(Alternate title: In Which I Enjoy Not Being a Ho-Bag)
Sometimes your heart is exploding with love and it HURTS!
I didn't fall. I didn't trip. I didn't do anything stupid. And it ended up not being awful. It was actually kind of awesome.
Friday night, I went to a shady little place in the mall to get my nails done by an adorable little Korean named Debbie. She was fun. And didn't have an accent, which was excellent for me. While I was sitting under the nail dryer, I saw one of the other debs walking through the mall with a boy who may or may not have been her escort. It was sufficiently uncomfortable.
Saturday morning was a little rough. I had to be at The Viking Views car wash for a little while, but I wasn't allowed to wash cars or be in the sun, so I sat under an awning and begged old men for donations for an hour.
Afterwards, I had to go get my hair done. She curled my hair magnificently, but I was not thrilled with the final product. I was actually fairly uncomfortable. The top was too Snooki, my bangs were weird, and I just felt too pageant-y. So I complained about it for a few hours, and then my mom finally got annoyed with me and told me to wash it and start all over. Luckily, my favorite hair magician, Jess, came over and fixed it. She made the top less poofy, parted it a little differently, and we fixed my bangs.
Then we sat in my living room and my dad decided he wanted to teach Jess the Greek dance I have to do. I was still really bad at it. So while my dad was trying to figure out how to play music, Jess and I did our May Fiesta dance and then watched part of the May Fiesta DVD from last year. We laughed until we cried. It was possibly the best therapy I could have asked for.
Then we danced around my living room. I don't know how, but Jess picked it up really quickly and for whatever reason actually had marginal success in teaching me, even though she's not actually Greek. "Grapevine...runrunrun...forward...backward..." :)
After Jessica left, I put in the debutante ball episode of "Gilmore Girls" and watched it for the third time since getting myself into this mess. Then I got dressed, put makeup on, and paced around the house freaking out.
Zach arrived around 6:30. We took some pictures, he gave me flowers, I hugged my physics teacher, and then his parents departed. Jess came back shortly after and we took some more pictures. I'm sure the people driving down the street were confused. You don't often see a boy going to prom with two dates.
Warning: this is where I'm going to start to get kind of sappy.
Zach and Jess - I really honestly don't know what I would have done without you guys there. And I don't think you realize how genuinely concerned I was that you wouldn't love me anymore after the event. I can't really ever fully express how grateful I was that you were both there and so supportive, or how much I absolutely adore you.
Jessica, thank you for not dressing like a prostitute and being so poised and warm and loving. And thank you for fixing my hair and having faith in my stupid dancing. It really meant a lot to me that you could be there. I'm sorry I made you show emotion. Thank you for loving me.
Zachary, I know you didn't want to, but I'm so beyond thrilled you did. The process wouldn't have been half as fun without you as my escort. Thank you for being the classiest of the bunch and for being so sweet and respectful.
You guys made it perfect. I love you to pieces.
Cocktail hour was nerve-wracking. The family was super excited. One of my aunts gave me a necklace, everyone except me ate things and then after an hour I had to go change. I didn't want to leave. I didn't want to be without people who love me for an hour. But it was okay. I changed, sat on a couch and took up a cushion and a half of space of it.
Why don't people wear bras? I am very pro-bra. I don't know if it's because I'm a 38DD and not wearing a bra is not an option, but I like bras. Also, you should wear underwear, especially when you're in a room with seven other girls changing into a classy dress. You should just wear underwear, okay?
The hour we were back there, while unnecessarily long, actually went okay. I chatted politely with a few of the other girls; we talked about how nervous we were, our dresses, and our escorts. I eavesdropped a little on some of the girls talking about how they're planning on wearing tiaras to prom. I will never understand that.
Then we moved from the bridal room to the stage, where they arranged us and we all determined that we really had to pee. Then we stood and waited and goofed off behind the curtain while Greek people gave exhausting speeches.
I don't actually remember much of presentation. I remember them opening the curtain and looking out and seeing my parents standing in the back. I remember looking directly at my aunt and seeing Jess and finally starting to glisten a little bit near the eyes. I remember almost forgetting to curtsy on the right side of the stage. I remember Zach not letting me fall. But after I got off the stage, I don't really remember much of what happened. I know my mom said a few things to me, but I don't remember what they were.
We did the daddy/daughter dance and my dad made me cry. The whole thing was so convoluted though because there were all sorts of photographers running around taking pictures, including my godmother and Jess. Then my dad handed me off to Zach and they played the wrong song. Which was really funny, because we were really geared up for "A Moment Like This." So when "I'll Be" started, it was a bit of a disappointment. Jess was attempting to take pictures with one camera and video with another. Then the song was over, he kissed my hand, I kissed his cheek, and then there was Greek dancing.
Apparently I faked it pretty decently, but then a circuit blew as the band was playing, so I temporarily got out of leading. We went to the dessert room, where it was much cooler, and sat for a few minute before we heard the band get started again. Then Zach and Jess convinced me to go back and dance again. Leading wasn't awful. I just don't ever want to do it again. Then everyone else joined in, and the rest of everything was sort of a blur, except for the blisters on my feet. Zach and Jess were quite impressive dancing on the floor. I was proud of them. They fit right in, and I didn't know that was possible.
We went back to the dessert room while we waited for our turn to take pictures. Pictures were awkward. It was just so ridiculously loud in the ballroom, so trying to place people where they needed to be was quite challenging. I felt bad for the guy who was there from the Akron Beacon Journal. He did not appear to be having much fun. Then there was more dancing, I changed back into my cocktail hour dress and then it was pretty much over.
We came home and I made coffee. Zach, Jess, and I sat around the dining room table for a while before this terrifying flying bug appeared and then we somehow all ended up sitting under the table trying to shield ourselves. We're pansies. They went home around 1.
It was nowhere near as painful as I thought it would be. And I really, really appreciate everyone who was involved, even though most of them will never read this. Which is probably a good thing.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
In Which My Friends Kill Me
THESE ARE TEXTS I HAVE RECEIVED TODAY!
Sara: Congratulations! Today you come out into society and become a woman. With Zach. Yeah! Have fun princess. :) Taylor says Princess Kate Wishes she was you. :D
Catherine: HAVE FUN BEING A PRINCESS TODAY! LURVE YOU. :)
Bee: OHMYGOD YOU COME OUT TODAYYYYYYY. GOOOOOODDDD LUUUUCKKKKKK BRAHHHHHHH YOU ONE SEXY BEOTCH AND I LIKE YOUR SHOES.
Lauren: Have fun tonight, I love you. :) Be excited and enjoy the moment because its YOURS! You will be the most beautiful girl there, and I can't wait to see pictures. :)
Manda: Haha you have to come out today. Don't get knocked up. Which shouldn't be hard to avoid with Zach as your escort.
I'm sure I'll be updating this. Each one of these texts is so hilariously them, I'm dying. I love my friends.
Sara: Congratulations! Today you come out into society and become a woman. With Zach. Yeah! Have fun princess. :) Taylor says Princess Kate Wishes she was you. :D
Catherine: HAVE FUN BEING A PRINCESS TODAY! LURVE YOU. :)
Bee: OHMYGOD YOU COME OUT TODAYYYYYYY. GOOOOOODDDD LUUUUCKKKKKK BRAHHHHHHH YOU ONE SEXY BEOTCH AND I LIKE YOUR SHOES.
Lauren: Have fun tonight, I love you. :) Be excited and enjoy the moment because its YOURS! You will be the most beautiful girl there, and I can't wait to see pictures. :)
Manda: Haha you have to come out today. Don't get knocked up. Which shouldn't be hard to avoid with Zach as your escort.
I'm sure I'll be updating this. Each one of these texts is so hilariously them, I'm dying. I love my friends.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
In Which I Rehearse
I thought I was nervous before.
Guys. I actually thought for a minute I might throw up on stage.
(I'm fine.)
Rehearsal was scary. Thank goodness I was armed with my very Greek father, my snarky mother, and my trusty boy-shape.
(Oh, and my shoes that I didn't know I was supposed to take until five minutes before I left the house.)
I was the first debutante to arrive at the church. We were approximately ten minutes early, and thusly sat in the hall, waiting. They verified my name in the program, my middle name, my post-high school plans and then left me alone. Zach and I mostly nervous-giggled for 25 minutes while we waited for everything to get started. We talked about who the okay people are and how he may very possibly be the only non-Greek escort (spoiler alert - he's NOT!).
Except then the debs were called up on stage. And they wanted us to have our shoes on. Guess whose shoes were still in the box? #fail
So I quickly had to try to get these really complicated and stubborn silver sparkley stilettos on with my jeggings. I employed the help of my mother, who basically can't see anyway, so the fact that the room was dark and Zach was hissing at me that I was the only deb not on stage was not helping matters. Then I got yelled at by our emcee. #fail
I quickly and dangerously teetered up the stairs, up the runway, and to the stage without incident. They arranged us on the stage and we all stood awkwardly in an arched shape waiting for further direction.
I should preface this part by saying that I recently discovered my escort is Facebook friends with one of the other debutantes. He attended a leadership conference with her and said she was a skanky bitch. ALWAYS GOOD NEWS.
Suddenly, someone started talking about underwear:
"I'm afraid if I fall, people will be able to see my underwear. So I got these nice, white, Spanx kind of thing to go under my dress."
And then the girl Zach knew said, "Wait, you guys are wearing underwear?"
We were quiet for a second before someone said, "Are you not going to?"
And then she said, "Oh. Probably not. I just never wear underwear."
It was the classiest thing I've ever heard.
I am the third of eight girls to be presented, simply because my last name starts with a C. Thank goodness. But as it came time for me to actually walk, I got freakishly nervous. I convinced myself I was going to fall, and in all likelihood, would take Zach down with me, even though he's on the floor and I'm on the runway. Literally. Runway.
We are to walk forward, stop, grab our escort's hand, and dismount onto what I will lovingly refer to as The Fear Factor step. It is the most frightening drop, in heels. Then we are to walk slowly down the runway, pause at the end, turn and walk slowly to the left, curtsy, turn and walk slowly to the right, curtsy, walk slowly back to the center, pause for a photograph, then again take the hand of our escort and descend the three stairs off the runway. Then I am to pause, linked arm with my escort for another damn picture, walk forward to my parents, kiss my father on the cheek, link arms with him while Zachary and my mother assemble behind us for yet another DAMN PHOTOGRAPH. And then the presentation is over.
The whole thing must not take any more than two minutes per girl. But it is so nerve-wracking. Especially after we were told to remember that there will be "up to three photographers on the floor wanting to take our pictures and will all have BIG-ASS FLASHES."
After we ran through the presentation once, we started the process over again. I was slightly less nervous the second time around after having practiced it once and been told it was okay to rely on my escort for strength. Zach was even commended for his escorting abilities. I was proud.
AND I WASN'T EVEN THE MOST AWKWARD ONE UP THERE! All they told me was to slow down a few times. One girl bopped all the way down the runway and had a little bounce in her step and bopped her hair head back and forth and bopped instead of curtsied. She was scolded, and then the photographer commented that "they just don't make debs like they used to."
After we ran through the presentation the second time, it was time to practice dancing. I don't Greek dance. Zach and I attempted to plan an escape route (if you're curious, we plan to stop after I dismount the runway and dash for the nearest doorway). My mom and I somehow managed to convince Zach that there's such a thing as an Escort Goat Dance, which involves, well, a goat. It's not real.
Anyway, back to how I don't Greek dance...
NO ONE EVER OFFERED TO TEACH ME. That is my excuse. And, for the record, what kind of hell-dance has 12 steps to it? Why 12? Why?
Needless to say, I can't do it. I'm uncoordinated and ungraceful as it is, so when I have to lead a small pack of girls in a dance I don't know, it's going to be bad. I also tend to swear under my breath when I screw up dance steps. (Ahem, Jess.)
Luckily, my dress is very long and you can't see my feet, so we should be okay as long as I can fake it.
After dancing in a circle eight times to a 12-step dance I can't do, it was finally time to go.
So I suppose it could have been worse. But it was just full of awkward moments. Like...
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante going to college out of state.
...that awkward moment when your escort informs you the boys were having a farting contest.
...that awkward moment when you don't have your shoes on.
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante who thinks you're funny.
...that awkward moment when you convince your escort there's really a goat dance.
...that awkward moment when you discover the crazy lesbian photographer isn't actually a lesbian.
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante on one side of the stage.
...that awkward moment when you're the debutante no one else talks to.
...that awkward moment when you're totally not into what's going on but somehow manage to make it look like you are anyway.
...that awkward moment when your hands have a stick residue after holding hands while Greek dancing (wtf?).
...that awkward moment when no one ever taught you the Greek dance.
...that awkward moment when you look like an idiot.
...and that awkward moment when if you prayed, you would.
Guys. I actually thought for a minute I might throw up on stage.
(I'm fine.)
Rehearsal was scary. Thank goodness I was armed with my very Greek father, my snarky mother, and my trusty boy-shape.
(Oh, and my shoes that I didn't know I was supposed to take until five minutes before I left the house.)
I was the first debutante to arrive at the church. We were approximately ten minutes early, and thusly sat in the hall, waiting. They verified my name in the program, my middle name, my post-high school plans and then left me alone. Zach and I mostly nervous-giggled for 25 minutes while we waited for everything to get started. We talked about who the okay people are and how he may very possibly be the only non-Greek escort (spoiler alert - he's NOT!).
Except then the debs were called up on stage. And they wanted us to have our shoes on. Guess whose shoes were still in the box? #fail
So I quickly had to try to get these really complicated and stubborn silver sparkley stilettos on with my jeggings. I employed the help of my mother, who basically can't see anyway, so the fact that the room was dark and Zach was hissing at me that I was the only deb not on stage was not helping matters. Then I got yelled at by our emcee. #fail
I quickly and dangerously teetered up the stairs, up the runway, and to the stage without incident. They arranged us on the stage and we all stood awkwardly in an arched shape waiting for further direction.
I should preface this part by saying that I recently discovered my escort is Facebook friends with one of the other debutantes. He attended a leadership conference with her and said she was a skanky bitch. ALWAYS GOOD NEWS.
Suddenly, someone started talking about underwear:
"I'm afraid if I fall, people will be able to see my underwear. So I got these nice, white, Spanx kind of thing to go under my dress."
And then the girl Zach knew said, "Wait, you guys are wearing underwear?"
We were quiet for a second before someone said, "Are you not going to?"
And then she said, "Oh. Probably not. I just never wear underwear."
It was the classiest thing I've ever heard.
I am the third of eight girls to be presented, simply because my last name starts with a C. Thank goodness. But as it came time for me to actually walk, I got freakishly nervous. I convinced myself I was going to fall, and in all likelihood, would take Zach down with me, even though he's on the floor and I'm on the runway. Literally. Runway.
We are to walk forward, stop, grab our escort's hand, and dismount onto what I will lovingly refer to as The Fear Factor step. It is the most frightening drop, in heels. Then we are to walk slowly down the runway, pause at the end, turn and walk slowly to the left, curtsy, turn and walk slowly to the right, curtsy, walk slowly back to the center, pause for a photograph, then again take the hand of our escort and descend the three stairs off the runway. Then I am to pause, linked arm with my escort for another damn picture, walk forward to my parents, kiss my father on the cheek, link arms with him while Zachary and my mother assemble behind us for yet another DAMN PHOTOGRAPH. And then the presentation is over.
The whole thing must not take any more than two minutes per girl. But it is so nerve-wracking. Especially after we were told to remember that there will be "up to three photographers on the floor wanting to take our pictures and will all have BIG-ASS FLASHES."
After we ran through the presentation once, we started the process over again. I was slightly less nervous the second time around after having practiced it once and been told it was okay to rely on my escort for strength. Zach was even commended for his escorting abilities. I was proud.
AND I WASN'T EVEN THE MOST AWKWARD ONE UP THERE! All they told me was to slow down a few times. One girl bopped all the way down the runway and had a little bounce in her step and bopped her hair head back and forth and bopped instead of curtsied. She was scolded, and then the photographer commented that "they just don't make debs like they used to."
After we ran through the presentation the second time, it was time to practice dancing. I don't Greek dance. Zach and I attempted to plan an escape route (if you're curious, we plan to stop after I dismount the runway and dash for the nearest doorway). My mom and I somehow managed to convince Zach that there's such a thing as an Escort Goat Dance, which involves, well, a goat. It's not real.
Anyway, back to how I don't Greek dance...
NO ONE EVER OFFERED TO TEACH ME. That is my excuse. And, for the record, what kind of hell-dance has 12 steps to it? Why 12? Why?
Needless to say, I can't do it. I'm uncoordinated and ungraceful as it is, so when I have to lead a small pack of girls in a dance I don't know, it's going to be bad. I also tend to swear under my breath when I screw up dance steps. (Ahem, Jess.)
Luckily, my dress is very long and you can't see my feet, so we should be okay as long as I can fake it.
After dancing in a circle eight times to a 12-step dance I can't do, it was finally time to go.
So I suppose it could have been worse. But it was just full of awkward moments. Like...
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante going to college out of state.
...that awkward moment when your escort informs you the boys were having a farting contest.
...that awkward moment when you don't have your shoes on.
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante who thinks you're funny.
...that awkward moment when you convince your escort there's really a goat dance.
...that awkward moment when you discover the crazy lesbian photographer isn't actually a lesbian.
...that awkward moment when you're the only debutante on one side of the stage.
...that awkward moment when you're the debutante no one else talks to.
...that awkward moment when you're totally not into what's going on but somehow manage to make it look like you are anyway.
...that awkward moment when your hands have a stick residue after holding hands while Greek dancing (wtf?).
...that awkward moment when no one ever taught you the Greek dance.
...that awkward moment when you look like an idiot.
...and that awkward moment when if you prayed, you would.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
In Which I Attend Tea
Bahh, sorry kids (and by that, I mean my 1.3 average readers). It's been almost two weeks since tea, but I've been so busy and documentation sort of fell to the bottom of my priority list. But the event is this Saturday, which means rehearsal is tomorrow (ahh) and I need to be caught up.
Tea actually wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. It's very clear that I am just a total different breed of person from those people, though. And it's not a good thing or a bad thing, although it may make me uncomfortable at times.
Anyway, we arrived, and there was a fair amount of delicious food and coffee which was totally cool with me. I ate shrimp, and brownies, and chocolates, and punch, and a cupcake and I even ate fruit.
But it was one of those awkward things where my mom and I were kind of just sitting at a table by ourselves with the occasional visitor. One of the girls I could potentially be friends with arrived late and she and her mother sat at our table. Which was actually more awkward, because they were even more snarky, cynical, and sarcastic than we are, and that's fairly hard to come by. We were out-snarked.
While we were in the process of taking the mother/daughter photos (that we were unaware of), they started taking suggestions for father/daughter dance and escort/debs dance. Cue the immediate dread.
I like weird music. I like really obscure, indie artists that a lot of people I know aren't familiar with, especially when country music is quite popular in these parts. (call me a hipster, I will kick you). So I knew that the music choices would probably be dreadful.
I was right.
They immediately selected "I Hope You Dance" as our father/daughter song. I'm actually okay with that song. It was just kind of odd, because that was the song my grandma "picked" for my little cousin when he was a baby right before she died.
I might not be particularly religious, but I do believe in signs.
The escort song was apparently a bit more challenging. They leafed through several really awful country songs before temporarily selecting "I'll Be," a song that just makes me want to kick a thousand splendid puppies. If you don't know it, YouTube it.
One of the members that I actually like because she's hilarious, Maria, wretched.
"Are any of you guys actually couples with your escort?"
No one.
So she said, "Pick something more fun! Don't pick something romantic-y."
I wanted to start a slow clap. But it would have been inappropriate.
And then suddenly, a change of heart from the debutantes.
"A Moment Like This."
No, really. Kelly Clarkson. "A Moment Like This."
I briefly considered hiding under the table.
But then it was time to leave, and I was free to heckle in the car with my mother all the way home.
Tea actually wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. It's very clear that I am just a total different breed of person from those people, though. And it's not a good thing or a bad thing, although it may make me uncomfortable at times.
Anyway, we arrived, and there was a fair amount of delicious food and coffee which was totally cool with me. I ate shrimp, and brownies, and chocolates, and punch, and a cupcake and I even ate fruit.
But it was one of those awkward things where my mom and I were kind of just sitting at a table by ourselves with the occasional visitor. One of the girls I could potentially be friends with arrived late and she and her mother sat at our table. Which was actually more awkward, because they were even more snarky, cynical, and sarcastic than we are, and that's fairly hard to come by. We were out-snarked.
While we were in the process of taking the mother/daughter photos (that we were unaware of), they started taking suggestions for father/daughter dance and escort/debs dance. Cue the immediate dread.
I like weird music. I like really obscure, indie artists that a lot of people I know aren't familiar with, especially when country music is quite popular in these parts. (call me a hipster, I will kick you). So I knew that the music choices would probably be dreadful.
I was right.
They immediately selected "I Hope You Dance" as our father/daughter song. I'm actually okay with that song. It was just kind of odd, because that was the song my grandma "picked" for my little cousin when he was a baby right before she died.
I might not be particularly religious, but I do believe in signs.
The escort song was apparently a bit more challenging. They leafed through several really awful country songs before temporarily selecting "I'll Be," a song that just makes me want to kick a thousand splendid puppies. If you don't know it, YouTube it.
One of the members that I actually like because she's hilarious, Maria, wretched.
"Are any of you guys actually couples with your escort?"
No one.
So she said, "Pick something more fun! Don't pick something romantic-y."
I wanted to start a slow clap. But it would have been inappropriate.
And then suddenly, a change of heart from the debutantes.
"A Moment Like This."
No, really. Kelly Clarkson. "A Moment Like This."
I briefly considered hiding under the table.
But then it was time to leave, and I was free to heckle in the car with my mother all the way home.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
In Which I Somehow Manage to Screw Up at the Photo Shoot
This past Sunday was newspaper photo shoot day, which meant I had to get pretty in the middle of the day on Sunday. I was not happy. I am accustomed to, sleeping in, then lounging on my couch and playing Tetris for like three hours while I watch 'Say Yes to the Dress' with my mother. None of these things occurred, and I was displeased.
It just takes me a while to get pretty, you guys. I did hair and makeup and all that jazz and then wrestled on the superbra and slip. My mom was working outside, and when she came inside, she found me pouting on my couch in my slip, shoes, and medieval torture corset playing Angry Birds on my phone. I just wasn't feeling well, and I didn't want to go have pictures taken, and I was not happy.
Mom and I got the dress on, added the sash and a necklace. That wasn't the hard part. The tricky part was getting me to fit in the front seat of her Ford Focus.
She laid a sheet on the seat so nothing would get on the dress. I sat awkwardly with a mountain of white in my lap. My mom had to drape the extra material of the dress across me so the car door would shut. Luckily, we didn't have far to go.
When we pulled into the church parking lot, I saw two of the other debutantes get out of a car.
They were wearing jeans and hoodies.
I was wearing a wedding gown.
Something wasn't right.
My mom started panicking and asked me if I was sure we were supposed to wear our dresses. I was fairly confident we were. There was nothing we could do about it, so I got out of the car and teetered to the door in my dress and heels.
We walked down a long hallway and found no sign of the other debs. So we turned right and continued to the end of that hallway and still encountered no one.
"Well. This is awkward," I said.
One of the doors opened and one of the girls who had been in the parking lot a few minutes earlier walked out. She looked at me and then said, "they're in the bridal room," and showed us which one was the bridal room.
I walked, fully outfitted in a wedding gown, into a room of other debutantes in various stages of undress.
I just probably shouldn't be let out of my house. Ever.
My mom helped me tug on the white elbow-length gloves (shut up) and we sat down at a table. A few minutes later, the photographer asked me if I was ready for pictures.
Well, since I was the only one dressed...
She took a few individual shots behind one of those changing walls and a few next to a ficus. Then we took a few group shots after everyone was dressed. After that, she took a few individual shots of us in the mirror. After that, we were informed we could change and go home.
Since I had no clothes to change into, all I really had to do was go home. So instead of fighting traffic to go out the real door, my mom and I went out the sliding door in the back, through the garden, and into the parking lot. Yeah. We left a church by sneaking out the back. Unnoticed. We're so classy.
My mom tucked me and the dress back into the car. On the way home, we both determined we were starving.
...and that's how I ended up at a Wendy's drive-thru in a wedding gown. Sometimes I just don't know what my life is.
It just takes me a while to get pretty, you guys. I did hair and makeup and all that jazz and then wrestled on the superbra and slip. My mom was working outside, and when she came inside, she found me pouting on my couch in my slip, shoes, and medieval torture corset playing Angry Birds on my phone. I just wasn't feeling well, and I didn't want to go have pictures taken, and I was not happy.
Mom and I got the dress on, added the sash and a necklace. That wasn't the hard part. The tricky part was getting me to fit in the front seat of her Ford Focus.
She laid a sheet on the seat so nothing would get on the dress. I sat awkwardly with a mountain of white in my lap. My mom had to drape the extra material of the dress across me so the car door would shut. Luckily, we didn't have far to go.
When we pulled into the church parking lot, I saw two of the other debutantes get out of a car.
They were wearing jeans and hoodies.
I was wearing a wedding gown.
Something wasn't right.
My mom started panicking and asked me if I was sure we were supposed to wear our dresses. I was fairly confident we were. There was nothing we could do about it, so I got out of the car and teetered to the door in my dress and heels.
We walked down a long hallway and found no sign of the other debs. So we turned right and continued to the end of that hallway and still encountered no one.
"Well. This is awkward," I said.
One of the doors opened and one of the girls who had been in the parking lot a few minutes earlier walked out. She looked at me and then said, "they're in the bridal room," and showed us which one was the bridal room.
I walked, fully outfitted in a wedding gown, into a room of other debutantes in various stages of undress.
I just probably shouldn't be let out of my house. Ever.
My mom helped me tug on the white elbow-length gloves (shut up) and we sat down at a table. A few minutes later, the photographer asked me if I was ready for pictures.
Well, since I was the only one dressed...
She took a few individual shots behind one of those changing walls and a few next to a ficus. Then we took a few group shots after everyone was dressed. After that, she took a few individual shots of us in the mirror. After that, we were informed we could change and go home.
Since I had no clothes to change into, all I really had to do was go home. So instead of fighting traffic to go out the real door, my mom and I went out the sliding door in the back, through the garden, and into the parking lot. Yeah. We left a church by sneaking out the back. Unnoticed. We're so classy.
My mom tucked me and the dress back into the car. On the way home, we both determined we were starving.
...and that's how I ended up at a Wendy's drive-thru in a wedding gown. Sometimes I just don't know what my life is.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
In Which I Attend my Second Meeting, Get Chased by a Hawk, and Go to the Tux Shop
The next three instances are not all that involved, and they're quick anecdotes, so I figured I'd roll them into one post. After tomorrow's post, you will be all caught up on everything and be prepared for Friday's post, which will be tea, which is happening tomorrow.
Oh, lord. That's tomorrow.
Anyway. Part one of three: In Which I Attend my Second Meeting.
The arrival of this meeting was sort of a downer. It was my first real day of spring break, I had just gotten my braces off, and had been at Jess's house watching adorable animated movies when I had to leave for the Princess meeting. However, this time, I attended with my mother, which made it slightly more tolerable because she's just like me when it comes to these things. We agreed that the lifestyle is not necessarily a bad thing, it's just very different for us.
So we awkwardly sat in the back, trying not to get into too much trouble together. They brought in the photographer, who informed us that we would have to make a $50 donation in order to receive our 'personalized CD of photos' which would include only photos of us and our guests and that we would be called for individual shots in the order we made our donations. (Tacky).
Then we were told we would have to come to a mutual agreement on what songs we want to play while we danced with our fathers/escorts. Apparently last year, the stellar choices were "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts, and "Today was a Fairytale" by Taylor Swift.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or vomit.
But after that, it was over, and was mostly painless once again. Then I went back to Jess's, where my adorable friends were cooking real food. So cute.
Part two of three: In Which I Get Chased by a Hawk.
I had forgotten that I needed an 8x10 head shot for them to put on some sort of board. Which is only a problem for me because I have not yet gotten my senior pictures taken. Luckily, Rachel is quite skilled with the camera, and was willing to take pictures of me, so we went out that Wednesday.
After wasting an hour at Starbucks, as is general custom, she and I found a nature trail full of nature-y things and decided to take pictures there. The only problem was that it was really, really cold even though it was almost April, and nothing was green. So there weren't many pretty places to shoot. Eventually, we traveled off the path and found this large tree that had fallen over and formed sort of an arch. So I stood by it, under it, and sat on top of it while she took some pictures.
As we were getting ready to go back to the intended trail, we heard a cawing. We looked up and saw this massive hawk circling above us. I looked at Rachel, who said, "oh, shit," and then we both started walking quickly away. It sank lower in the sky and continued to circle the area and we broke into something of a run, but I'm really unathletic, and Rachel was carrying a Nikon and Starbucks, so you can probably imagine how we looked. When we reached the path again, we looked back and saw the hawk had perched in a tree right above where we had been standing, so we pretty much hightailed it out of there.
After that, we got in the car and traveled out toward Hartville looking for a photogenic location but found nothing. We drove until we hit the next county and decided that would be a good time to turn around. We went to the local park, except then it started snowing "like a CEO" (a term that will probably never catch on quite like "like a boss") and we broke for lunch. Then we found a brick wall, and went to our old elementary school playground before calling it a day.
The pictures came out great, even though I'm not magnificently photogenic.
Part three of three: In Which I Go to the Tux Shop.
The following day, I met Zach and his mom at the tailor shop where the fathers and escorts are renting their tuxes from. We had arranged to meet at 11, but I said I'd probably be a few minutes late due to a 10:30 orthodontist appointment.
I was going to take my dress so the adorable little Greek woman, Athena, could move the straps over. What I didn't expect was to have to put the dress on there, so I was shocked when my dad told me to take everything with me - shoes, slip, bra. Everything.
We arrived at the shop at almost exactly 11. My dad and I went inside, talked to Athena and Steve for a bit and then Steve told me I needed to put on the dress. My dad, who's weird, decided he didn't want to see the dress on me, so he took off for his friend's wine shop down the street.
So I was alone in this tiny dressing room that had nothing but a shady curtain for privacy. I was the only person in the shop.
Please just...imagine this scene.
Tiny dressing room. Huge dress. Large puffy slip. Me. Literally, the dressing room was probably 3x3, with a foot stool, which meant that the dress draped itself OVER the foot stool and thusly jutted out about two feet into the dressing room, leaving me with about a foot of space to move around in.
This is hard work in ample amount of space. It was damn near impossible in this postage stamp sized space.
I somehow managed to successfully get into my dress AND shoes and almost zip myself up entirely relatively quickly. Athena put me up on the pedestal to mark the hem and had me back in the dressing room in ten minutes. I was back out of my dress and all its complicated undergarments before Zachary and his mother even got there.
However, getting everything back in its rightful place proved more difficult than I believed. I couldn't, for the life of me, get the slip back into its comically small bag. Once I was decently dressed, I popped out of the dressing room, flushed and exhausted, running almost directly into Zach's mom.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," I said.
"You look disheveled."
I did. I was a hot mess.
While Zach was getting measured for his tux, she and I managed to cram the ridiculous slip back into its bag, and I discovered I somehow lost a sock in the process of undressing/dressing/undressing/dressing (WTF?).
He was measured in about five minutes, and we were done. Steve later found the sock in the confines of the pickups in my dress.
I'm just still so confused as to how I ended up having the hard part of that situation.
But then we went out to lunch. It turned out well.
Sorry this is so long. It just worked out better this way. Next will be newspaper photoshoot day and after that will be tea.
Oh, lord. That's tomorrow.
Anyway. Part one of three: In Which I Attend my Second Meeting.
The arrival of this meeting was sort of a downer. It was my first real day of spring break, I had just gotten my braces off, and had been at Jess's house watching adorable animated movies when I had to leave for the Princess meeting. However, this time, I attended with my mother, which made it slightly more tolerable because she's just like me when it comes to these things. We agreed that the lifestyle is not necessarily a bad thing, it's just very different for us.
So we awkwardly sat in the back, trying not to get into too much trouble together. They brought in the photographer, who informed us that we would have to make a $50 donation in order to receive our 'personalized CD of photos' which would include only photos of us and our guests and that we would be called for individual shots in the order we made our donations. (Tacky).
Then we were told we would have to come to a mutual agreement on what songs we want to play while we danced with our fathers/escorts. Apparently last year, the stellar choices were "My Wish" by Rascal Flatts, and "Today was a Fairytale" by Taylor Swift.
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or vomit.
But after that, it was over, and was mostly painless once again. Then I went back to Jess's, where my adorable friends were cooking real food. So cute.
Part two of three: In Which I Get Chased by a Hawk.
I had forgotten that I needed an 8x10 head shot for them to put on some sort of board. Which is only a problem for me because I have not yet gotten my senior pictures taken. Luckily, Rachel is quite skilled with the camera, and was willing to take pictures of me, so we went out that Wednesday.
After wasting an hour at Starbucks, as is general custom, she and I found a nature trail full of nature-y things and decided to take pictures there. The only problem was that it was really, really cold even though it was almost April, and nothing was green. So there weren't many pretty places to shoot. Eventually, we traveled off the path and found this large tree that had fallen over and formed sort of an arch. So I stood by it, under it, and sat on top of it while she took some pictures.
As we were getting ready to go back to the intended trail, we heard a cawing. We looked up and saw this massive hawk circling above us. I looked at Rachel, who said, "oh, shit," and then we both started walking quickly away. It sank lower in the sky and continued to circle the area and we broke into something of a run, but I'm really unathletic, and Rachel was carrying a Nikon and Starbucks, so you can probably imagine how we looked. When we reached the path again, we looked back and saw the hawk had perched in a tree right above where we had been standing, so we pretty much hightailed it out of there.
After that, we got in the car and traveled out toward Hartville looking for a photogenic location but found nothing. We drove until we hit the next county and decided that would be a good time to turn around. We went to the local park, except then it started snowing "like a CEO" (a term that will probably never catch on quite like "like a boss") and we broke for lunch. Then we found a brick wall, and went to our old elementary school playground before calling it a day.
Part three of three: In Which I Go to the Tux Shop.
The following day, I met Zach and his mom at the tailor shop where the fathers and escorts are renting their tuxes from. We had arranged to meet at 11, but I said I'd probably be a few minutes late due to a 10:30 orthodontist appointment.
I was going to take my dress so the adorable little Greek woman, Athena, could move the straps over. What I didn't expect was to have to put the dress on there, so I was shocked when my dad told me to take everything with me - shoes, slip, bra. Everything.
We arrived at the shop at almost exactly 11. My dad and I went inside, talked to Athena and Steve for a bit and then Steve told me I needed to put on the dress. My dad, who's weird, decided he didn't want to see the dress on me, so he took off for his friend's wine shop down the street.
So I was alone in this tiny dressing room that had nothing but a shady curtain for privacy. I was the only person in the shop.
Please just...imagine this scene.
Tiny dressing room. Huge dress. Large puffy slip. Me. Literally, the dressing room was probably 3x3, with a foot stool, which meant that the dress draped itself OVER the foot stool and thusly jutted out about two feet into the dressing room, leaving me with about a foot of space to move around in.
This is hard work in ample amount of space. It was damn near impossible in this postage stamp sized space.
I somehow managed to successfully get into my dress AND shoes and almost zip myself up entirely relatively quickly. Athena put me up on the pedestal to mark the hem and had me back in the dressing room in ten minutes. I was back out of my dress and all its complicated undergarments before Zachary and his mother even got there.
However, getting everything back in its rightful place proved more difficult than I believed. I couldn't, for the life of me, get the slip back into its comically small bag. Once I was decently dressed, I popped out of the dressing room, flushed and exhausted, running almost directly into Zach's mom.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi," I said.
"You look disheveled."
I did. I was a hot mess.
While Zach was getting measured for his tux, she and I managed to cram the ridiculous slip back into its bag, and I discovered I somehow lost a sock in the process of undressing/dressing/undressing/dressing (WTF?).
He was measured in about five minutes, and we were done. Steve later found the sock in the confines of the pickups in my dress.
I'm just still so confused as to how I ended up having the hard part of that situation.
But then we went out to lunch. It turned out well.
Sorry this is so long. It just worked out better this way. Next will be newspaper photoshoot day and after that will be tea.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
In Which I Go Dress Shopping
After noticing that a lot of the other girls had their dresses already, the pressure was on for me to find one. I was not looking forward to the experience. A lot of girls relish shopping for pretty dresses. I am not one of those girls. Simply because they usually do not fit me. For one thing, I'm 5'3". I am short. For another thing, I'm sort of...well, soft. Chubby. Curvy. And finally, my boobs are really big. Obnoxiously big. Which instantly makes any dress I can actually get on less tasteful.
Dress shopping for me is never fun. I think every dress shopping excursion to date has ended with me in tears, yelling at my mom, hating on myself, or making dramatic threats to try out an eating disorder. Usually it is a combination of the four, if not all of them.
So, when I found out I would be shopping for a debutante dress in a bridal store, two things entered my mind:
1. this is going to be awful, and
2. everything I know about bridal shops comes from 'Say Yes to the Dress.'
(Seriously, I love that show. I watch it pretty much every Sunday morning for hours instead of doing homework).
I just had this sinking feeling that nothing was going to fit me right, and I would end up looking like the bride of Frankenstein, but with less hair.
My mom and I went to David’s Bridal on a Saturday afternoon while they were having some sort of dress sale. We walked in and were instructed by the sales associates to start looking at dresses and putting some on aside so I could try them on. They took down my name so they could give me a dressing room when one was available, but something apparently got screwed up and my name never went on the list.
So we wandered awkwardly for about an hour, checking and rechecking same 4 racks of dresses, making sure there was nothing good we were overlooking, not realizing there was a problem. I was almost taken out – twice – by the same tiny sales associate who was carrying multiple dresses four times her size. It was both terrifying and impressive.
After we all realized there was mistake, I was assigned a dressing room and a consultant named Brittany. She gave me this medieval torture device of a super-bra (which didn’t fit, so I had to go up like three sizes), even though I was already wearing a strapless bra (which she later had to convince me to take off – yes I wore two for a time). She also gave me a slip vaguely reminiscent of something Little Bo-Peep would wear while herding her sheep. After I had the undergarments on, Brittany helped me into my first dress.
The dress was awful. I looked like a marshmallow that had been covered by tulle and then encased in snow. So I took it off and put on one Brittany had pulled for me.
I put it on and stepped out of the dressing room and immediately felt like Belle in “Beauty and the Beast.” The skirt of the dress had a bunch of ruffled pick-ups (yes, that’s what they’re called Jess; I finally remembered) and the top was a halter, which kept my obnoxiously large boobs contained.
The problem was that the dress was long even with heels. To temporarily remedy the problem, Brittany gave me a bigger slip to go underneath, and while I could no longer fit through the door of the dressing room without the dress touching the doorframe, it was even more perfect. Brittany outfitted me with a beaded sash to go around the waist, and the look was complete.
This was the dress.
I actually did try on another one, and it was pretty and I liked it, but I felt prettier in the other dress.
So although it was completely exhausting, the process wasn’t actually all that painful. I loved the girls at David’s and even recently went back there for a prom dress (which I love just as much). The most horrifying part of the process was that they gave us the ‘wedding gown discount,’ because the dress we bought was actually a wedding gown. It’s just that when you’re 18, you don’t really want to be able to say ‘I bought a wedding dress today.’
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