Monday, November 15, 2010

You Can Dress Me Up, But You Can't....Dress Me Up

First, I'll apologize for my absence around here as of late. I've been having to deal with a lot of serious stuff. Like, the kind that can't really be made funny.


You may have noticed that I'd been shopping, practicing, and primping for a certain formal event that took place on Saturday. And if you haven't noticed, it's because you're not following me on Twitter. Which is pretty lame of you AT A TIME LIKE THIS. Of course, whether you follow me or not is not fully important since I'm just going to tell you about it all over again anyway.

So, here we go.

Phase One: Shopping

Remember that story about the dress that tried to kill me? Well, clearly it needed to be replaced. On, uhm, a fifty dollar budget. Naturally, I saved this impossible task until the point where it became an Impossible task within an impossible time frame. In other words, I spent about two weeks and six thousand dollars in gas traveling the tri-state area looking for that which does not exist. It felt eerily similar to those nights in high school when we'd drive through this one area of town looking for a tribe of midgets that lived in the woods. But that's neither here nor there. The point is that THERE ARE NO MIDGETS IN THE WOODS, KRISTINE. So, during one afternoon quest, I pulled into a parking lot to call my husband. My plan was to convince him that a $200+ dress was ESSENTIAL for my well-being, and I was prepared to alternate between SOBBING and YOU LISTEN HERE, BUDDY, in order to achieve this goal. But then I looked up and saw a magical bridal shop. Therein, I found THIS on the clearance rack. For FIFTY DOLLARS.

Of course, my boobs are nonexistent and I needed to get the damn top tailored for an extra $30, which blew the budget after all. I am not good at this shopping business. For further evidence of this, see previous frantic tweets calling for help to accessorize said dress. Seriously, glasses make everything difficult. Except for SEEING, of course, but definitely everything else.

Phase Two: Practice

Now, when I say practice, I'm not referring to any fancy dance moves or proper use of the soup spoon. No, I'm referring to hair and makeup. And lest you think I'm simply vain, I want to emphasize my incompetance when it comes to hair and makeup. As in, you would have better luck asking me choreograph, dance, sing, and act a role in an Tribute to Britney Spears episode of Glee than having me successfully apply makeup and hair product without eliciting gawkers who are compelled to cock their heads sideways.

For example, one afternoon, after watching numerous HOW TO APPLY EYE MAKEUP tutorials (no, really) I attempted something called The Smokey Eye, a look that probably jumped the shark three years ago. After what must've been 45 minutes, I walked down the hall to my napping husband to get his opinion. I startled him awake, receiving a look of equal parts sadness and horror.

Him: You look like some sort of evil action super hero.

Me: So you're saying DON'T wear this to the ball?

Him: You're gonna take it off, right? Like, right now? Before we go to the store?

And let's just say that all my hair practicing to achieve that Kim Kardashian look...well, failed.

(Please ALSO note that I'm not fishing for OHBUTYOULOOKNIIIIICE! or anything because, ICK, STOP LOOKING AT ME. The purpose here is to illustrate my incompetence in the hopes that someone starts sponsoring me. With a personal stylist. And maybe some padded bras. I'm at peace, however, with my armpits.)

Phase Three: Attendance

The day of the grand event, The Husband and I arrived at the hotel early to get dressed and scoff at minibar prices. I'd done my hair earlier that day in the hopes that it'd FALL or something, but, well, I think we've already covered that. I managed to apply some makeup to my face in way that did not induce twitching for passersby and we headed down to a friend's room for cocktails. We arrived a full hour early, people. Unfashionably, in more ways than one.

The event itself was remarkably uneventful. (Wait, what?) I had a few drinks, but not too many. I negotiated the ladies' room without dipping half my skirt into the toilet water. In other words, I generally avoided becoming THAT HOUSEWIFE, this year. However, I appear to be in contention for future events, friends. Observe.

The Husband and I were in line for drinks, trying to catch the last call for open bar. Impulsively, we decided to get TWO DRINKS EACH to last us through the next two hours of non-free liquor time. Because we're classy. So now, here's me, leaving the line, with two glasses of vodka-Sprite, a glittering, bedazzled clutch, a digital camera, and some rose that I was given upon entrance. Oh, did I mention my shoes? Right, those would be four inch heels. That I'd never worn before. And SURPRISE! slipped off my heels with every step. And you saw the dress, right? Floor length?


Now, while I didn't EXACTLY eat it as I crossed the dance floor en route to my seat, the amount of flailing, cursing, and awkward recovering was pretty much the same as a total wipeout might muster. Especially touching was when I called out for The Husband in an attempt to laugh it off and appear, um, graceful?, only to be abandoned on the dance floor, mumbling incoherently to myself for help? Anyone? My dress? Is eating my shoes? At this point, I was not only drowned out by the music but also by men speaking urgently in microphones commanding stragglers to SIT THE FUCK DOWN, WE'RE ABOUT TO CARVE CAKES WITH SWORDS UP IN HERE. So are we picturing this together? A shuffling, Elaine-style jerking stumble, with Shirley Temple curls bouncing to-and-fro, and a look of utter desperation with an attempt at the debonair? All while lip syncing my own demise?

Yeah, so I ripped my dress. All those folds in the front? They disappeared completely as I stepped on myself, leaving me with a reverse train type-thing. So, sure, the shuffling saved me from a full assplant, but I wore my Scarlet Letter for it, friends. I spent the rest of the night holding up the fluffy skirt like a prairie girl hiking through muddy fields, avoiding eye contact with any decorated Marines that might have the demote my husband on principle alone.


  1. Helpful sexy fashion tip from someone who's not sexy or fashionable or helpful: Buy a bra a size small and push all underarm flab into bra, thereby creating a push-in effect. Spend evening not making any wild movements with arms, so as not to upset delicate pit-bra-boob balance.

  2. So I've been thinking that maybe I should put my two cats in a box and mail them to you and you should put your two cats in a box and mail them to me.

    Everybody wins.

  3. Haha.. funny stuff. Oh, and I had The Smokey Eye once. It was followed by a desire to each entire bags of Doritos and watch The Wall and listen to the Wizard of Oz soundtrack. Or was it watch Wizard of Oz and listen to The Wall soundtrack?

    Ohhh.. I remember now, it was listen to Dark Side of The Moon and watch Driving Miss Daisy.


  4. I'm pretty sure I knew a girl in high school who caught Smokey Eye. She contracted it when she rubbed her eye right after rolling a joint. They had to call in doctors, and she was absent for like a month. She totally missed prom.

    But if she'd gone to prom, there's no way she would've looked all pretty like you did in your dress. Well done, young lady.

  5. Please, an amateur can screw up the Smokey Eye. I have Smokey Eye Kit and I screwed it up. But those curls! Woman, that's some impressive 1990's hair curling action.

    But, judging from the incognito Marine picture, they did fall beautifully. And the dress is gorgeous. You rocked the house.

  6. That is a fabulous dress. Looking fantastic on you. I may have to unfollow you bc a) you get to go to the ball. And b) the picture of you is bad for my ego. I, too, am beyond hopeless with hair and makeup, but I can maneuver pretty well in heels

  7. Unsolicited advice from an eyeglass wearing former makeup artist: For a formal event, simply brush on a light coat of a soft, neutral eye shadow; Line your eyes with black or (my personal choice) very dark brown; and wear a basic red or nude lipstick, no gloss. You'll look like a million bucks and you won't feel like your eyes are competing with your glasses.

    Anyhow, from the pic, you look like you did a nice job on your own...very pretty, Lady!

  8. No one died, right? (Or maybe I missed that part.)

    Based on the pictures you looked very nice, but as I try to follow instructions, and you're not looking for that type of comment, just forget you read this last sentence. ;)

  9. This scenario sounds awfully familiar... oh wait, no, I'm just thinking of that time I had to go shopping for a fancy Christmas dress to wear to a fancy Christmas party at a fancy hotel ballroom. Only instead of Tweeting for accessory help, I facebooked for it. And instead of Sprite and vodka, it was whiskey and ginger ale. And lots of it too. They had the top shelf shit stocked that night. Hope you had a good time, despite (because of?) the shenanigans.

  10. For the record, I think your hair came out nice! That whole Kim Kardashian thing you were going for? I think you might have had more luck if you had used a straightening iron. (Run it through and then do a slight flip/curl thingamabob at the ends of your hair.)

    Oh, and that little cartoon over your husband's face? Fucking EPIC, man.

  11. That dress is amazing! As for walking in anything higher than All Stars, I fail, so kudos to you for your survival.

    Oh, and guys in military wear. *dies* I want the hubs to get a flight suit just to wear around the house sometimes. :D

  12. isnt it easy for the marine though? all that hard work they do and in return, always looking damn fly in their dress uniforms. god i wanna be a marine. my family better hope my blog takes the fuck off in the next three months, because all i got is 6 more credits of school before i'm signin dem papers. then it'll be a marine blog.

  13. So much of that is familiar to me. I get dragged to the Kansas National Guard St. Barbara's event every December. Three good things about going? Trophy Husband looks hot in his dress uniform (even with the orange suspenders), open bar, and truly QUALITY people watching. It's a small town unit so there's plenty of variety. Bored housewives? Check. Chic city girls? Check. Greasy-haired trailer trash wearing their 15 year old prom dress? Capital check. Imagine a bright red spaghetti strap dress from 1992, hot pink tights and hooker heels. Good times.

    And BTW, similar make up, hair and heels issues right here. (Seriously, how did we get to be grown ups and miss out on these life-lessons?) I have yet to actually rip my dress but some asshat did fling gravy on me one year in the buffet line.

  14. I really do like the dress. Great find!

    I am so horrible at applying makeup I go without it just because I'm afraid people will make fun of me. When I need to dress up and go out, I go to my sister's house and she makes me look half decent. I never even attempt to do it on my own.

  15. At least there were no candles on the tables. Trust me, that's never a good thing.

  16. well all things consider you looked lovely

  17. That dress is COMPLETELY AWESOME. And you found it for 50 dollars? That is the bomb.

  18. Your husband is so... handsome. Really. You must have to beat the other ladies off with a, um, piece of broccoli?

    Glad you didn't break anything when you ripped your dress. It can ALWAYS be worse. Like, it could have ripped straight off! Yikes.

  19. Oh gosh! Too funny! LOVED your dress though! We didn't even get to go to the ball this year.. but that might have been a good thing, cause I bet my night would have ended up a lot like yours.

  20. i think you looked purty. that dress is really nice :D good find!

    ALSO. you have an award waiting for you at my blog. it's shiny. seriously. it's shiny.

  21. Oh gosh! Too funny! LOVED your dress though! We didn't even get to go to the ball this year.. but that might have been a good thing, cause I bet my night would have ended up a lot like yours.