Mexanese Mumbo Jumbo

I'm not a pack rat. Thankfully a skill I did not inherit from my Grandmother or I wouldn't be able to live in the small abode I currently reside in. Since opting out of the married club and rejoining all my single ladies, I've been trying to figure out what to do with the box containing a massive 8-layer, strapless princess dress I wore eons ago on my wedding day. I reviewed my options:

- sell it
- keep it
- burn it a la Jennifer Aniston
- donate it

Finally an option presented itself - massacre it!

This year's company Christmas party theme was a Masquerade Ball and I soon realized the princess dress was perfect for the occasion, but perhaps with less tulle. It took almost 3.5 hrs of removing unneeded layers of tulle, cutting off the train, sewing on black tulle to the top part of the dress and a beer whilst contemplating - how the hell did I ever walk around in that sucka?!

After all that work, I started chickening out on wearing the dress. Sure, there's a few amazon women left in Agency that I could probably count on to show up at the party with fancy dresses, but would they be full length ones? Plus there was also that tiny, itty bitty, teensy problem regarding the snugness of the dress (Apparently I've gained a few in the last 6 yrs).

So, as per a co-worker's suggestion, I started drinking more water than usual in hopes that it would slim me down a couple of pounds for the night in question. It did not. In fact, it did the opposite, and it took 3 gals to zip me into the dress. I managed to survive most of the night, to a large extent by taking small breaths, until the dancing began and it became a breathe or dance situation. I chose dancing. Thankfully, I had brought a backup dress and shoes, so, with Streefy's help, I pull a Celebrity Award Host move and did a wardrobe change half way through the night which allowed me to dance until I couldn't feel my feet. Although I'm happy to report, I didn't have to walk home bare foot this time.

The next morning was very reminiscent of the Riptown days, and revolved primarily around me not hurling my guts out on the bus, large bouts of nausae once I got into the office, one very mistaken berry drink and sitting at Starbucks for 45 mins while waiting for the manager of Pop Opera to appear so Narcis and I could get in and retrieve our posters.

Note to self, next time, maybe don't offer to be on the party organizing committee so that having to be functional the day after the Christmas party is not necessary.