No matter how much I try to pump myself up, I simply don’t feel Halloween anymore—especially since Halloween slapped me with that sexual harassment
suit two years ago.

This is one of the signs that I’m growing up, I guess. I no longer get excited about
wearing a costume (unless it’s really sexy and makes my body look bangin’) and
I’m too old to trick or treat. And who cares because, let’s face it, candy seriously
needs to get over itself.

I bring this up because this year Halloween was pretty much just another weekend.
Actually, I can honestly say I had lots of fun, but the only thing that kept reminding me
that it was Halloween was the fact that I knew I had a test on “the day after
Halloween.” This Halloween only succeeded in reminding me that I won’t be young
forever. I realized this as I did laundry and paid bills while dressed as a bee.

Fortunately, though, there are a few simple aspects of my life still around to remind
me that I am still a pretty young guy. Like how I still enjoy a good video game and love
running and playing basketball for hours. Not to mention the fact that I still haven’t
perfected getting it all in the toilet.

But then it all depressingly comes back to the fact that I don’t “feel” Halloween
anymore. Halloween was always my favorite holiday—I always considered it more
exciting than Lincoln’s Birthday and Arbor Day combined. And no, not because of Big
League Chew and those giant, orange marshmallow circus peanuts. Well, not totally.

Halloween was always so awesome because of its role as a great equalizer for guys.
I consider a guy getting pumped up for Halloween to be the heterosexual equivalent
of a guy getting pumped up for the high school prom. On prom night, girls get to wear
their “dresses” and “corsages” and eventually, if they went to the prom with me,
“eyeliner tears of disappointment.” Guys never really get excited over this  “dressing up”
aspect. This is mostly because the coolest feature of the tuxedo is the bowtie. This is
pretty much a waste because the bowtie stays on the average male a maximum of 4.2 seconds.

If American history has taught us anything, it’s that guys are more comfortable
in hockey masks and the novelty “hatchet stuck in skull” than they are in matching vests.
Girls are comfortable in prom dresses because they know they look good in them. That
is until another girl shows up in the same dress. That’s when actual hatchets appear.

To make matters worse, this month I’m turning 22—the most useless age in the history
of ages. It’s right up there with 19. Think about it. At 16 you can finally drive, at 17 you get
to see R-rated movies and at 18 you can legally open that Web site you’ve been taking pictures for. Of course, 20 kicks ass because you’re not a teenager anymore and do I
really need to explain 21? Pretty much all that I’m too young for is running for president
and getting my prostate examined every weekend. And let’s face it, who wants that?
Dealing with politics on a daily basis is just disgusting.

While we’re on this whole “old” talking point, I guess I won’t start adoring Halloween
again until I have children of my own. Which I estimate will probably happen in the year
“lol yeah right.”

Whatever. Screw you, Halloween. Thanks for ruining the twilight of 2004 for me. At least
I’ve still got Christmas on my side. I swear to God, if Santa Claus didn’t exist, I’d just kill
myself right now. Tim Landry

©2004 Tim Landry