.

So a couple of weeks ago, before Kony decided to completely flake out on his own Halloween party and was still trying to impress upon all his potential guests the absolutely essential nature of the costumes we were required to wear, I was trying to think of a costume that would somehow fit in with my plans for the rest of the night, which just so happen to include hitting one or more real live Goth Clubs with the mysterious Crispy. And what sort of came out of all this half-hearted costume planning was: I’m going as me, about seven or eight years ago. I’m going to recapture my cuddly, cheek-pinchably goth adolescence, although possibly without the studying for pre-calc quizzes and spending lunch periods in the Cool Guidance Counselor’s office.

This means that tomorrow, on Halloween, I’m going to be all dolled up in more or less the same way that, seven or eight years ago, used to elicit comments about the proximity of Halloween (or lack thereof). Which, I mean. Ha. Ha ha.