At the Rendezvous with my shirt in the sink, I may have, at first glance, appeared to be trying to salvage a shirt from a stain. Relatively quickly, though, it would be come apparent that I was trying to cover it in blood as unobtrusively as possible while periodically making room for others to engage in appropriate restroom hygiene. Having arrived late to the pre-party costume session, I entered my friend's birthday party in a shredded paint-spattered plaid shirt, some borrowed pajama pants, and wearing hastily applied face-whitening makeup and fake blood. In the red light of the grotto, this read more "homeless" than "zombie", prompting the change to the back-up costume and upping the ante on dripped blood. Though in comparison to most of the other attendees, this didn't constitute taking it to the max, it was a definite improvement. For future reference, light colored clothing is the way to go for your zombie needs.
The party itself was for a thirtieth birthday, which helped to overcome my general aversion to costume parties. Given the participants, it was predictably hilarious and fun. We zombie danced to all the hits of yesterday and today. Someone threw himself down the stairwell just for fun. The grotto, under the main bar, is a great place for private parties, particularly when you're all dressed like the undead, though by the time we lurched out into Belltown for a mid-party hot dog no one really even seemed to notice anything out of the ordinary. There were lots of pictures [flickr].
The undead spirit carried over into the next day, beginning with a lot of sleeping and ending with a very late night at the LoFi for their monthly Soul Club. It was some sort of special occasion and was even more crowded than usual when I arrived around midnight, thinning only slightly toward the very end of the night -slash- beginning of the morning. Once per month talcum covered dance nights are just about my limit and this is a pretty good one.
Waiting for brunch on Sunday I suggested that one shouldn't need to choose between coffee and a bloody mary, which then led to the brilliant idea of combining the two via a shot of espresso. This sounded disgusting enough that I was able to earn myself a meal by drinking just such a concoction on a sort-of bet. Middle school.
We put the weekend's fixation on reanimated corpses to rest by seeing Zombieland. Fueled by a giant "small" Coke Zero ( --why must it be so rare?!) and probably not enough sleep, I thought that it was the funniest thing in a very long time. Few others outside of our moviegoing group seemed to think that it was nearly as uproarious as we did, but they were incorrect or simply more vocally reserved.