The drive to Portland was a bit tiring for my right foot (I don’t tend to use cruise control, although I really should), but definitely worth it. I got to see a good number of my friends that I don’t see that often—and even today’s short visit was good for my soul. Had nice conversations with Brian on the way up and back, and (be sure you note this) I bought Brian his stupid birthday present. So there. =P

[I can’t begin to tell you how widely I’m grinning as I type that. My bitterness is a total sham.]

I arrived at Andy’s party wearing a Chiyo-chichi hat; this was enough to get me in the door. I then snuck to the bathroom, where I (with a big hat-tip to Eric, who actually had the idea) dressed as Andy. It was far from perfect, but it did elicit a “touché” from the True Andy. I didn’t get to say any Andyisms, though, which was a missed opportunity.

Other costumes: Brian stuck a DVD-R (from a failed burn) to his shirt, put a patch on his eye, and called himself a pirated DVD. Andy wore a multicolor clown wig. Nate wore the cloth bag that covered a bottle of Crown Royal, and thus dressed as a bottle of Crown Royal. Neil was Indiana Jones, complete with hat and whip. (He claimed he found the whip in his grandparents’ attic, which elicited mixed catcalls and disgust from the others.) Nick was a Duracell battery; Lindsey was a can of Morton salt. (Neither of them could sit down in their costumes.) Joel was Westley from The Princess Bride, complete with fencing sword. Myles was a drunk, belligerent Republican*. (“The scariest thing I could think of,” he says.)

[*Myles’ political statement; not mine. I’m equally afraid of drunk, belligerent Democrats, FWIW.]

Driving back this evening for the ballroom dance was also worth it. I actually dance at these dances now, and I have fun doing it—it’s awesome. I’m unstoppable**. Plus, afterwards I was there to shield a friend from some guy she really doesn’t like; I like to think of that as a bit of redemption for past dance-related missteps.

[**I’m unstoppable because I don’t stop myself. As much.]

My costume? (This was, after all, a halloween dance.) Erm… I passed myself off as a zombie. Recall Shaun of the Dead, where the movie noted (albeit not explicitly) that many people were already zombies long before the actual zombies arrived. Zombie is a state of mind, to put it bluntly—and I’ll be darned if I wasn’t in that state of mind after my jaunt up to Portland. It was a cop-out, but I did manage to start my dancing off by being a bit stiff.

(Okay, so that was stiff-stiff, and not deliberate-zombie-stiff. Sue me.)