Chelsea y Chuy

For someone who fancies themself to be on the creative side, I am extremely uncreative when it comes to Halloween costumes...until this year. I wanted to be something so out of left field that people would weep and clap and throw rose petals at my feet for the sheer genius of my costume. While I often opt for a last minute store bought purchase (please see Border Patrol, Sailor Girl, Cheerleader, Zombie Prom Queen), this year I was going to be unconventional...and I needed a prop. I had tried stand-up a few times, and friends had told me that I reminded them of Chelsea Handler...so that's who I would be this year. But wearing a blonde wig and donning a bottle of Belvedere all night was not going to be enough. I needed my own midget, my own Chuy, but I didn't know if renting a person was even possible. It turns out that it is.
I Googled "Renting A Midget" on the internet, and found Tiny Entertainment, a troupe of little people who pimp themselves out to be oompa loompas and elves for the holidays. I briefly considered renting 5 Cent due to Chelsea's alledged fling with the rapper/horrible actor/Vitamin Water and Energy drink mogul, but somehow inherently knew that Chuy was the way to go. They only had one Latino LP (Little Person)...his name was Gaspar...and for the low low price of $425 for 3 hours, he was mine.
Gaspar far exceeded my expectations...although anything would have exceeded my expectations. I had rented a midget! It didn't matter that I used all of my money to rent him, or that I would be eating Ramen noodles the entire following week until pay day...the memories that he would bring would last a life time.
Gaspar was married to another LP, and they had an LP daughter named Gaby. He was very sweet, and was basically my bitch for the evening. He lit my cigarettes, deferred all free drinks given to him my way, carried around my bottle of Belvedere, and didn't put up much of a fight when my friend Alisha and I tried to carry him around like a child or play airplane with him. Before we even went out, I made him (bitch, I paid for him, don't judge me) pose on my bed amongst Magnum condom wrappers, empty bottles of booze and Marlboro cigarettes.
Not having children of my own, I had no idea until I rented Gaspar how protective mothers must be over their children. I felt the need to make sure that he was OK, and that he hadn't lost my bottle of Belvedere. Around midnight I started to fade so Gaspar walked me home. When we got to my door step to say good night, I wasn't sure what the proper ending should be so I slurred "We're not going to have sex." He shrugged his tiny little shoulders, told me it had been a pleasure, then hopped into his Ford Taurus with the gas pedal extenders and booster seat to drive back to Riverside.
Truly that should have been the end of it, but since my life is filled with weird occurences that have basically forced me to start this blog, it wasn't the end...but the mere beginning to a week of emails, phone calls, texts, and Facebook messages professing how great of friends we were. Um, if we were that great of friends, then give me my $425 back so that I could stop eating Ramen noodles until pay day. Knowing that he was married, and not wanting to be a Little Person homewrecker, I stopped answering his insistent communication. I was at my friend Angela's house the following Friday night doing our normal routine of drinking too much wine and stalking ex-boyfriends on Facebook, and I flipped onto his page to show her who Gaspar was...and much to my chagrin, saw that he had defriended me. Our six day friendship had been a whirlwind of unanswered text messages and emails, and now that it was over, it left me feeling hollow inside. It also left me with the age old question that I'm sure you've heard a million times: Can't a girl just rent a midget and call it a day?