I take Halloween very seriously. I have always dreamed of having a huge blow out house party, but sadly have always lived in cramped apartments where mostly people just sit on the couch and watch horror movies. A few years ago, however, I managed to wrangle myself into the perfect Halloween party position.

One of my dear friends, Joseph, had a house in Los Feliz that was to die for. Built in the 20’s, it was glorious and was built by silent movie star Pola Negri. Because she was quite a lover and was having affairs with Rudolph Valentino and Charlie Chaplin, Negri had a staircase built so that her lovers could go straight up to her bedroom, instead of having to go through the house. And somehow, I managed to talk Joseph into lending me his house for a Halloween party. Joseph is the nervous type to begin with, so how I triumphed I still haven’t a clue.

The night arrived and Joseph had gone all out. The house was decked out with the usual cobwebs and skeletons, the video loop of horror was on the TV. But because the house was an old mansion, no fake decorations were even needed. The house itself was perfection, all dark corners and dusty light fixtures. The back yard was dimly lit and full of overhanging trees and strange sounds. The food spread was truly remarkable, with not only every kind of candy imaginable, but with snacks, (including caviar and foie gras. No joke. Joseph is a classy boy.) sweets, Halloween shaped cookies and cakes. The bar was stocked and coolers of beer dotted the house.

Joseph and his girlfriend were dressed to kill as a zombie jock and cheerleader couple, bloody with bones sticking out every which way. I was Cheryl, Ash’s sister from Evil Dead, in a torn nightgown, covered in tree branches. My boyfriend was supposed to be Ash, but at the last minute couldn’t make it, so I was half of a couple costume. All night people asked me if I was supposed to be Carrie. (with tree branches?)

Then, within a blink of an eye, the house was packed from top to bottom with guests. His friends, my friends, every single person invited had shown. There was rollergirl, skating merrily around the house. The bride from Kill Bill making out with a (very good) Popeye. There’s the wolfman talking to a smurf (who’s back half wasn’t painted blue because he couldn’t reach). The music was blaring, everyone was rocking out, people were doing magic tricks,  it was rad.

And then.

A clan of about 30 friends of friends showed up. No one knew most of them. And they were drunk. Very drunk. And starting to get a little ornery. The beads of sweat popped up on Joseph’s brow, and he looked to me with fear in his eyes. The buzz started around the party – who were these people? Although there is some sense of pride in having party crashers, the notion of them going bezerk overrides that pride.

You could see our friends getting nervous. Joseph was asking me what to do. I was feeling no pain, and shrugged it off. What were a few more guests? He began to wring his hands in a Lady Macbeth type fashion. The sound of drunken yelling and breaking glass echoed from the backyard. It seemed there might have to be a Joseph-Crashers stand off. Joseph was drumming his courage to the sticking point.

And within a flash, they were leaving en masse, grumbling about the lack of booze and pissed that they weren’t feeling particularly welcome. Two large jock types started a fight on the way out with -get ready for this – the guy who dressed like Woody Allen. Apt.

The party kind of died down after that, with people nervously trying to avoid Woody’s fate, and it was becoming clear that Joseph was in a state of full on panic. I stayed to help clean up, calming Joseph down and assuring him that the party was a success. I could see that he would never throw one again.

I was ecstatic, giddy in my knowledge that I had thrown the Best Halloween Party Ever.