My Eyes are Still Stinging

Based on anecdotal evidence, adults seize upon Halloween as an opportunity to display their "wild" sides. Nationwide, the availability of "sexy" costumes in stores seems to be higher each year, sometimes making it impossible to find anything remotely covering unless you make it yourself. In New York City, however, this unfortunately provides a convenient and unacceptable excuse for individuals to not wear pants/skirts. Or underwear.

I knew I was in for a night when, on my way to a community Halloween party in the East Village, I observed several women whose costumes consisted of shirts. How men's dress shirts with sparkly purses as accessories are costumes is beyond me. I dodged several of these mysteries along with countless "sexy" pirates until I met my friends (one was Mighty Mouse and the other a vampire disco guy) and we went to a gay dive bar where no one really wore costumes. My cronies loved that I was going to a gay bar dressed as a bride.

After I drank a stiff Diet Coke (it was flat), we headed to the party. It was an all day event at a community theater center. Scott and Mark had already been there for a little while before they left for stronger drinks at the bar, and they warned me that a naked man was wandering around the party. I spotted him as soon we entered the lobby. "Oh, shit!" I told my friends upon seeing his extremely furry naked torso. "I know this guy!" He was the naked guy contestant in the Mr. Lower East Side pageant that I attended in October 2005.

The whole night I marveled at the weirdness of recognizing that guy. Many other men were wearing minimal amounts of clothing, but I thought that Naked Guy had the biggest balls to go full monty. After I downed a watery glass of apple juice at the bar, it was time for the costume contest. Who could beat the Naked Guy?

Unfortunately, Naked Guy with Elephantitis of the Scrotum could. When he walked across the stage with his softball-sized nut sac, I realized that I needed to wash my eyes out with soap when I got home to rid myself of the vision. Further, I had a bad feeling I knew him, too. At the same Mr. Lower East Side pageant, the previous years' winner of the title "Best Nut Sac" was a man spoken wonderously of as "Tommy Nut Sac." I suspect that was who I set my eyes on during the costume parade.

Now there's inherently nothing wrong with men who have sacs that are 15 times larger than normal ones, I just don't want to see them live and in person for the most part. (That's what medical history museums are for!) I was fairly repulsed when the guy won for "Best Erotic Costume." A naked man with a giant sac does not equal erotic in my not-especially-selective book. The stiff Diet Coke and weak apple juice just weren't enough to make me lower my not-so-high standards.