It was an ordinary Halloween costume, a group of TV characters with distinctive personalities and a habit of sticking together. The idea originated last Halloween, when my roommates and I were searching for a foursome to replicate. The answer: Sex and the City.

A popular HBO original series that entices viewers with its city backdrop and sexual overtones, Sex and the City was the only show we could accurately reproduce. One roommate with the red hair of Miranda, one with the dark hair of Charlotte, another with the short cut of Samantha and then me, with the wavy blonde hair to pull off the infamous sex columnist herself, Carrie Bradshaw.

But this Halloween was different than the others, my roommate and I ended up host to a group of one girl and five guys who weren't as willing to dress for the occasion. After slapping a Santa hat on one, a cowboy hat on another and a Hawaiian shirt on the most resistant of visitors, I was left with my own costume to attend to.

My outfit didn't take much more than a matching tan scarf and hat, a flashy belt and accessories, accessories, accessories. But it was one accessory that brought the true entertainment of the evening — the notebook.

First stop, a downtown bar where I got sideways glances from people who misconstrued my costume as poor dressing judgement. Except for the people who I'd come with, most patrons were not in costume, leaving Carrie an overdressed city girl disoriented in the middle of Pennsylvania.

Next stop, a costume party where the notebook came to life. Not three minutes had passed when the notebook and pen left my hand, confiscated by a hyper-imaginative group of college guys. It returned to me an hour later with anecdotes and advice scrawled across the pages. And before I even had a chance to read it in its entirety, it was gone again, not to be seen until the end of the night.

Stripped of my notebook, I decided that searching for my scattered friends was of the utmost importance. This couldn't have been closer to the truth as four of our defiant visitors had already left the party with no directions home. So my roommate and I began to look, and then abandoned our search in favor of keeping the Halloween spirit alive.

But I should have known how television life ensues, when it's not one thing, it's three, four or five things piled on top.

Acting in character I posed a signature Carrie question: What do you do with visitors with minds of their own?

Walking home, my roommate and I managed to leave the party with two of our six guests, only to run into another roommate on the street worried pale. Her brother, who also was visiting with two friends and staying in our makeshift-boarding house, had apparently gotten into an argument with a friend. The result? A headbutt, a bloody brother, and one of the nine guests was exiled from our house.

So we headed to Gumby's, since the previous night's pokeys left a lasting craving. But we weren't halfway there when my roommate lost her housekeys, car keys and work keys on the dark, leaf-covered curbside.

Then, when we'd finally chalked it up to another one of our losses, we made it home to a not-so-pleasant house. My roommate, who'd made an early curfew because she had to wake up early, was less than thrilled by the four visitors who'd found their way back into our house. But little did she know of the injured, bloody brother who was about to wander into her room.

Chaos was born in the kitchen, videotaped in the living room, and turning our house from a college weekend into a TV drama. I pulled off my hat, tossed my notebook onto my desk, and declared an end to the episode.

It turned out that one night in character was more entertainment than I could swallow. Once out of costume, I realized the drama of TV is much better left on screen. After the frenzy subsided and the crowd died down, the silence was a welcome dose of reality.

The next morning, after the last of our guests departed with a smile and a wave, my roommate and I sank into the couch, bewildered by the weekend's events. For the first time in our college career, we were actually looking forward to a Sunday. Because all's well that ends well. And sometimes, all's well that ends.