When I left work on Friday I told my coworkers to have a good holiday weekend. They looked at me like I told them they were fat. “Because of Halloween,” I said. Lots of Meh 's followed because apparently dressing up and getting wasted should only be done in the privacy of your own home.

It didn't stop Patti and I from having the greatest Halloween party weekend ever. It didn't stop Jason either, who called with the good news that he's "pretty much not contagious anymore." I said, "Dude, I'll see you in 2006," then went back to warding off chickenpox by crossing my fingers.

Patti and I unveiled our costumes at Matt's party on Friday and Doug's party on Saturday. A lot of people liked my UFO costume, but I was surprised how many people had to ask what I was. One lady thought I was a gas pump. “Yes,” I told her. “A metallic, domed, flame-shooting, antenna-ed gas pump.” Beer may not increase your smarts, but it will increase your smartass. It'll also make you pee.

While waiting for the bathroom, a woman dressed as a pregnant nun joined the line. She held a beer and I joked, "You know you shouldn't drink when you're pregnant." After a few seconds of awkward silence, another person in line asked, "What the hell is the matter with you?" Then I realized what was the matter and the I'm-not-wearing-an-ironic-costume-I-just-have-a-fat-tummy nun said, "Fuck you." I got out of line and told Patti we had to leave. We didn't, though, and I spent the remainder of the night trying not to be seen while wearing a gigantic lit-up UFO on my head. Then I peed and blasted off into space.