Dirty Pirate Hooker

No, it’s not the name of the newest bar in Uptown (although I would definitely go there if it was), or a new drink at Trader Vic’s, or even what you heard the mainstay hobo @ Oak Lawn & 35 mumble at you as you rolled up your window. No, no. This, my friends, was my Halloween costume, in all its glory.

There is no humor or wit left in pontificating the slutty nature of Halloween costumes these days. That is a given. Seeing a twenty-something female in Dallas with a turtleneck on under that blousy-bee costume – now that would be worth a mention.

Well, this Halloween I was a late entry. “Luckily” a friend of mine had recently acquired a few choice selections – a slutty Indian, a slutty sailor and a dirty pirate hooker. I think I speak for everyone when I say my choice was obvious. Unfortunately for me, one-armed stripper, tampon and Hitler were already taken.

So off we went, to the token warm-spot that teetered back and forth between “Please someone punch me in the face… NOW” & “I love this place!” on a regular basis. Everything was the same. Except it was Wednesday. And we all looked like morons. So… yeah. The same. After throwing back enough drinks to easily create a new testimony for MADD, slutty Indian #3 drove us to our next stop.

As I approached the entry of the infamous Dallas locale, I internally was ashamed for knowing which of the three entrances I had the best shot of getting in at, which bouncer liked me enough to let my friends in as well, and which dark corner I left my self-respect in the last time I was let through that velvet rope.

I began to look around at all of the other lost souls, just like me, the aspiring Dallas elite by way of bottomless table service and access to every VIP room in town, all longing for something different, something more… and then it hit me like a ton of bricks.

I forgot my pushup bra.