So I walk into my first hour two Fridays ago and discover a poster and balloons on my chair. And it's homecoming season. My immediate response was "No way. No freaking way. Am I being punked?" (I was, indeed, not being punked. Which is a first.) I got asked to homecoming. Which meant I would not be shooting at people on homecoming day.
And I don't even mean shooting people with real guns. I had decided, after writing my liberating lonely people blog post and looking up some positive (and aesthetically pleasing) quotes on Pinterest, that I would have fun on homecoming night without going to the dance or even having a date. I decided I would organize a single ladies party. I think most single girls have those "I am a strong, independent woman, and I don't need no man!" days and then they listen to songs like "Single Ladies" by Beyonce (who is, ironically, not a single lady. I find this slightly disheartening). I decided that I would get together with my girlfrann's and do a stress-releasing activity-- shooting people. Yes, indeed. I was planning a lazer tagging trip.
And it was going to be pretty fantastic. Lazer tag is a beautiful thing- you run around in the dark, pretending to be in an intense video game or something where your goal is to shoot stuff. And the best part is you can pretend that the other people in the lazer tag arena are the stuff/people you hate and you can be like PEW PEW PEW and get points and win bragging rights, if you are angry and vengeful enough. But even if you aren't angry and vengeful, I am fairly certain there isn't anyone who would turn down the opportunity for bragging rights.
But, anyway, I had this whole lovely plan and was actually feeling okay with all of this. And then LITERALLY the next morning, I got asked to homecoming (fate is cruel, my friends). But really, I was pretty freaking excited about getting to go. The poster and balloons didn't say a name on them, so I carried the stuff around all day and got told "happy birthday" literally a bajillion times. I got wished a happy birthday more than I do on my actual birthday that day. Tragic, I know. Even my weights coach wished me a happy birthday, and that is a huge deal, knowing her. But weights is another topic for another blog post.
Anyway, so I found out who it was and I am seriously very excited! It will be a ton of fun. It might just be the best time I've ever had at a dance. But it hasn't happened yet, this is just part one of the story. Part two comes after this weekend.
So the first thing you do after getting asked to a dance is answer. I got a pizza and wrote something cheesy (ha, see what I did there?) and downright adorable and delivered it to him. He loved it because if there's one thing I know for sure, it's that boys love food. Especially pizza.
With the answering portion done, I had to move onto the next step: a dress.
Here's the deal with dances- the large majority of the girls want to get asked to one-up other girls. As a girl, you get asked, buy the most impressive/unique/OMG dress you can possibly find, meticulously plan your hair/makeup, and get the PERFECT accessories. Typically, this is not to dress up for their date. This is to dress up to show to the other girls that you, perfect princess, are better than them. And, quite frankly, it is very, very fun. Nothing wrong with a little friendly competition, right?
So, anyway. I began the dress search, and most of what I found was the kinda sorta skanky hoe category stuff. And, for some girls, that's totally cool. But for me, being about 6 feet tall, the skanky hoe dresses go from being suggestive to completely provocative. Like, doesn't even cover my butt kind of thing. Which is a little awkward, if you ask me. So I decided the logical direction to take would be to get a long dress and get it shortened to a socially-acceptable length. A foolproof plan, until I realized that I hated every single floor-length gown that would look okay shortened (side note- I DID fall in love with a sparkly, pink, fluffy, tulle ballgown, but alas. That is for prom.). So I went back to the drawing board, and bought a skanky hoe clubbin' dress.
My brilliant plan was to alter my clubbin' attire into something modest (holla, mormons!) and comfortable, that I would feel good wearing. So I gutted the dress. I sewed and ironed and pleated and fitted and tried it on and the change is quite remarkable, I would say. You wouldn't even be able to tell that, in it's former life, my homecoming dress may very well have been hooker attire. And I would appreciate some feedback about my creation, because it appears to be remarkably awesome or remarkably horrific. Let me know, because I want to show up all the other girls at homecoming with my stunning beauty. It's for the greater good.
BEFORE:
It's not terrible. But, on a tall person, I could not sit down without flashing everyone. Actually, I couldn't stand without flashing anyone. Which is a slight issue.
AFTER:
Excuse the horrible photo quality. And excuse the weird hem (it was pinned, not sewn yet). But, still, I think this is QUITE the transformation from the original dress. Props to me for being sassy and modest. YAY.
Stay tuned for part two of this adventure.
