I promised a couple of Halloween- and Brenna-related stories a while back. Is Halloween over? Too bad!

Brenna, as you may remember, is a genius friend of mine with whom I’ve recently reconnected. Here are two instances in which she made Halloween so much better than I could think possible.

Brenna and I met at Berkeley, a school I attended for two years. My sophomore year was very strange. I was fast-tracked into adulthood issues for which I was sorely unequipped (death, betrayal, money, etc.) My friends had mostly moved out of the dorms into apartments or student cooperatives, including my roommate, who was great.

My second, random-college-selected roommate that year was so weird and not terribly nice and a definite contribution to the strangeness of that period. She dressed and styled herself, unironically, straight from the year 1977. On her feet she wore Famolares (example above,) a particularly tragic shoe trend in an era of really really bad shoes. Her hair was feathered. Her jeans were flared, which was a crime, a crime! I think the shirts were, upon occasion, velour. She even wore a little enameled mushroom charm on a thin wire choker. I admit that now I kind of covet that necklace.

She was a J0b’s Daughter, an offshoot of the Mas0nic order. She had to go to regular meetings completely decked out in hooped ballroom dresses. Each member of the order had to use the same fabric patterns, so her dresses were made out of sheets. Her pattern was white with bunches of violets on it. This is so bizarre. I haven’t thought of this for years. I’m going to ask Brenna to comment on this post to verify that I’m remembering this correctly.

The roommate also was just generally weird-looking. I’m going to be a little kinder here, because I like to think I’m past making fun of people’s appearances — at least the appearances they can’t help.

We were civil, but did not get each other at all. I’m sure she thought I, in all my punky arty regalia, was monstrous.

So, the Halloween of the following year, Brenna came to a Halloween party dressed as this roommate. It was outrageous, and hilarious, and very edgy. In a sea of sexy kitties, here was Brenna, in full out ugly drag, intending to make a small group of people laugh very hard. I will never that Brenna did that for me. It made the strangeness a whole lot better.

A good decade later I was living in San Francisco, and Brenna was living in the East Bay. Ethan Hawke, the quasi-talented actor, had decided he was an auteur and published some arty novel. This inspired a costume — I was going to be a quasi-talented poet hipster asshole. I was in full drag — taped-down boobs, a professionally-made costume goatee, black frame glasses, tweed jacket. I looked hot! The only thing missing was some really bad poetry. I asked Brenna and her man Jeff to create some magic, which I typed up and bound into a small book. The poems were epic in their pretentious awfulness. I wish we had some examples still (Brenna?) because it was the funniest shit I had ever read.

I party-hopped that night, and everywhere I went, I would march directly to the stereo, turn off the music, and start reading aloud. Lots of dramatic pauses and hand gestures. I don’t remember a lot about the reactions. Puzzlement, I presume.

I do remember that I went to visit my mom that Thanksgiving, and I brought the book. She couldn’t believe what she was reading, and gave one of the huger compliments ever: “Your friends are so clever!”

I concur. I highly suggest you go back in time and find yourself a friend like Brenna. Then you’d have something to blog about now!