I live with Satan.

Halloween is by far the best holiday ever. It is a no stress holiday. You don’t have to worry about whose turn it is at whose parent’s house. You don’t have to stress about trying to find the right gift, and you don’t have to spend hours in the kitchen for an overly dramatic meal. Halloween is perfect.

It’s the one time of year you get to let your alter ego run wild. Whether it be slutty nurse, axe murderer, or in my friend’s case…a tampon. Now I’ve come up with some damned creative costumes in my time. Once I dressed as a passenger of the Titanic. One of the dead ones. I wore a distressed ball gown and colored my skin a lovely shade of green. I attached seaweed and fishing line to various parts of my body and had a name tag that said, “Grace.” I have also been pretty good at coming up with something for those last-minute Halloween party invitations. Like the time I dressed in all pink and drew a lower-case “i” on the front of my shirt and went as, you guessed it: Pink Eye. Then there was the time I blacked out both my eyes and wore a t-shirt with a large P on it and went as a black-eyed P. So I consider myself to be somewhat creative, but never in a million years would I dream of dressing like a tampon.

I was living in the San Diego State dorms at the time and I had actually gone pretty standard with my costume: Go-Go Dancer. I didn’t have much money so I had gone to the Goodwill and found this crazy green Mumu with a flower print. The Goodwill also had the perfect Go Go boots. They were a size too small, but they were glam-perfect. Plus, it was Halloween and one must suffer for their art. I brought the green dress back to the dorm, cut off the sleeves, brought the hem up a few inches, and turned into a very short, very cute dress. The Mumu came with its own belt and I singed it tight. Voila…it was perfect. My hair at the time was long and permed. And may I say it was the most deliciously horrible perm ever. So I ratted the hell out of my hair. With the help of 2 cans of aqua net and a ton of bobby pins, I twisted it into a beehive that stuck up at least a good 8 inches into the air. I threw on some fake eyelashes and I was Go Go ready to party.

We were going as a group to a house party and there were 6 of us girls going. I walked out of my dorm with my roommate – let’s call her, hmmmm…Satan – who was dressed as “Go-Go dancer #2.” We met up with our next-door neighbors, who were dressed as “Go-Go dancer #3” and “Dirty laundry,” respectively. Dirty Laundry was actually a pretty funny costume. She had attached a laundry bin to herself using suspenders and hung various items of clothing off the laundry bin. We were all admiring each other when the door down the hall opened and out walked the two tampons. I couldn’t believe my eyes. There they were, both dressed in white stretch pants and white turtlenecks. They had white faces and had wrapped puffy white cotton around each foot. Then they had made cone shaped heads from the cotton. To this day the tampons are still one of the funniest most inventive costumes I have ever seen.

But this was college. I was young, I had the best beehive in the bunch and I was looking to meet cute boys. And a Go-Go dancer costume had a much better shot. Off to the party we went. I can’t remember who drove but I know it wasn’t me or Tampon #2, my friend Shannon. We made it to the party and I can completely remember the house. Not because my memory is so good, but because this house always had the best parties, and I’m pretty sure I went to most of them. Once inside we went straight for the back patio. That’s when I saw the sexy Mr. X. Now Mr. X and I had a very strange relationship. I don’t know if you would exactly call us boyfriend and girlfriend but we were way more than friends. We were on-again, off-again, on-again, and…you get the drift. This was one of the “off-again” times. Even though we were currently off, Mr. X and I had a mutual respect for each other and we had made a deal: neither of us would mack (flirt, kiss, ogle, grope) on someone when the other of us was present. That was a big no-no. So as soon as I saw Mr. X at the party, I knew my making-out plans were ruined. Dammit

So the party went on and eventually we all got separated. It was getting late when Satan came up to me and told me everyone was ready to go. And that’s when I saw that tampon #2 was making out with some really cute guy. “Hold on,’ I told Satan, “let me get Shannon.” I went to get Shannon to tell her we were leaving but she and the future Mr. Tampon were so intertwined I could barely get her attention at all. “Hey, we’re leaving,” I told her. I think she said something like “5 more minutes,” but considering that the really cute guy was currently eating her face, I couldn’t be sure. Satan was getting impatient.

“Just leave her,” she huffed.
“I’m sorry, but there is no way in hell I’m leaving a friend at a party,” I told her, “especially if she’s drunk. It’s just not going to happen.” The rest of our group was already loaded into the car, so I was trying to communicate with Satan all by myself. For future reference, never attempt to talk sense into Satan alone. You should always have a priest nearby. Unfortunately, there were no really cute guys dressed up as a priest, so I was screwed. Satan ditched us.

Not only did she leave us, but she left us at a house that was at least 5 miles from the dorm. This was not a good situation. The Tampon is drunk, I’m tipsy, my shoes are now two sizes too small, and we would be walking home. Which meant that I had plenty of time to plan different ways to kill each one of those bitches who left us at the party. Not a good move on their part. I informed my drunken tampon friend that we have just been ditched. This separated her from the future Mr. Tampon faster than you can say gonorrhea. She turned to me and shouted, “They did what?” You see, Tampon #2 and Tampon #1 were not only roommates, but they were also BFF’s. The fact that Tampon #1 would leave her at a party was just baffling. “I tried to find us a ride,” I told her. “But everyone we know is gone. It looks like we’re walking.”

So there we were, the limping Go-Go girl and the weaving Tampon, on a quest for home and comfy beds. The walk started out fine. If we hadn’t been homicidally pissed off, if my feet hadn’t been bleeding, and if Shannon hadn’t been wrapped in 4 inches of cotton, it would have been a leisurely stroll.

About a mile into the walk we had made it out of the neighborhood and on to the main street. Now this is where it got fun. It might have been no big deal to see a Go Go dancer walking down the road on Halloween, but passers-by were honking and yelling at the tampon. She was quite a hit. Not enough of a hit to get us a ride, though. “Damn my feet are killing me!” I told her.” I can’t take it anymore,” and off came the boots. I was now barefoot with 3.5 miles to go. Awesome. We passed the time by talking about the different ways we would make our friends pay for their betrayal. If you know me, you know it’s never a good idea to give me a whole lot of time think about how pissed off I am.

Three miles to go. “I’m so thirsty,” Shannon said, “I’m so thirsty and hot.” Poor thing was in leggings and a turtleneck and wrapped in enough cotton to supply a small world country with tampons for years to come. She stopped walking and tried her to best to rip the cotton off her head but it just wasn’t coming off that easy. “You’ve got to help me get this off.” So there we were, she was bent over and I was unwinding large rolls of cotton from her head and the honking we were getting increased ten fold. I can only imagine the visuals. We got the cotton off of her head and continued onwards. Shannon was peeling cotton off of her body and leaving it in a trail behind us.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Leaving a roadmap so the police can find us when we get reported as missing persons,” she moaned.

Two miles to go. “My legs are burning up,” Shannon growls. So we stop again to remove the cotton leg-warmers that she had made for herself. Now we’re on the side of the road, Shannon’s got her feet in the air, and I’m tugging on these baby sheep that have engulfed her legs. HONK-HONK! We didn’t even look as we flipped our fingers into the air.

We finally get a visual of the campus area. Yay! We’re not going to die after all! We make it back to our dorm where I run into a friend of mine, Walter, who is staring at what’s left of my beehive like it’s trying to kill him.
“Are you okay?” I ask him.
“What is on your head?” he asks me.
“Dude, it’s my hair,” I tell him.
“I don’t like it,” he said, and then he ran away from us, screaming. I turned to my friend Ben who was with Walter at the time. “What the Hell?” I asked.
“He’s on mushrooms, and I think you just freaked him out,” Ben said, before going off in search of his friend.

“I’m so over tonight,” I said to nobody in particular, and grabbed my tampon friend to go to our wing. Once we got there, we ran into Dirty Laundry, AKA “Victim #1.”
“What happened to you guys? I can’t believe you guys just left us,” I exclaimed.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. “Satan told us you said you wanted to stay and that you said we should go ahead without you. We would never leave you two.”

Who are you going to believe: Dirty Laundry, or Satan?

I’m going to kill Satan.

Unfortunately, revenge would have to be served cold. Satan was hiding out at her boyfriend’s place, and I probably wouldn’t see her for 72 hours. Pissed and tired I went into the girl’s bathroom, ran a bath, and had to soak my head in the tub for 45 minutes before I could get all the bobby pins and aqua net out. I went back into my room, climbed into my bed, pulled out my Bible and began reading the book of Revelations. I needed to know Satan’s next move. Only this time…I would be ready for it.

Love it? Hate it? Let me know! Send questions, comments, brownie recipes or random brainfarts to: mrsdiagnosed@yahoo.com

4 Responses to “I live with Satan.”

  1. Ah. Was that the beginning of the end for you guys?

  2. stephsmith2 Says:

    Great blog. I sooo want to hear (at length) details of your SDSU experiences some day- Ric and I were in our 30’s by the time we moved to Cali and we both had some crazy college experiences at good ol’ Eastern Michigan U, and we’re always saying how much more crazy it must have been to go to school here with the beach and everything. Definitely glad to hear more about your roommate turning into Satan. (Obviously I’m a little behind the times on reading your blogs). 🙂

    • I’m shocked I graduated. Some of us weren’t so lucky though. Satan ended up going back to a JC because she couldn’t keep her grades up. It’s hard to study at a school like SDSU when you have so much to do. The beach, the parties, Mexico I mean what’s a girl to do?

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