It was a week before Christmas, 2013.
I was outside a fancy restaurant, staring in, watching a couple eat dinner. Breathing on the glass, I pulled a few of my bloodied fingers through the moist steam I'd made on the window. Then I turned away and staggered down the street towards the next dive bar on the itinerary.
Damn this was fun!
An hour earlier I'd been hanging out by the big Christmas tree at Union Square when a police officer came over and told me I'd have to leave. A few people were complaining, and I'd made a child cry.
Sounds bad, however, there were also kids around who I'd made laugh. Even took photos with a couple of the pee wees and their parents. And I wasn't trying to be totally obnoxious. Just waiting for some fellow zombies to show up so we could all hit some bars.
It was my first "Zombie Pub Crawl," and lurching around that night, moaning and groaning down the dark streets of San Francisco from watering hole to watering hole, something inside me exploded with freedom.
I have never cared for "dressing up," I dread thinking about what I'll wear when invited to cocktail parties or weddings. You will never see me in lipstick or sporting heels. I've always been a tomboy and prefer t-shirts and jeans. Being in zombie makeup just felt... natural.
That night all I could think of was... I can't wait to do this AGAIN.
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