100 Emails, 20 Dates An SF girl's systematic quest to end her singlehood

The Dating Hazards of Halloween Costumes

This post is rated PG-13, or maybe R in the bible belt. Consider yourself warned.

How big of an effect does someone's Halloween costume have on their appeal? I'm not talking about anything particularly carnal here; that would be too obvious (hence the overwhelming abundance of "I'm a sexy maid," "I'm a sexy nurse," "I'm a sexy gas station attendant" costumes on the Friday or Saturday closest to October 31). I'm talking about when you meet someone and you start to hit it off because of their personality, not because of the woman's over-the-knee white plastic boots.

I pondered this question last night while dressed as everyone's favorite MILF, Sarah Palin, at my friend Tiffany's Halloween party. Completely sober on the Muni, I wasn't really prepared to respond to all the drunken "Hey, Sarah!" and "You're hot!" catcalls I received. And I got a lot of them. I'm sure every Palin did.

At the party, I started talking to a really interesting guy: property manager by day, metal sculptor in his free time, friend of a really cool friend of Tiffany's. He was dressed as a crack whore. And at a certain point, although I was really enjoying the conversation, I started to get really distracted by his costume. Of course, it didn't help that he was making jokes like, "I'll suck your dick for a lump of crack." I'm a really open-minded girl, but one thing that will irreversibly turn me off is when a guy I'm interested in starts joking about performing oral sex on another guy. (I could probably add receiving oral sex from another guy, but most straight guys don't seem to joke about that.)

It reminded me of when a friend bet me $5 to wear a big Paul Stanley star on my face at a bluegrass festival. The whole day, I kept forgetting that I had it on my face, but it freaked everyone else out  -- especially my friend Annie, who screamed slightly every time she looked at me. At a certain point, you sort of forget that you're dressed up as, say, a crack whore or vice-presidential candidate. You're still you to you. But everyone else sees the costume.

By the way, my favorite catcall of the evening? An extremely intoxicated guy almost moaning, "Oh my god, Sarah Palin," as he had his dick in his hands, peeing against a garage door. Lordy, what a night.