Dating Blogger Amy: The End of EVon

I never would have thought this “holiday” would become such a pain in the ass.  Since it fell on a Tuesday, costume parties began on Friday.  For a party girl like myself this meant three to four nights of meticulous costuming. By the end of it even I never wanted to dress up again.

On Halloween night Best Friend and I went to Pink Elephant.  We were joining the adorable Ricardo, who we first met in the Hamptons, at his table. He looked just charming, dressed as “Clark Kent as Superman,” with thick-framed glasses, his hair combed over to the side and a superman shirt on under a standard white button-up shirt with the “S” nicely displayed. 

He told Best Friend and I our costumes were dangerous, which I suppose they were.  I wore a tight black tank top over a peek-a-boo black push-up bra, black tights, teeny tiny black shorts, black peep-toe heels, white bunny ears, a white tail, and a white bow tie.  Best Friend wore her old Hooters’ girl uniform. 

I asked Ricardo what he was going to do after all the Halloween festivities were over. 

“I might take the next week off,” he answered.

“Really? And do what?” Didn’t you just go to Europe for vacation?

“Go somewhere quiet,” he said. 

So cute! Best answer ever.

So it got insanely crowded by Ricardo’s table and Best Friend and I took advantage of the Halloween special:  Access through Pink Elephant’s side door to Crobar to all patrons with a Pink Elephant stamp.  We could go back and forth all night.  And go back and forth we did.  (Of course everyone in Pink Elephant was too cool to take advantage of the Halloween special, which at one point left us alone with an entire Crobar balcony to dance around on—super fun.)

When we returned to Ricardo’s table I was startled by a run-in.  With none other than EVon.  I hadn’t spoken to EVon since May.  He slept with me (the Most Disappointing Sex Ever) then played weird “I want you, now I don’t want you” kind of games. It took me a while to accept the fact that no matter what I did I couldn’t get him to be interested in me the way I wanted him to be.  I had to get over the fact that not every guy I want will want me back.  It was not easy.  Especially since I cheated on my boyfriend of 2.5 years with him.

But I couldn’t have envisioned a better way to run into him: He looked awful. Totally ridiculous.  Like “Mother Hubbard,” Best Friend said.  He had a blond wig (which he oh-so-charmingly referred to in jest as his “extensions”… har har barf) and this weird shiny-materialed light pink skin tight body suit with pointy foam boobs and some red fetus-like foam object protruding from his stomach. I asked him what exactly he was supposed to be. 

“It’s an angel riding a devil,” he said.

More like a confused old man in awkward half-drag trying to hit on a 21-year old.

His face looked so wrinkly too.  He’s 36 but I dare say he can’t be aging well.  He asked me about my life.  Last he knew I graduated (he pretended he didn’t remember, but he damn well did) and was looking for a job.  I was short with him, told him I was doing very well, had a job and freelanced.  And you know how if you know you’re going to bump into an ex you’ll take extra care to look extra good?  Well, I don’t think I could have looked better/hotter and I wasn’t even thinking about seeing him.  It just naturally worked out like that.

I think he tried to put his arm around me and hit on me (details are fuzzy) but there was a really bad B.O. smell in the air (I think it was EVon—if I was hot in practically no clothes he must have really been shvitzing in his wet suit of a costume) and I could not stand talking to such an awkward pink spectacle, so I bunny hopped onto the dance floor and left the Elephant soon after.