...the dead will go for cocktails.
What started out as a perfectly nice day trip to Seattle to hang out with Team Seattle folks ended in a nightmare of biblical proportions...and I loved it. The Fremont Outdoor Movies people pulled together a zombie walk/Thriller dance reenactment that clogged streets tighter than old man toilet and left blood smears on every sign, window and unsuspecting passerby.
We broke the world record, at last count the registration reported 3800 something, but expect that more like 6000 were in attendance, lots opting not to stand in the massive line.
So here's a recap...
Started off the day driving our disabled temp-tired hybrid to the tire shop to fix a flat, which of course was in the side wall and therefore not fixable. New tire. Thankfully we had a warranty, because--little known glamorous author fact--when you're as new at the business as I am, and as unlikely to earn out your advance, I don't get paid with any great frequency. In fact, my last check came around April...2008. So there you go aspiring writers! The moral being, learn to budget that shit. Stretch it like sawdust in Wonder Bread and just be happy to be published. *end diatribe*
We fell in behind this nimrod.
And immediately fell into a discussion about how it was, here in 2009 with these trailer hitch scrotums on the market for well over 5 years now, that any self-respecting male without a micro-penis would actually hang these odes to insecurity off their pussy wagons. We started taking bets. Moderately overweight. Goatee. Pursed lips on a head nodding to the latest Dave Matthews/Lifehouse/OhMyGodKillMe band of your choice.
Correct on all three counts. I'm glad people aren't predictable.
We caught up with Synde and Cherie and after snacking on some delicious pineapple upside down cupcakes headed to Northgate to the most awesome costume shop for a big bag full of goriness. Then it was off to lunch with the freshly straightened Richelle and that garlic fry eatin' motha fucka she brought with her. I myself had regular plain fries. Plain. How was I to know?
Makes me sick. *spits*
Cherie's neighbors must be used to some zombies cuz we were spraying blood out of everywhere but our assholes and they barely blinked as they passed by. To be fair, a trio of well dressed and summery gays were mortified and thought we'd been in a car accident--though they might have just been being kind.
A note on zombie make-up: It does not hold up well in 90 degree heat. I promptly sweated off the upper half of my slash wound and ended up looking like I'd just been beaten and summarily pissed on by a biker gang. What can you do?
I'll tell you what...MORE BLOOD!
It's really the only acceptable solution.
We got to Fremont early, snatched up a primo parking space care of a certain somebody who collects things like parking spaces and popped in for a little zombie readin' courtesy of Scott Browne (Breathers).
Irreverent, topical, and always poignant. Dude! Y'all should pick up Breathers now so you can tell all the losers that won't have heard of it when the movie comes out that they suck and you read it sooo long ago. So long.
We filled up on caffeine at Fremont Coffee Company, them shits was so much better than Starbucks, I can't tell you, care of Cherie's husband, Aric (the artisinal roaster not the barista--though she was quite lovely). Then it was time to go get in the mile long queue for the zombiefest. Much more blood was spattered before we were ready to hit it up Angels-style (shout out to Farrah, RIP).
Then it was on mothafuckas!
We didn't stay for the Thriller Dance, though I hear it was a spectacle of white guy overbiting. We ended up succumbing to oldness around 9:30 and spent a half hour after getting home scrubbing the makeup off. I'm pretty sure our bathroom looked exactly like it might if we'd cleaned up after a murder. Here's a tip to all the wood be killers: Clorox wipes.
In conclusion, totally fun, I'd do it again in a heartbeat...or without.
Have a happy Fourth of July folks, don't shoot any roman candles out of your ass.