Double the Portions and Half the Clothes

    We were told that Santa Barbara is the place to be for Halloween, so we made the trek to Isla Vista’s infamous celebrations along with a group of 36 I-Housers. After a scenic drive through LA traffic, singing along to our Californian soundtrack and regretting our In-N-Out burgers, we arrived at a hot tub mansion.  Fifteen minutes later the police arrived with noise complaints. It was 7 p.m. Hash tag anticlimax.

    For the rest of the weekend, the police threats of “prison” and court action loomed over the group. One girl has a court date in SB next month, and we still don’t really understand why; apparently, our neighbor doctor needed to sleep at 9 p.m. But kudos to her — she refused to let this dampen her spirits — noticeable by her 3 a.m. return the next night in a limousine. She was alone and covered in fake blood. This particular Halloween mystery remains unsolved.

    The taxi companies were clearly feeling the strain. When the first batch didn’t arrive to take us to Del Playa, we called, were told to “shut the fuck up” and promptly hung up on.  We had all gone to town with our costumes and looked like a Halloween catalogue. Our troop included a Jesus, a chicken and a ghostbuster, just to name a few, and we soon made it to the streets of Del Playa. But where was the party? We are still not sure. Forgive us if we are wrong but we normally associate parties with music and dancing and drinks. There was none of the above. While SB may have been crazy a few years ago, the police have really stamped down. Police paranoia has heightened to the extent that they patrol the streets on horseback at all times. Two people in our party were told they could not enter because of their “weapons.”  These consisted of bloody paper knives and a necklace of cooking utensils (part of a chef costume). It was the plastic salad servers that were thought to be the most lethal.

    We now understand the Mean Girls quote: “Halloween is the one night a year when a girl can dress like a total slut and no other girls can say anything about it.” A friend dressed as a Goth, who wasn’t sure what else to do, took to running the streets and yelling, “SLUT-AWEEN” to all girls who had taken Regina’s advice to heart. These girls, far from being offended, high fived and cheered, celebrating their sluttiness.

    Essentially, our nights consisted of walking up and down the streets looking for parties, a few of which we did manage to crash. The most fun was definitely back at the house, where we enjoyed the hot tub so much it turned green. Within two nights, every toilet in the house was blocked (we are still waiting on the deposit).

    The spectacle was amazing and definitely worth the trip. We enjoyed dressing up so much that next year it will be yelling “SLUT-AWEEN” at us when we take to the streets at home.

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