I know, I know. I'm sinner, ok? I'm a ginormous, carbohydrate-laden sinner. I've been out for far too long. The last time I neglected to write for this amount of time, I at least had a trip to London to show for it all. God. Where to start, where to start... One should note however, that I'm writing this from deep inside a mini-meltdown, of which I've not yet climbed out. But we'll get to that later.
Friday, I didn't post my usual end-of-the-week entry, for lack of time only. I went into work at seven so I could finish off some last minute desk stuff, and then start packing. Piranha, Piranha and Shark Inc. are moving to a smaller space, as all that field room wasn't necessary to hold the newly 'restructured' staff. That is, half the Piranhas got the ax, and the rent was to high to shelter the other half. So off we go, though thankfully not far at all. I got out of work a little early, which was nice, and spent the rest of the afternoon doing mini-preparations for the wedding extravaganza the next day. The fingers and toes got a new paint job, and I tried to nap and get some extra rest but ended up just catching an episode of Trading Spaces instead. (Ok, I know this is probably going to start some wars, but I like Frank! Sure, he uses perhaps too many twigs and logs for my liking, and I could do without his free-styling of bulls and chickens on walls and ceilings, but for the most part, I do rather enjoy him!)
Sleye came over to lend a much-needed purse that night, and we ended up going to a party at the Yenta's house. We were both insanely tired, and really in no mood to socialize with strangers, but friendship dictated that we at least make an appearance. Of course, as usually happens, when you're not in the mood for a party, there's a great one happening around you. I was surrounded by interesting, laughing, good-looking people. There was lots of food and drink, and the weather was lovely. It was a great backyard soiree, and I totally hated the fact that I couldn't muster up more energy to join the throng. Oh, don't get me wrong. I chit-chatted, I mingled, I made small talk. But had I been in proper Ingenii form, I would have been a presence! You know? You know? Eh. You win some, you lose some.
Saturday dawned bright and early, and I was woken an hour and a half before my seven o'clock alarm. Flargie, my darling feline, decided to clamber up on my bed, and start the machine gun staccato that signifies the horking up of a giant furball. On my duvet. At five thirty in the morning. So, yeah. Nice. At least I knew I'd be up in time for my nine o'clock hair appointment!
(My hair, poppets, in case you're wondering, looked fabulous. It was an interesting mix of funky and elegant, fun, yet sophisticated. Peaks and curls, half up, half down. As it had to last a good 17 hours, it was sprayed and cemented, so that not even a good, stiff wind would knock a strand askew. Lovely.)
Of course, you all know that Saturday was the day of The Dress. I was so looking forward to wearing my brand new silk shift, with the brighter than bright fuscia and orange print and the Chinese style collar. It was unique and grand and guaranteed to be different than anything else anyone was wearing. I would stand out. I would wow the crowd. And I did... right along with the girl who had the unmitigated gall to wear the same thing! Oh, it was touch and go for your Mare for a few minutes there, darlings. We saw each other in the parking lot of the church, just before the mass. We both walked toward each other and laughed and made clever little quips about how stunning the other looked, and how faultless the other's taste was. Then her boyfriend said something about just having to take a picture, and we both shook our heads and declined and giggled merrily. And then we both walked into the church (Thank God, she was bride and I was groom) and - well, I can't speak for her - but I started inwardly seething. Seething, I tell you! You know, I always mocked those girls who would cry and fuss when something like that happened, dismissing them as stupid and shallow. And you know? I was wrong! Not stupid! Not shallow! Mad as hell! I couldn't stand to even look at her out of the corner of my eye, because the anger would just mount and mount, no matter how much I tried to control it. Then, to make matters worse, some horrible fate that controlled the timing of the communion line decreed that we go up the aisle together and stand in front of the priest to receive the host. Together. At the same time. In the same dress. The priest? He actually did a double take! Ok? Exactly. I could actually feel people trying to suppress their snickers.
After the mass, when we were all congregated outside, taking pictures and congratulating the bride and groom, people kept coming up to me and saying, "Did you see her? Did you?" And, "Oh, you look much better than her" which I admit was very nice of them, if a total lie. The girl was thistiny! She had a body to kill! My favorite was, "You know, there's a girl here wearing the same dress as you!" Noooo! Really? And I came up with the stock answer, "Oh, I know! We're actually considering a Las Vegas cabaret act" which seemed to make people feel better, as I suspect they were all waiting for us to lunge at each other with wooden stakes and holy water. Between the mass and the reception, the guests who weren't going home to change or nap or whatever, were invited to partake of a light repast at a nearby restaurant owned by one of the groom's friends. That was lovely, and The Girl took the opportunity to go home and change. I have to admit - that was very kind of her. She told me, "Well, you're the groom's cousin. You're family. I'm just a friend - plus, I live nearby." After all, she didn't have to do that. Those dresses were brand new in the store, so it was a new frock for her, too. Plus, from what I heard, she's got a loud and out-going personality as well, and bought it for the same reason I did - to look different from everyone else. Oh, I know. The irony is killing me. So, anyway, I was able to spend the reception knowing I looked fine and different, which doesn't count for much when you're surrounded by happy couples, but that's a whole 'nother story.
Graydon Hall, the place where we had the reception, was fabulous! Rather than your traditional stuffy ballroom, we were able to mill around outside around a fountain and lots of little paths leading to tiny gardens and fishponds and such. There were several small bars situated around the property and there were wandering waiters passing cocktails and canapés. It was truly a lovely time. It wasn't a huge wedding - just 170 people, so it was more intimate, and there was more conversation. Then, for dinner, we were seated under a large portico, and the food was divine. A vegetable compote to start, then butternut squash tortellini that just melted in your mouth. Then there was a bit of salmon, then the pre-chosen veal or Cornish hen, and then the vanilla panna cotta with peaches. At midnight, the sweet table came out. I didn't touch it, as I don't usually go for food that late, but I did see it, and it was gorgeous, with carved fruit and delicate pastries and tiny bowls of ganoche to pour over even smaller desserts. Truly, it was a fantasy table of sugared delicacies.
The music was great, and I danced a lot, which you know always makes your Mare happy. But the whole night was just a fight to keep smiling, keep my spirits up, stay happy. I hate going to these things alone. You know, as irritating as being single is I don't hate it. What I hate is going to these functions alone and being surrounded by people who've got somebody. I think it's when that realization hit that something inside of me clicked. I was fine, and then... I was just really glad when the wedding was over and I could go home.
Sunday, I was invited to my uncle's cottage for the day. Teacher and Conspiracy Theorist and Frankie and I went. We also asked some other cousins, Zoolander and BoyMare and his girlfriend to come along. We ate, we laughed, and we played three hours of beach volleyball! Me! I played beach volleyball! I KNOW! I couldn't believe it either! I'm like, the least co-ordinated person on the face of the earth, once you put any kind of ball in my hand and expect me to get a point with it! But it was, in it's own weird and unusual way, actually kind of fun!
I think something may have clicked in my head on Saturday, triggering a meltdown that went on hiatus on Sunday, and restarted itself on Monday, because yesterday, I looked in a mirror, and the winner of the Miss Obesity 2003 contest looked back. Oh, getting dressed was horrible, and I was expected to be at Mandy's for a barbeque to boot! All I could think was, "My best friend hasn't seen me in a month, and I've ballooned beyond all proportion." It was a bad scene, as I feverishly alternated between blinking away tears of frustration and anger, and flinging clothes on and off my rapidly growing behind.
I've gained weight. Not a lot of weight. But I've gained weight. I'm still much smaller than I was back in September, but I Do. Not. Like. The. Way. I. Look. Right. Now. Especially since I gained before I even finished losing! It's no one's fault but my own, of course. I'm a sucker for anything that is guaranteed to make me fat, and I lost control.
Today is the first of July - Canada Day and my parent's 31st wedding anniversary. B.E.E.R. happens on the 24th, which means I've got 23 days to shed this parka layer that I've gained, so that I may look good for some very important people I've not seen in 5 years. I can do it, dammit, even if it kills me. At least I'll have a decent looking corpse.
And with that, poppets, I'm off. I've got a treadmill to grapple with.
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