People might not realize this, but Halloween in Los Angeles can be a crazy, crazy experience, and this past weekend was no exception. Luckily, my friends and I always seem to have a camera on hand, which means much of the ridiculousness can be documented. Sadly, we did miss some vital pics — such as the annual onslaught of sexy iterations of generally non-sexy things: sexy Waldo, sexy Freddy Krueger, sexy Chilean miners, etc. I even think I saw a sexy version of Max from Where the Wild Things Are.
Pictures (of slutty and non-slutty costumes alike) after the jump…
Night one begins at The Standard Downtown. Clearly much revelry ensued.
IndianJones and I dress as seminal hip-hop pioneers MC Hammer and Vanilla Ice. Originally we were going to be dancing bananas, but dancing early ’90s musicians felt more fitting.
The back of my jacket. I feared the last two letters might fall off, leaving me with something that said “Word to your moth.”
Here I am photobombing Jenny, our resident sexy Mr. Peanut.
IndianJones posing with a very convincing Mr. T.
The inevitable and always welcomed Hammer slide, captured brilliantly by Michelle Collins.
Me posing with a rather unhappy looking Tina Turner. And the answer is yes, we did sing “Private Dancer” to each other.
Our first Antoine Dodson of the weekend.
A man who was once a frightful ghost now lays passed out on a couch while a bewildered crowd stands over him, confused.
The next night, we find ourselves at the grand opening of Supperclub LA. Aerialists abound.
Josh Curtis mans the bar.
These two people were kind of scary, and I still don’t know why they offered me cotton candy.
Word to your jellyfish umbrella.
Posing with a random, writhing woman in body spandex.
Continued early ’90s nostalgia: Jenny and I encounter the Fresh Prince.
My friend Sly makes her grand entrance from on high.
These ladies were just two of many humans that would often come dangling down over the crowd. At one point, a stealthy aerialist appeared just inches over my head. It startled me.
After Supperclub, I change halfway into civilian clothes and relish my newfound douchey look.
Jenny shows off her Willow Smith skillz.
Night three, which is Halloween itself, begins with some bizarre pre-gaming. Here’s a picture of me dressed as Vanilla Ice drinking a green tea mojito and playing Boggle with Sly. This is as close as it gets to living out Mad-Libs.
Soon we’re off to Santa Monica Boulevard for the annual West Hollywood Halloween Carnivale.
Bored with his MC Hammer costume, IndianJones decides to take on my Zach Morris gettup from last year. He evolves the look, however, by making a shirt that says Bayside Tigers. Of course here, it just reads as GAYS.
IndianJones very proudly pegs his pants.
Weho’s unofficial nickname.
And the award for most charming costume goes to the bloody tampon and maxi pad couple.
One of my favorite costumes of the night. If you don’t get it, we could have a problem. (Fine, it’s David Bowie from Labyrinth)
Black Snooki with nipple-chomping photobomber.
Jenny poses with some amazing California Raisins. A veritable trail mix of costumes.
Random Bristol Palin photobomber.
About ten Mario and Luigis (and one Wario) run into each other all at once. They congratulate themselves on their originality (of which little was on display).
Jenny and Karl Lagerfeld.
Highlight of Jenny’s night: meeting a Nicki Minaj. Lowlight of my night: Nicki Minaj asking me if I was Drake. WTF?
One of my favorite costumes of the night: a guy dressed as a food truck (there were two others with him). The costume is good enough on its own, but I find it extra hilarious that he made it a SEXY food truck.
Marge Simpson. This girl was so sweet, but I’m confused as to why she didn’t shape her hair correctly.
Here’s a guy who’s wearing nothing but a see-through bikini bottom. I don’t think that’s a costume. It’s just slutty.
Paparazzi taking photos of themselves. This went on for quite some time. I was really hoping we could get super meta and have IndianJones take a picture of me taking a picture of the paparazzi taking a picture of themselves, but he was too shellshocked to be useful.
Sexy Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. Note to self: go to gym today.
Of course I must take a picture of Sur, the restaurant owned by Lisa VanderPump from Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
IndianJones and I pose with our respective toy phones.
Somehow, we wind up at The Happy Ending in Hollywood where we encounter this couple. They look benign now, but let me tell you something: nothing’s more disturbing than watching a joker and a grim reaper grind on a dance floor.
Cheesing out as Vanilla Ice with my friend.
In a pleasant turn of events, the DJ closes out the night by playing “Ice Ice Baby.” Needless to say, a dance circle was soon formed.
Yeah, this happened.
IndianJones then has his moment in the dance circle. Not gonna lie: our costumes KILLED IT at this bar. Good for us.
All’s well that ends well.
How was your Halloween? And stay tuned for a special Halloween cocktail post…