October 31st came around before my zombie costume was finished. All I had was a ripped sweatshirt and an arm’s length of pantyhose intestines. I could have worn it as is, but I wasn’t feeling that enthusiastic and I was also worried I’d be overdressed.
Although Halloween is one of my favorite holidays, I haven’t celebrated it too much the last few years. It just never feels the same when I’m in a new town. That is definitely the downside to living abroad.
I was on the verge of staying in for the night and watching Netflix when my friend came over. She was keen to dress up but as unprepared as me, so we decided to paint our faces. Barret was of course chosen to be the artist. He swiped his finger into a cheap pot of white cream and smeared it across my friend’s cheek. It looked like wet toothpaste.
I couldn’t help but laugh. Barret was trying to paint a skull, but the result was more like a melting KISS face. My friend was too polite to admit how terrible it looked, but I wasn’t. It was awful and I knew my zombie makeup would look just as bad, but I still went for it.
Even though the paint was so oily that it never dried, it was still surprisingly difficult to wash off. We decided to scrub the disasters off our faces and go out for patacones. Cable Plaza was packed with costumed people.
We ended the night at JSB. It is a tiny bar tucked among a string of louder venues. During the day it has an expansive view of the city and in the evening there is a steady rotation of jazz music. The music collection is entirely on CD and there were maybe a thousand cases on display behind the bar. I felt like I had walked into the 90s.
It might not have been the party of the year, but it was exactly what I needed to get over Halloween homesickness.