It's Another List. Didn't Mean to Ruin the Surprise for You...

1) I just commented this over at The Anchored Nomad, but I feel that I need to do it more justice...

The trip to Mexico I'll be taking (TOMORROW!!!!) is for the wedding of one of Billy's extended family members. Obviously, when one attends a wedding, one needs a dress. But when one doesn't know how formal or casual the function will be, one must find a dress that can go either way.

This is very difficult. But it is a problem best solved by the stores in the mall that cater to adolescent girls, whose very lives are sort of in between. They're also cheap. Cheap, cheap, cheap-cheap-cheap. Racks and racks of poorly constructed cleavage-bearing shirts, far-too-short-to-maintain-any-decency skirts, and the occasional borderline-decent dresses hover beneath hot pink signs shouting "$7.99 and up!*" and "Final Sale!" Surely, I thought, I can find something appropriate and disposable here.

I say disposable, because these clothes are rarely crafted to withstand any amount of movement or wear. Additionally, they are usually ill-fitting, groping at my behind, sucking at my thighs and hanging loosely somewhere in the vicinity of my waist/midsection. The chest of any given shirt/dress is always a crap-shoot. Sometimes they squish my C Cups into pathetic little excuses for breasts, sometimes there is a generous amount of fabric left over, turning an otherwise lovely piece of cloth into a terrifying peek-a-boo number. So if I find something that's sort of what I want, but its fit is questionable at best and is liable to just fall off of my body due to faulty construction, I have a hard time committing a decent amount of money to it. Occasionally, though, there is that one diamond in the rough: The kind that creates the perfect cleavage, highlights my tiny waist, cradles my pert bottom, but flares away from (what I consider to be) my problem thighs. And for that, my friends, I don't mind paying $19.99.

In DEB, the Northeast's premier budding-stripper outfitter, I found such a dress. Not to dressy, not too casual, tight where it should be, loose where it should be, good cleavage, nice view of my back, proper length...It was, in a word, perfect. It could go either way in terms of fanciness. I wouldn't be out of place at all. Perfect.

Forty-nine-ninety-nine.

Wha-? In a store that boasts $2 t-shirts, I'm supposed to pay fifty bucks for a dress that I KNOW I'll only wear once? Not because I'm the kind of girl who only wears things once (because, in truth, I think I actually only wear about five items of clothing on a constant rotation), but because it's guaranteed to rip or tear and just fall apart at the seams at some point during the evening.

But, at that point in my shopping experience, I'd been through every goddamn store that Middletown had to offer, closing time at the mall was rapidly approaching, and I was really looking forward to my post-shopping Taco Bell meal (Bean burrito with sour cream and no onions, thankyouverymuch). I struck a few poses in the fitting room mirror, and then, shrugging my shoulders helplessly, decided: Fuck it. I'm buying it.

If the thread and the material do happen to last beyond the few hours that the wedding will require I wear it, I'm going to wear the shit out of that dress.

*These stores are tricky with their teeny-tiny "and up" signs on all of their sale racks. A few days ago, my friend and I were in such a store, and ran to the register with what we thought were $14 dresses in our hot little hands. At fourteen dollars, a girl could buy, like, ten of those things, as emergency outfits or something. When our totals topped $50 for two dresses, we sheepishly told the cashiers to forget it. There's a special kind of disappointment when something that you thought was on sale isn't. It's the absolute polar opposite of the feeling you get when the $100 dress you wanted rings up for $12.

2) There is a trend emerging here in Pennsylvania, and probably everywhere else, that I find very troubling. People, lately, have been coming into my office to meet with my bosses for meetings - important, very costly meetings - with their fucking Bluetooth Technology earpieces affixed to their ears. I don't mean to say that they come in talking on a hands-free headset, I mean to say that they meet with my bosses with that thing that looks like a mutant hearing-aid strapped to their heads. This vexes me for a number of reasons.

a. It looks stupid.
b. Do you really need it when you're certainly not using it at the moment, and you probably won't be answering that phone during your time here?
c. I could be wrong, but it seems pretty simple to remove and reattach. Would it be so hard to, oh, I don't know, just take it off of your head?
d. It seems that, when you wear one of these devices while you're not using it, you're trying to convey a message that says something like: Yes, I am very important. My phone could ring at any minute, and I'll need to answer it. And I don't have time to mess around with picking up or flipping open a phone. I need to answer it and talk now, if not sooner.
e. Rarely are the people who wear such things actually that important. Usually, they're just your run of the mill 9-5 workers with average jobs. Like me. And you don't see me walking around with a wireless headset hanging off my ear, do you? No, you don't.
f. It seems like it would impede your hearing. Like, being that it covers the entire ear, I would think that everything sounds a little muffled if you're not actually listening to what's coming out of the earpiece.
g. It looks stupid.

3) Seriously? This Bare Escentuals stuff? Best. Makeup. Ever.

Even Billy, who rarely comments on my makeup (Side story: Sunday, we were at my family's house, and I began to extol the benefits of the makeup to my mother, telling her how light it is, how it doesn't streak, it doesn't pool in my creases when I sweat, there's no need to blend, blah, blah, blah. And Billy, who was sitting next to me with a look of what I can only assume was a mix of disgust, absolute boredom, and confusion, turned to my father and said "I guess this is what it's like when guys talk about cars?" Yes, Billy. It is. It's exactly like it. Every mind-numbing, boredom-induced-tear-falling, complete-lack-of-interest moment.) said to me this morning, "Wow, that makeup does look fantastic. Very natural."

If the man, who sees me without makeup AND with every item of makeup I can possibly apply to my face carefully and lovingly applied, says it looks awesome AND natural, I think we have a winner.

4) Mexico. I think we're all aware of my dramatic few weeks, so I won't bother boring you with my overly dramaticized accounts of my health issues and stress. Let me just say that I have never before looked so forward to a trip in my life. Nothing, to me, sounds more lovely than reading a lot of books, drinking a lot of tequila-based beverages, and perhaps taking advantage of our hotel's spa. I'm just going to forget about it for a week. No sense worrying when there's nothing I can do right now anyway. And there will be lots of alcohol to aid in my self-imposed amnesia.

5) Portugesa Nova told me to read a specific post on this blog today. And I did as I was told and fell so completely and hopelessly in love that I went ahead and made a mental note to read every post on the blog. More times than I care to admit, I have had to disguise a throaty guffaw as a nasty chest-cold-type cough, on account of not wanting to out myself as an Internet User to my coworkers. That blog is awesome. As is this one, a blog I've been lurking around for a few weeks, doing that same thing where I chuckle and say to myself "This guy is HILARIOUS," and then think "Maybe I'll comment," but then I get intimidated and I just...don't.

Maybe it's just me, but sometimes I feel creepy commenting on a blog I've been obsessively reading for a while, but haven't commented on. Like, especially when I know they have a stat counter, and they're probably all "Who the hell is this person in Milford, PA who's been logged on every day for four hours?" Because, once I comment, they'll have that moment of clarity where they're all, "Ooooh. It's YOU." Meaning, me. The lurker. It makes me feel creepy. I know I said that already, but, it does.

6) Can I just say how incredible my boyfriend is? He turned my horrible day yesterday into a wonderful night, with only some kind words, some sympathy, a vodka-tonic and some laughs. I won't go into details, but it's times like that when I'm reminded how truly lucky I am to have him in my life, and how much I absolutely adore him.

7) Anyway, I will be leaving tomorrow morning for Mexico. So I bought five books, some stupid pads, and some light, cute, airy clothes. Today, I've written a list of things I must remember to bring. But also, on that list, I've included some things I'm pretty sure I'll remember: like, "underwear," and "makeup." I shudder to think what kind of horrible travesty could possibly occur that would cause me to forget my makeup. Underwear, I could live without. Makeup? Absolutely not. In fact, I spend probably the first half of the drive to the airport every time I go somewhere checking and re-checking for my makeup. Which is why it always travels in my carry-on, so that I can compulsively open my bag and verify my makeup's presence.

So, with that list out of the way, tonight, I will furiously wash the clothes I already own, run some last- minute errands and pack. Probably until the wee hours of the morning. This is how I always prepare for trips: Weeks of fantasizing and thinking about what I want to buy/bring, capped off by one night of manic behavior in which I literally run from room to room, lay everything out on my bed, stare at it for a while, while wondering how the fuck I'm going to fit all of it in a suitcase, apparently blacking out and somehow actually fitting it all in, then falling into a deep sleep in which I dream about forgetting things and the subsequent remembering of those things.

So, anyway, this also means that I won't be posting for at least seven days. I'd go ahead and make you lots of promises about posting stories of my trip, but I think we all know that I suck at following through on promises like that. So I won't make any bold assertions, I'll just say that I will be back to blogging on August 17, and I hope to relay lots of fun stories.

Be back soon.