Now that Halloween weekend is over, the cobwebs in your head and scattered throughout the house should be all cleaned up and tucked away. Unless you’re the type of person who persists on keeping their Christmas lights (or spider webs) up all year because it looks pretty – like me. There’s a type of sadness that occurs once a much-anticipated event is over: a honeymoon, road trip, holiday, anniversary and everything in between. That sadness has a name, and it’s a kind of hard to pronounce: Ruckkehrunruhe.
Yeah, good luck explaining to someone that you’re feeling that type of way. “Babe, what’s wrong?”
“Sigh, I don’t know, I guess I’m just going through Ruckkehrunruhe.”
The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows explains this feeling as, “returning home after an immersive trip only to find it fading rapidly from your awareness – to the extent that you have to keep reminding yourself that it happened at all, even though it felt so vivid just days ago.”
Kevin Systrom and Mike Krieger, the creators of Instagram, read this definition somewhere and figured out a way for adventurers to store and share all those ‘rapidly fading’ memories. Good on you, guys. Admittedly, Ruckkehrunruhe makes perfect sense. Days, if not months of planning dwindle down to 24 hours, and then it’s over. Slits throat, the end, shit’s depressing …
On another miserable note, waking up to an emailed Lyft receipt for almost $200 after party-hopping all night is enough to send anyone over the edge. “I spent how much to get from Culver City to West Hollywood?! That can’t be right. Fuck it, Halloween only happens once a year.”
Valentine’s Day gets international recognition for being the day of love while Halloween flies absurdly low on the romance radar, but it’s quite the opposite. On Halloween, the possibilities to meet someone and fall in love are endless – so much variety and curiosity in the air. In a rather unconventional way, Halloween mimics the beginning of the Golden Age, also known as The Millennium: similar concepts spoken by the Bible and Greek mythology.
It marks the day that the lion shall lay down with the lamb. In other words, Halloween is the one-day when two opposites can be seen in public together, let alone lay down next to each other in bed for the night. Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhess, a policeman and an Orange is the New Black-based inmate, a cat and a mouse. This is all completely realistic if you plan ahead of time and do some online shopping, followed by some ‘furry fandom’ action if you so choose.
Meeting someone new on this day can be all kinds of exciting, presuming you keep the mask and face paint on; otherwise, the fantasy is over, as is your libido. You can meet Superman, Beetlejuice, Barack Obama — even a walking talking Crayola crayon. If that concept doesn’t steal Cupid’s lunch money and trash his bow and arrow, we’re all doomed in the love department.
During the weeks leading up to Halloween, ladies spend their rent and grocery money on fake eyelashes, animal print lingerie and fishnet tights, while the fellas muster all the courage and game they’ve got to approach their dream babe: a nurse, cheerleader or schoolgirl. Halloween transforms into a living breathing Tinder account, swipe left for no, swipe right for yes.
Enter into a house party. Age range commonly between 21 and 35. God forbid the old folk parents are present as chaperones. In that case, bail immediately. There’s no hope for you here. Scan the room for people you know and the makeshift bar. Spotted. Now you’re in the safe zone with a red cup in hand, surrounded by a circle of comfort of familiar faces. You’re no longer a deer in headlights, but suddenly transformed into a noble steed ready to go in for the kill. It’s time to play a game of mentally swiping left or right.
Mummy? Too difficult to undress. Left.
Skeleton? Too much face paint — could get messy. Left.
Fairy princess? Too much glitter, and that shit will never leave your apartment. Left.
Ugh, this may be harder than expected. Have no fear, two or three cups of that fluorescent orange Spooky Juice, code name: jungle juice, super undercover code name: date rape recipe, will throw all specifics and nitpicking out the window … so ‘bout that Crayola crayon.
We all measure success differently, but how efficacious could your Halloween weekend be without a few scares and screams? For example, there’s nothing scarier than guessing the ingredients in that Spooky Juice, which I worryingly figured out by throwing it up the next day. Best guess: carrot juice, Tang powder, and crushed childhood dreams. Now I’m fearless, indestructible, and my stomach lining is bulletproof. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right?
Anyway, if drinking into oblivion isn’t your thing, there are other ways to get that frightful kick. More specifically, a new wave of walk-through haunted houses for adults. This isn’t a sex thing; this is a you-must-sign-a-waiver thing because you will be touched, chased, even ridden like a pony by actors dressed as chainsaw revving murderers.
WHERE DO I SIGN UP?
Glad you asked. This year I partook in “Alone: An Existential Haunting” in Downtown Los Angeles after being significantly depressed that I missed the Great Horror Campout attraction. I’d hate to give away details and ruin the horrific element of surprise, but I’ll just say, that at one point, a bag was put over my head in a strobe-light lit room. Still not screaming? Ok, new plan. Drive down to San Diego and ask about the McKamey Manor. Don’t worry if you’re on a budget after spending bank on a much-too-revealing costume you’ll only wear once, all McKamey Manor asks for is a can of dog food in commission.
Feel free to watch the 2013 trailer for this event because words cannot even begin to describe how menacing and terrorizing this thrill house is. You will be covered in what is hopefully fake blood, forced into small spaces and boxes filled with snakes, force fed rotten eggs until you vomit and bound with tape for a duration of two hours.
WHO’S COMING WITH ME?
In the City of Angels, it’s much too common to come across an aspiring actor/actress. For those who fall into that category, you could always make your debut at these types of shows. There’s no doubt in my mind that there’s something fundamentally wrong with you (and me) for even being slightly interested in attending. Then again, there’s also something profoundly wrong with you for showing up at a party in your underwear and beg to differ that it’s a costume. But what better day to let the freak flag fly than Halloween? The weirdo spectrum stretches further than the eye can see.