adventures in hair

dear diary,

today is the third day in the last three years (but specifically the last 2 weeks) that i have not washed my hair.

i would say the pickiness regarding my hair began 2 days before I started junior high. I was twelve, and I wanted to try to spice up my lame, ash brown bob into something a little more exciting...so hair dye seemed like a logical change. I went to the store with my mom, picked up a box of herbal essences auburn hair dye, and came home to try it out. I followed the directions to a T-- mixing everything correctly, having my mom help with the application, setting the timer for exactly 20 minutes. And the whole time my mom kept saying "wow, this is really red-looking" and little twelve-year-old me was like "oh, itll look different on my hair, I'm sure" but to be honest, I think I was a teensy bit worried about the outcome of this grand hair-dying adventure, and I anxiously waited the 20 minute block out to see my crazy new 'do.

Right as the timer rang I rushed to wash it out and, to my horror, it was red. Really really really red. Fire hydrant red. Or, that's what I remember (in hindsight, it probably wasn't all that bright. I was just an insecure little girl who was quite shy and couldn't really rock any sort of unique hairdo). But anyway. It was really really really red. I remembered sitting in front of the mirror, staring at my vibrant locks and wondering why the crap did I just do that to my hair. AND it was two days before my FIRST DAY OF JUNIOR HIGH. Oh dear. This is a disaster, I thought. I could never reverse this (this was before my days of being a hair-dying master and knowing that I could pretty easily fix this disasterous 'do with an 8 dollar box of hair dye from the store and a little know-how, but whatever) and I would be stuck with Ariel hair (but less pretty because it was short and not a lovely flowing mane) for the rest of my life and people would laugh at me and what was a girl to do? I decided to wash it again. I noticed everytime I washed it the dye faded a little....and this was where a monster was created, my friends.

Yes, I do believe that this was the day that I became addicted to washing my hair.

Now, you might be thinking to yourself, how is that a bad thing? Are you upset at yourself for taking too many shower and being far TOO clean? Nope. Turns out washing your hair daily is a bad thing.

But, first, another hair mis-adventure in the life of Lauren.

So it was the fall of last year, and I had my hair the longest it had been since kindergarten. I loved my hair.It was long. it was thick. It was just lovely. But it was battered. Seriously. My hair was on it's deathbed. But, of course, me being the obsessive hair-washer that I am, I just kept washing and blow-drying it...ON A DAILY BASIS. I was literally frying my hair. Not to mention I had a little adventure with some blonde-ness for the summer and that basically beat the crap out of my hair.
But alas, I didn't notice the damage until it was too late. I just kept straightening with my 500+degree (and probably illegal/black market purchase) straight iron and equally damaging curling wand. I never deep conditioned, never trimmed, and one day I made a truly heartbreaking discovery.


My hair was uneven. Seriously. I had fried one side of my hair so badly that it was shriveling up and making one side about two inches shorter than the other.
My worst nightmares had been manifested. I had to cut my hair that I loved so dearly. There was no other way (except maybe getting extensions on just one side, but that's kind of dumb). So I called up my fabulous hairstylist and made an appointment. I felt like I was going in for an evasive surgery. Or maybe going to my own execution (that may seem dramatic, but most girls will understand the weird emotional attachment to hair).
At my appointment, I explained my dilemna and (I completely blame myself for this one) I said "Can you take off all the dead stuff? And can I have layers?" You know in horror movies where the stupid victim hears a noise in the cellar and is like "Well, that was scary. Better go see what that was!" and you want to throw things at the TV and scream NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING CLEARLY IF YOU HEAR  A NOISE IN THE BASEMENT THERES A PROBLEM LIKE SERIOUSLY DUH? Or in a romance movie where the effortlessly beautiful main character meets the dashing troublemaker and falls in love and you know he's cheating on her and you're like NO HE MAY BE CUTE BUT HE'S BAD NEWS? Yeah, if this was a movie of me and I was watching it I would probably say NO DON'T ASK FOR THE DEAD ENDS OFF YOU KNOW THAT'S HAIRDRESSER CODE FOR "CHOP IT ALL OFF PLEASE" NO STOP LAUREN and throw handfuls of popcorn at the screen.
She started cutting and she put a peice of hair in front of me and said "That's a long piece". And I felt my stomach drop because it was AT LEAST 4, maybe 5 inches shorter than my old hair. I wanted to cry. The regret was terrible. I sat there and watched all my beloved hair fall to the ground and I tried to stay calm. But when I got home to my new, actually kind of short haircut, I bawled. My hair was gone. I didn't even feel pretty anymore. I was seriously distraught. And before you all judge me, none of you can claim that you've never cried over your hair before because I KNOW you have!

So anyway, here I am, 8 months later and my hair is still no where near the length that it was. I want my long hair back. And I am bound and determined to get it there before I go to college in January.

I decided something had to change. Why was my hair suddenly at a standstill? Why wasn't it growing faster? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?! And so I asked my aspiring cosmetologist sister who seriously has some of the most fantastic, long hair I've ever seen in my entire life, and she said "Well, stop wahsing it everyday".

What the heck? Why would I do that? What a ridiculous request. She was silly. I could keep washing my hair, it gets icky....right?? If I don't wash it, it turns into an oily mess. But, according to her, not washing it regulates the oils and encourages it to grow. And it keeps it from breaking off, so it appears to grow faster. Sounded pretty mice to me, but I could literally not even stand the thought of my second day hair. At least, not at school.

But I just graduated high school. And I have until January until I start school. So what better time to start than now?

So here I am, my third time not washing my hair. And I will admit, it gets so much better. So wish me luck, I will have my hair back by college, and healthy this time.

And I'm gonna be the cutest college freshman you ever did see at BYUI. Not to mention really humble, too.

sigh. my old hair. RIP. you are missed.

look at that uneven hair of mine. oh dearest me.

a post haircut shot. can you see how short that is?! and look how distraught i am. I wasn't kidding.

the thrilling life of a new adult

well.

i'm done.

it's over.

like, for real. I am a high school graduate. When did that happen?! I know I have been complaining for, like, 13 years about getting out of here but it all happened in a blur and here I am! At work. Watching the clock, hoping 5 rolls around faster so I can go home. Ah, yes. Adulthood. Exactly as I imagined it would be.


I also woke up on Tuesday freaking out (typical)because I suddenly realized that I just began the rest of my LIFE. I just opened a new chapter which includes going to college, dating attractive return missionaries, marrying one of those hawt return missionaries, having a kid or two, graduating college....like, seriously. This stuff will probably all happen to me within the next decade. I realize it's happening, but it still hasn't hit me. I still think I'm going to go back to Queen Creek High School in July and start up another year. It is so surreal.


And part of me wonders if it will ever really "hit me". Do you notice you're getting older as it's happening? Or do you only notice once it passes you by? It seems like just yesterday I was going to Queen Creek graduation my sophomore year for orchestra and watching my "grown up" friends don their purple n' gold cap and gowns and walk across the stage, and I missed them and we cried and then they left and it was over and it really did feel like it would take a lifetime for me to get there. Aaaaand apparently it ran past me so quickly that I barely even noticed. It was like ten seconds had passed and suddenly I was wearing that purple cap and gown and walking across the stage.


The day of graduation I had to get up early. Graduation rehearsal was at 8 am and attendance was mandatory. So I rolled out of bed and stood alphabetically- Hegel, Haws, Harris- with my two line buddies and we sat in our rows and the kids complained about how totally laaaame the principal was and how totally lame getting dressed up for a graduation ceremony was (how dare the school tell us we have to look nice for theonly high school graduation we'll ever have. Those monsters. ) and how they were so tired and wanted to go home and then graduation practice was over. So we went home and I curled my hair all nice and put on my fancy dress I had acquired for the occasion. And then I went to put on my cap and gown and that's where I felt a little weird. Like, aren't I just a baby? They don't let babies graduate. There must be a mistake.

But then I looked in the mirror and I was this 18 year old who had not just gone to high school but finished. And I wasn't a baby- I was really tall and was capable of driving a car by myself and had a job. And suddenly I realized I was COLLEGE BOUND in a few short months. And then my mom told me it was time to go.

So I got dropped off to go early with orchestra. We rode the bus and exchanged stories about our orchestra adventures from the past few years. And I had this pain in my chest when I thought about how I technically wouldn't be a member of Queen Creek High School Orchestra and that I wouldn't be orchestra president anymore.....and how it was literally hotter than the depths of Hell on that bus and my dress apparently wasn't very breathable because I was sweating like a pig.

So we finally get there and we do sound checks and talk and remenisce and we take our senior group picture with Mrs. Payne. And then the teacher tells us it's time for us to leave to go join the other graduates and well, you know, graduate.

I join my line buddies in HarrisHawsHegel formation and we walk into the arena to the tune of Pomp and Circustance being played by some of my closest friends. And my face is on this ginormous jumbotron and I wave.

We're finally sitting and the speeches start. They're funny and encouraging and poignant, and I feel so sad that I don't feel sad at all. Then it's my turn to leave the crowd of graduates for one last song with the little orchestra that had been my musical family for the past three years.

AND CAN I TAKE A BREAK REAL QUICK TO JUST SAY THAT MY CELLO WAS OUT OF TUNE SO I HAD TO FAKE PLAY MY LAST SONG OF HIGH SCHOOL. YEAH. CARRY ON.

So anyway, then it's our turn to actually get our diplomas and suddenly I'm on stage and holy crap I'm next and then I walk up and grab my diploma, get excited, and sit back down.....and then I realize that I pretty much just initiated the beginning of the rest of my life. Not my high school life where I had to do what was expected of every other highschooler or where friends were petty and annoying (no offense, love you guys <3) or where I didn't have any other choice but to sit there and wait it out. Nope. Now I could pretty much do whatever I want. My new life will consist of all the exciting things, all the REAL things. And, as startling as it is to suddenly be here, I could not be more thrilled.

concertttt

You know, there were times during my senior year when I thought I would never be done.

Like, when it was hotter than Hell outside and Coach Kopp made us run hills like a million times in weights and I was 99.9 percent sure I was going to pass out and die.

Or when I was preparing for my All State Auditions and I had like two days until my audition, and I felt all awesome and prepared and then we found out that I had prepared the wrong solo for my audition. My brain imploded and I just shut down pretty much and had to take the next two days off of school and practice for 8+hours both days to catch up. NOPE. NOT OKAY.

Or when I decided to submit a senior project for orchestra and I typed up my little essay and everything, and it was a beautiful day outside and I was right on time for school, and THEN MY MOM HANDS ME A MILKSHAKE AND I PUT IT IN THE CUPHOLDER AND GUESS WHAT RIGHT AS IM ABOUT TO PULL INTO SCHOOL IT DUMPS OUT RIGHT ONTO MY AWESOME ESSAY THATS DUE IN 5 MINUTES.

There have been challenging days for sure. The days where I really just want to go home and cry and eat some ice cream and probably top it off with a nice nap. Those days where I thought "There really isn't any way this day could get worse at this point." and the universe seemed to take that as a challenge and was like "Is that a triple dog dare? Cuz I'll do it."

But there have been some amazing moments this year, too. And this last week has been one amazing week. Specifically the end of this week.

On Wednesday night I had my last orchestra concert of my high school music career. That's emotional anyway, but this time was especially sad for me because I wasn't just playing- I was conducting.

In my orchestra programs in Queen Creek and many other cities, it is pretty typical for the teacher to allow seniors to choose and conduct songs. I have watched tons of my friends do this in the past, and I have been planning out my project in my head for FOREVER. I picked a song (Folk Tune Air and Fiddler's Fury by Alexander Safford), worked on it with the class for foreverrr (which still didn't feel like enough time), and pretty soon I found myself at dress rehearsal for the concert.
So here I am, without my teacher (aka my mentor, aka there to keep me from losing my mind) because she's conducting the youngun's, and I am standing on the podium in the orchestra room with the baton in my hand, and my hands are shaking, and I am really really scared. The piece is in two movements (for those of you who aren't following me, movements are like the sections of the song. In this case, there was a slow movement and then a fast movement.) and the fast movement was struggling a little.

But it's not like this was an easy piece. Fiddling music can be some of the most challenging because it forces the players to play differently than they're used to, and some of the passages can be dizzying fast or extremely intricate, or both, as was the case for this particular song. I had watched my violins, who are traditionally the ones given the most brutal passages of the music, get together and practice the music, and send each other recordings and consult each other about the music and I thought it was the sweetest thing. They weren't just doing it for themselves- they were also doing it as a gift to me. And it was touching.

So we worked and worked and ran the song what felt like a million times-- at slow tempos, fast tempos, with a metronome, without a metronome-- you name it, we tried it. And I also worked- I took the score home and had to study it by listening to hundreds of recordings to try and figure out what kindof sound I wanted (each piece has it's own little personality each time as new group plays it), and then when I found one I liked I had to figure out what I liked about it and how I was going to get my group to do that. And there was one thing I really liked about the recording I was studying from- it was fast. Really fast.

So I did what Mrs. Payne told me I had to do and practiced conducting... with my earphones in and my ipod playing the recording and conducting an invisible orchestra with a pencil as a baton, facing my mirror so I could see what I looked like. Talk about the weirdest thing ever. And not only that, another thing I figured out is that conducting a group that actually watches (unlike being the chorister at church (thats my calling-- holla!)) is REALLY hard to conduct. Like, seriously, it's not just waving your arm around (I really did think that). Orchestral conducting involves cueing in sections and following a score and transitioning speeds and conducting patterns and through all of it you have to stay consistent and steady- because if you fall apart, the group will probably fall apart, too.

So I "practiced" night after night in front of my mirror and felt like a weirdo, but soon the conducting became easier and easier and suddenly I was doing things without even noticing, like standing up straighter and conducting more confidently. It was really, really cool.

And yet, here I am the night of the concert, still stressed out, despite all of my hard work. Like, what the heck, man? I got up on the podium and ran through the songs and the fast movement- the movement I had selected the song specifically for- was sounding a little sketch. I was sad and disappointed and concerned and stressed and everything else all at once, and to top it off, it was freaking hot in the orchestra room and I was sweating like a pig. Gross, but true. Those polyester orchestra dresses don't exactly breathe.

But then, just as I felt like I was gonna lose it and probably just quit/pass out right there, my cute little stand partner Ashtyn tapped me on the shoulder and handed me something. She told me she made it just for me. I unwrapped it and there was a framed picture of me playing the cello with an awesome, hand-decorated frame around it. It was so thoughtful and just as I thought the emotional roller coaster was over, another girl handed me a note from Mrs. Payne wishing me luck. And then another card signed by my class saying how much they loved me and how excited they were  for me to conduct. And the gifts just kept coming- frames, notes, cards. I couldn't help it, I cried. It was one of the sweetest, most touching moments I've had with my orchestra class. I don't think I'll ever forget looking out at them smiling at me, just as we're about to go out on stage, reassuring me that all the hard work didn't go to waste and it was worth it.

And it went perfectly. I have never heard them play so well, and I have never been so nervous for a performance ever. EVER. But somehow the world didn't end, and everything was okay. I can't really think of a feeling that compares to looking down at them from the podium, and randomly one or two will glance up and smile to reassure me, and maybe just to wordlessly tell me "Thank you, I appreciate what you do."

And, in a week I have to leave them. How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?

-Lauren

Homecoming Pictures 5 Months Late

I'm not so good at this whole 'put things up on the blog when they're relevant' thing, but here are my homecoming pictures. Not that anyone cares. Whatever, be jealous of my beauty.

(note: our main goal was to make fun of the two actual couples in our group. Or maybe it was so we'd blend in a little more. Either way. These pictures also involved sneaking into a swanky neighborhood to take them, so I guess you could call us rebels. Thug life.)

Nostalgia

Since I started playing the cello....
I have played 150+songs at around 41 concerts.
I have done over 12 auditions
and had almost 260 lessons.
I have had 4 orchestra teachers
And 2 cello teachers.
I have used 3 cellos
And had around 71 stand partners.
I have worked with 5 guest conductors
and 16 clinicians.
I have been to 11 performance evaluations
And participated in 5 solo and ensemble festival groups.
I have played in 1 wedding quartet
And 1 fiddling group.
I have played in 3 solo recitals
An did 1 concert as a bassist.
I have been on 4 orchestra trips
And went to 1 Disney workshop.
Ive played in 3 senior concerts
And I have done 8 church musical numbers.
I have gone through 5 sets of strings
And 4 bows.
I have served 2 years as orchestra president
And i am One happy cellist.

In Case You're Wondering What It's Like to Make Regionals When You're A Cellist Who Lives in Queen Creek

Sorry about that whole not-writing-blog-posts-out-of-laziness thing. I'll work on that. Eventually.

Well....yeah. Regionals. That totally happened. But I'll start from the beginning.

I got my music in July (ridiculous, I know) and I looked at it and my first reaction was "Awesome. More Beethoven." and let's be honest, when you're a senior who is already busy with a million other things which aren't all that important (a cross country road trip being one of them, if we're talking about July (side note: if you are a string player or you are past Lauren looking at this blog post from a time machine DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES GO ON A CROSS COUNTRY ROAD TRIP FOR A MONTH AND DON'T PRACTICE WHEN YOU GET BACK BECAUSE YOU APPARENTLY THINK THAT'S OKAY BECAUSE ITS NOT OKAY) (The other day I got a point taken off of an essay I wrote because I do my parenthesis like this. So I apologize if you're reading this, Mrs. Brimhall)). But really, I honestly had just about zero motivation to work at my regionals stuff. I had already not made it twice, and that is completely and totally maddening, like knowing you got a math problem wrong by putting the decimal point in the wrong space, and you want to go back and fix it but you can't. So I chugged along and worked at the music and had it learned by around late November. And by learned I mean I could play through it, but it had no emotion and I sounded like a robot, or maybe a cello off of garageband. But I felt absolutely no desire to fix it. Which is weird, because usually around November the all-out panic and practice like crazy stage happens for me. But instead of doing what I usually do, I put it away. Seriously. For, like, a month and a half. Looking back I regret this decision a little bit, but apparently that method worked out pretty well for me, because I got back from break and whipped those excerpts back out and actually WANTED to work on them.

So I drilled those excerpts and pulled them apart and put them back together again piece by piece (any of my classical musician friends will get what I'm talking about (thank GOODNESS for metronomes)). And all this while working my new job as a receptionist at the offices at SanTan Mall everyday after school. And also while learning a quartet piece (and practicing until 9 pm some nights with my group) and also learning/memorizing the solo part to ThePianoGuy's "Nearer My God to Thee" for solo and ensemble festival. Let me repeat, January 2013 WAS RIDICULOUS.
But anyway, the last weekend of January rolled around, and I got up around 8 am on Saturday to get ready for my audition. It was raining (which is ALWAYS a good sign (wait, nope)) and I threw on my concert black and got out the door and on the road to Highland High School in Gilbert. I auditioned, and honestly, I felt pretty "eh" about the whole thing. I mean, I didnt bomb it. That I was positive of. But I was proud of myself, and relieved, and went on to play in my ensembles and hang out with my friends and have a good time.

So then it felt like night happened way too quickly and I found myself watching Spirited Away (uhhh yeah. I got talked into that.) and obsessively checking my iPod to see if that email announcing the results had come yet and WHY DON'T I HAVE ANY NEW EMAILS ITS ALREADY 730 COME ON MRS PAYNE IM DYING HERE IF MY LIFE WERE A BOOK THIS WOULD BE THE SUSPENSFUL PEAK OF THE BOOK LETS SEE IF THIS IS A SAD BOOK OR A HAPPY BOOK MRS PAYNE SERIOUSLY ITS 732 PICK UP THE PACE I MUST KNOW and this is what resulted in my iPod being confiscated by a concerned friend (thanks, Sam) and me trying to focus on/ enjoy Spirited Away. Two or three eternities later I was finally given back my iPod and there was a new email from Mrs. Payne. I checked it and let's just say I got pretty emotional:




My first reaction was some unintelligible babbling. Wait, nope, I'm pretty sure my first reaction was crying, which, for poor Sam and Ryan was probably a thought process along the lines of "Oh my gosh she's crying uh oh this is bad um sorry lauren it's all good atleast you're a good person STOP CRYING". So after the initial awkward we all celebrated and I think I emailed Mrs. Payne multiple times saying "Are you SERIOUS?! Seriously though."

Anyway, the next Monday I got my music, and, to my surprise, I got to play one of my favorite classical songs of all time, suite 2 from L'Arlesienne by Bizet, and the overture from La Forza Del Destino by Verdi (the fact that the title was "The Force of Destiny" worried me a bit, and when I listened to the recording and read the conductor's notes ("this music flies!") I found out I had reason to be concerned). Anyway, I practiced and went to regional rehearsal, which is always fun. There's something cool about being in a room of kids who love music as much as you do, and it kind of bonds you all. Even though you didn't know eachother the week before, you all become this tight knit group and end up laughing and crying together and whatnot, and, the more I think of it the weirder this sounds. So I'll move on.

There are two rehearsals for regional orchestra- one all day Friday (an excuse to miss school- yesss!) and one on Saturday from about 9 am till 2:30, which is when the concert is held. That means that in about 11 hours you have to pull together two legit pieces of classical music and sound somewhat acceptable. And somehow, it happens. And rather quickly. And that is all fine and dandy, and a really cool experience, but my favorite part is ALWAYS the performance itself. There is something (sorry in advance for the cheese) magical about what happens on stage during a symphony performance. Listening to a symphony while on stage is an entirely different experience than sitting out in the audience. In the audience, you DO hear a lot of the music. You hear the cresendos and the crazy runs in the violins and the flute solo and you see the conductor cueing and being entertaining, and the section leaders leading and all that. But, on stage, you see all that and FEEL what's happening in addition. I could feel the rumble of the basses notes as they traveled through my cello to where where my cello was resting on my chest. I could feel the timpani in the soles of my feet (another weird (and poignant) part of playing in a symphony is that you can't really hear yourself play- just the group as a whole and the entire puzzle with all the pieces in place). And, besides physically feeling the music more than you wuld as a spectator, you feel it more emotionally on stage as well. I teared up a couple times on that stage during my regionals performance, mostly out of pride for my fellow musicians and friends I had made over the course of two days. When the first violins nail a tricky run in a song, you can feel the rest of the sections sigh in relief. When the orchestra as a whole finally gets a part together and cresendos and ends together, it's such a weird feeling of raw happiness and I can't really describe it, there's really nothing like it. As cool as it is to listen to a symphony perform, it's even cooler to be up there among it's members.

And, since I don't have a better closing paragraph thought up, a quote I found that I think sums up things pretty darn well:

“Singers and Musicians are some of the most driven, courageous people on the face of the earth. They deal with more day-to-day rejection in one year than most people do in a lifetime[...] Every day, they have to ignore the possibility that the vision they have dedicated their lives to is a pipe dream. With every note, they stretch themselves, emotionally and physically, risking criticism and judgment. With every passing year, many of them watch as the other people their age achieve the predictable milestones of normal life – the car, the family, the house, the nest egg. Why? Because musicians and singers are willing to give their entire lives to a moment – to that melody, that lyric, that chord, or that interpretation that will stir the audience’s soul. Singers and Musicians are beings who have tasted life’s nectar in that crystal moment when they poured out their creative spirit and touched another’s heart. In that instant, they were as close to magic, God, and perfection as anyone could ever be. And in their own hearts, they know that to dedicate oneself to that moment is worth a thousand lifetimes.”

- David Ackert, LA Times

--------------
La Forza Del Destino:
http://youtu.be/GHk1RmPzA5E
(my favorite part is at 3:57 :)

L'Arlesienne:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k7YfUCAaFEE
(Farandole is my favorite movement.)

Senior Homecoming: That One Time When I Decided Sewing a Dress Was a Good Idea

Let me just begin by saying that this post is completely contradictory to my last post. Woopsie. And let me also say that I don't write blog posts about specific events very often, just general topics. And yet, this post is about a specific event. I am made of irony. And I don't even mean that in a weird, metaphorical, existential kind of way.

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.