(WARNING: Nerd Alert… references to Wookieepedia ahead…)
Just weeks before Halloween and my plan to manipulate Matthew into agreeing to ditch this ridiculous Naruto crap and join us in our Star Wars theme…. has been victorious.
Matt has agreed to go as Darth Maul and I couldn’t be more excited. So what if I have to make another big, fuckin’ cloak? So what if I get to figure out how to fashion fifty horns on his head? What’s a few hours of face painting anyway?
I can’t wait.
Of course, Dean is somewhat disappointed because he wanted to go as Darth Maul. Well, too fucking bad there, Dean-o. You can go as something else. It’s a shame the kids annihilated the Darth Vader helmet because we could have worked something out.
I shall not be dressing up this year although I may go in my VADER WAS FRAMED t-shirt. As it stands, this is Halloween in numbers for us still to come:
2 yards of black fabric I now need.
1 jar of red face paint.
1 jar of black face paint.
1 bald cap.
50 small horned studs.
1 double sided lightsaber in red.
1 Luke Skywalker lightsaber in blue.
2 black pistol belts.
1 pair of knee high black boots.
1.5 yards of furry fabric.
I must shake off this overwhelming desire to dress up as Queen Amidala. Please stop me. Seriously. I see very large hair and funky lipstick. Tell me no.
You might not know this about me but I love Star Wars. Just about more than anything else. When it comes to Star Wars, I make no attempt to look less dorky than I am. Really, I’m quite cool and you would never look at me and think I’m a Jedi doofus, but I am. And… I’ve got it bad.
It is I who used to kiss my pillow at night wishing it were Obi Wan Kenobi and it is I who might still do this from time to time. It was I who made out with my hand imagining it were Boba Fett back when I was
in college a little girl. It was I, Kyra, who used to wrap my arms around myself in a passionate embrace dreaming of Princess Leia in that gold bikini getup.
At any rate, I’m one horny nerd. I am just now discovering this as I root around in my memory bank remembering all the times I made out with myself thinking about Star Wars. It might be sad or it might be sexy. Or, it might be sad to some of the more popular kids but sexy to a fellow nerd. Who knows? Who cares?
Let me tell you about how big of a dork I really am:
I go to ebay every single day to see what Master Replicas they have out right now as I so badly wish to collect lightsabers. I dream of having an entire wall that has every character’s prospective lightsaber displayed on it with little individual plaques underneath each one.
I read Wookieepedia faithfully.
I may have shopped around to different jewelers looking for a tiny platinum and Swarovski crystal necklace in the shape of a lightsaber. Blue for Obi Wan, hoping and dreaming for sapphire.
While at Legoland, I might have made out with a huge, human sized Lego sculpture of Boba Fett.
I might have a Yoda keychain.
I may or may not have designed a Star Wars related tattoo to have permanently imprinted onto my body.
I may or may not have considered asking Dean to shave his head bald and have his head tattooed to look like the Death Star.
“Luc, je suis votre père.”
“Luke, bin ich dein Vater.”
“Luke, sono il vostro padre.”
“Luke, eu sou seu pai.”
“Lucas, soy tu padre.”
I once made a joke in reference to the Millennium Falcon and although I can’t for the life of me remember what it was, I still giggle every time I think about it.
Man, do I love Star Wars. And, who wouldn’t? It’s the greatest story ever told, better even, than (dare I say it) the BIBLE. But… duh.
I’m glad I have kids because this gives me people to play with. There are times when one must race through the house leaving a path to destruction in her wake as she and her beloved Padewans beat the living shit out of each other with lightsabers. You would be very surprised at just how hard you can hit a kid with one of those things without breaking it. They are really, very durable.
Tonight, I discovered that if you are trying to do battle with a lightsaber in one hand, all the while videotaping it, you get your ass handed to you pretty badly. I attempted to self video tape one of our little training sessions and it looks more like the Rodney King video. One minute, I was winning and the next, I was on the ground as these tiny fuckers beat me with not only lightsabers, but with random objects… anything they could get their hands on. I am bruised and I am broken. I think one of them hit me with a chair.
My kids fight dirty. And, I like it.