See, there are times when you know in advance that you’ll want to have a camera. Documentation will be required later, you can already tell. “This is going to be one wild night,” you note. “I’ll bring my camera!” But then if it actually is a wild night, when the hell are you going to have time to take pictures? It’s difficult to maintain that sort of reckless, devil-may-care feeling to everything if you’re making everyone pause in their recklessness and smile for the camera.

That said, I brought my camera out last night, and predictably didn’t take that many pictures. I thought I would, and when early in the evening the camera began to show signs of irritability, I was dismayed. CARD ERROR? I’LL GIVE YOU A FUCKING CARD ERROR, YOU LITTLE FOUR HUNDRED DOLLAR PIECE OF SHIT. Thankfully, this is why people like Crispy were invented - to fix problems with my digital camera so I can then proceed to not take pictures.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There are a couple of pictures. We arrived early at our usual pre-club bar and found it all gussied up for Halloween (as well as offering half price drinks to anyone in costume). I was fond of this little guy perched on the wall over our table:

Crispy, on the other hand, managed to uncover the gateway to hell. Right there in the bar! Who knew?

And yes, there are a couple of pictures of what I ended up wearing. And yes, that’s me on the right (and the delectable Erin on the left), and yes that’s almost what my hair looked like in high school.

No, there’s no excuse for this one:

And finally, the last photo I managed to snag before we migrated to Batcave and documentation became an impossibility - a rare sighting of the elusive Crispyghost, whose hazy otherworldliness makes him a difficult creature to capture on film or memory card.

Batcave itself was more fun than I would have expected. Al and Crispy and I were joined there by Spencer and did the club thing until it got too crowded to be fun. Only on Halloween can I go to a club I’ve been to so many times already and see completely different people, which is both good and bad. If I never see another Spooky Dead Clown or Spooky Dead Bride, I think I could live a long and fulfilling life. The plus side to the whole costume thing, though - or at least the wig thing - was that I got to startle once again everyone who just got used to me being blonde.

I think Halloween is for me what New Year’s Eve is for most other people; I tend to get all nostalgic and sentimental. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing, especially when I’m out and about and having a ball with some of my favorite people. Good times.