What In The World The Picnic Dress

The snow has melted. The weather is warmer. The grass is green, birds are chirping, and the air is filled with the scent of flowers.

Spring is here!

One of the fine traditions of spring is the picnic. What better way to celebrate the broken binds of winter than to enjoy the rebirth of creation by having a meal outdoors? So we pack our basket with the essential items, and off we go to the park. Once we arrive, we discover we are not the only ones with the idea. A young woman eating a loaf of bread is sitting in front of us and… what is this cloth…

It’s a dress!

It’s a picnic blanket!

No, wait, its…..

The Picnic Dress!!!

 

Why carry a blanket when everyone else can sit on your dress? But seriously, I have a few problems with this. For one, grass on bare skin is is itchy so the experience of spreading the skirt out than sitting would be unpleasant. If people sit on the skirt, you have no mobility. And seriously, who would want to wear this anyway? Dude, I am pretty sure that I would have to drink that whole bottle of red wine she is holding before I would agree to wear this dress.

Any thoughts, comments, or insults? By all means, respond to this post!

Baptist Girl Can’t Dance

Hi, my name is Emily. I am an uncoordinated Baptist.

Hi Emily.

I attend a Baptist church that typically disagrees with dancing. The college I attended forbade us from going dancing or having lessons. 

Obviously, I don’t share those views since I am currently taking Latin Ballroom dance lessons with my friend Eric. I can understand some of the reasoning behind it, but rather than highighting that debate I am going to focus on my extreme inability to cha-cha. So maye I was meant for this type of Baptist church because I am so klutzy I give Bella Swan-Cullen a stumble run for her money?

The first night at Latin Dance, I learned the Rumba and a type of Swing dancing. Both were a breeze. This past Wednesday, we progressed to Cha-Cha. Our instructor Matthew taught us the individual steps before having us test with our partners. I easily mimicked his actions. I started to add some movement to other parts of my body besides my feet. Easy, baby! As I watched myself in the mirror, I was no longer Emily, short, klutzy, slightly overweight albino, but Emily, the confident, graceful Latin Ballroom Dancer. Bring on those partners!

Before I start describing my issues, watch this YouTube video on cha-cha so it makes more sense.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzi45m7cH2g

In most partner dances, the female steps backward on the first step, because the man is leading and pushes forward. Rather, in the Cha-Cha, the female steps forward because the man takes a backward step. Simple, right?

Wouldn’t you know…. I kept stepping backward. My partner would pull back, and we would end up dragging each other in opposite directions.  And out of all the men I danced with, only two or three could lead. When we were learning turns and such, the gentleman leading me also happened to be the worst dancers in the class. They were depending on me to lead, and that was something I forced myself not to do when I started taking partner dancing. If their moves were wrong, so were mine. The first gentleman just sort of swept me around like I was a broom. The second one blurted immediately that he did not have rhythm, and kind of stomped me around. The third one danced well, but were learning a difficult step before either he or I had mastered the one before. By the time I got back to Eric, I was completely. Messed. Up. And poor Eric couldn’t help me, either. I soon became frustrated, and we went home without practicing after the class more than ten minutes.

I didn’t understand it. Before dancing in partners, I had the basic step. It seemed so simple. My inability to master one of the least complicated Latin dances made me feel functionally retarded.

I did ascertain one thing, though, from all of this… if I can step back so well, I should be able to master Swing Dancing just fine. I might do some Swing dancing tonight… and hopefully, it will turn out much better. In the meantime, I might convince my friend to try practicing Cha-Cha with me again. After all, I don’t want to waste my money, right?

(Also, I think that the lesson I have next week depends on my ability to cha-cha. Oy. Off to forward rock step.

Courtney’s Wedding Two Months Later

So, I am like an expert of blograsination. I didn’t finish posting about Courtney’s wedding that happened like, two months ago. Now she has her wedding photos, I got her permission to post them here. And instead of telling the story in words, I will photoblog the experience. Special shoutout to her uncle-in-law and photographer, Monte Stiles, who did an amazing job. He also allowed me the indulgence of helping pose some of the shots. Here is his website. He is an AMAZING wildlife photographer and maybe one of the world’s friendliest drug prosecuters.

But anyway… for the photos!

We went to a day spa to prepare. The bridesmaids were treated to har and makeup, and I got a manicure.

Bridesmaid Jessica getting her hair done

 

Courtney's Caption: "Emily Likes Her Coffee"

 And, um, excuse the leg flashing. Ew.

The beautiful bride.... looking so dramatic.

 

The lovely bridesmaid Melissa after her makeup...

 

Bridesmaid Stephanie waits patiently for her turn...

 

Jess and Steph look on as Melissa is styled.

 

Courtney getting her bridal style

 

My manicure... and me blushing since Monte suggested we photograph my hands.

 

And finally... we were done!

 

 

Tryng to get everything into the car... and a buttshot of me...

Next we went to a studio that belongs to a cousin of  the groom to get some shots taken of the bride. Those and the bridesmaids shots will be in the next post.

Hairstory

 

I should have written this blog last week, I know.  SO sorry! But my life has been filled with friends and work the last few days, so now I am going to play catchup on some of my excitement. First tale: hair!

I am one of those many people who when the season changes, they get bored with their appearance and are inspired to change something. I am not much for plastic surgery, so I opted to change that which is less permanent: my haircolor.  Inspired by the fall season, I started to dream of a warm, reddish blonde (copper? strawberry blonde? whatever you want to call it) filled with honey blonde streaks.  I am a “bathroom beautician” and am known to dye my own hair various shades of blonde. They all come out beautifully, but someone who messes with what God naturally gave them is bound to screw it up at one point or another. I was concerned about gambling with nature this drastically on my own. I determined if I was going to go more red and less blonde I should probably go to someone else.

I should have trusted that instinct.

I have a crazy work schedule between working at Pitney Bowes and the Olive Garden. I wanted to go to a beauty college because I am a thrifty lady, but I couldn’t find the time to make an appointment. A week and a half ago, September 13, I was released early from my day shift at the Olive Garden.  I decided I was finally tired of being bored with my hair and I was ready to make the change. I immediately called the beauty school nearby, and they were all booked up. I then contacted four different beauty parlors in Sugarhouse, and they were all booked up. One of them did manage to provide me with a haircut for my over-shaggy layers. So I took matters into my own hands, and off I went to Walgreens to pick up haircolor to color my own hair.

Big, big mistake.

When I emerged from the shower, my hair was redblondeorange. Red on top, orange on the ends, and way too many blonde sections poking through. It was downright chunky. My hair rocked in a ponytail, but there was no way I was going to wear this travesty down around my shoulders.

Right after the dye job. My face is hiding behind my phone. It is covered due to shame.

 In this next photo you can see how my hair stayed blonde in the front after the color. I was unable to properly photograph the huge skunk stripe of blonde in the back. As you can see, I was much lacking in happiness here.

 

After several days of people ooh-ing and aah-ing about my new color (rockin in a ponytail, freakiness when down, remember?) my hair started to fade into orange.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Sorry for all the bathroom shots.)

 

So, finally, on Wednesday night, I decided I would go to a professional.  I couldn’t stand to be mistaken for a hipster any longer. (Though hipsters are some of the bestest people in the world, I am so NOT one of them. You can call me princess prepsta, yo!)

Considering this was another spur-of-the-moment beauty treatment, I could’t make an appointment. I settled on going to the Supercuts across the street from Brickyard Tower in SLC. My stylist had one of those sweet pixie style haircuts that make me wish I could pull it off.  She took one look at my hair and knew what I came in for.

“What do you want me to color your hair?” Pixie (because I don’t remember her name) asked, sizing me up. “I see you attempted red.” I then described my vision of golden-copper locks with blonde highlights. Pixie asked what brand of coloring I used and I brandished my box of Natural Instincts Perfect10.

Pixie was impressed that I brought my box. “Most people don’t even remember what brand they used,” she said as she surveyed the package. Once finished, Pixie told that highlights were out because I used a metallic dye. Evidently, my hair would fry, and that didn’t seem like an attractive option. I opted to skip the highlights. Pixie then brought out a sampler of synthetic hair with different shades, and we chose a vibrant shade of copper and a golden blonde, which would help tone down my hair from being, HELLO RED!

Pixie applied the ammonia-free Redken product and we sat for twenty minutes, chatting with the other stylist about her boyfriend who brought in roses. Unlike my usually silent stylists, these two ladies were chatty and engaging. I also discovered another Baptist in SLC in Pixie. Here for your viewing displeasure is a photo of me while the coloring was in.

 

 

 

After the job was done, my hair was fabulous. I absolutely love what was done with my hair. I don’t think I have ever walked out of a salon so satisfied with an end result, except for my senior high school prom hair style. So, here I am, right after the treatment….

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ok, and one more, just cause I am vain.

Lesson learned: When doing a major color change, don’t take matters into your own hands.

So tell me now, what do you think of the new-ish Emily?

Oh, Gee! at the OG

I surrender.

 

I think I may have had enough.

 

I might be ready to move.

 

Why?

 

Wineglasses.

 

Yes, wineglasses.

 

Here in Utah, people generally do not drink. At Olive Garden, the servers are required to push the booze. At every table the server is seated, they are required to present a bottle of wine and espouse it attributes to the guests. To encourage the drinking of wine, and to make the table look pretty, wineglasses are at every place setting. Hosts do not take the wine glasses away unless the people at the place setting are children.

 

Or, when a whole freaking party of ten collectively pushes their wine glasses at you in tandem. That could easily be taken as a hint to remove the cups now or they may go running, screaming out the door at the very sight of liquor. Usually, this type of push is done with gusto and the pronunciation, “We won’t be needing these,” or “We don’t drink,” or my very favorite, “Get these off my table.”

 

So last night, I had that exact situation occur when I was seating a party of ten. I was slapping down menus at their place settings as the group played musical chairs. (I mean, come on, JUST PICK A PLACE ALREADY!) One woman looked in horror at the glassware sitting to my right. She began to push it in my general direction saying, “You can take these away!” Of course, the rest of her party did the exact same thing when my hands were filled with menus and a screaming child needed me to go fetch it a high chair.

 

I understand if you don’t drink. You may be a recovering alcoholic. It may be for religious reasons. But please, don’t push ten breakable objects at me when my hands are full and expect to carry every single glass away right this minute!

 

I managed to tell the group my hands were full but I would be back to take the glasses off in a minute. In that time I may or may not have freaked out because I am pretty tired of this situation playing out in some way or another whenever I work at O.G.

 

Was my Oh, Gee, feeling over yet? Oh, no friends. The awkwardness had only begun!

 

I discovered another way to spoil your working environment is to have a guy that you went on one date with appear with another woman and a kid. One date? Generally not a big deal. The guy was a Christian, generally seemed nice when we talked online, etc, but when we actually went out he constantly talked about his ex girlfriend and made comments like, “I can’t be trusted with credit cards!” Also, hinting you think I am The One is not good first date chat. In fact, it may plop you into my Worst Date Ever category. He asked me out a couple more times, declined, and broke off contact. I hoped that was the end of that.

 

Wrong.

 

So Worst Date Ever Boy and Co saunter in. He stares right at me, and I can tell his eyes follow me all over the restaurant when I am on my menu hunt. Soon I feel as if I am being stared at by more than one set of eyes. Sho’nuff, his date’s eyes are following me as well. Un…. Wait for it…. comforable!

 

I pray that my section of the restaurant stays full until after they are sat.

 

The Lord heard my cry!

 

My friend Jen ended up taking his table and evidently he was very rude.

 

When Worst Date Ever & Co completed their Genuine Italian Dining Experience, I happened to be in the restaurant lobby as they headed out.  Worst Date Ever leaned over and whispered into his date’s ear. She looked back and me and laughed, and whispered back.

 

Um, honey, you were wearing a brown stocking cap that completely covered all of your hair. That does not give you the right to laugh at me and/or in my general direction.

 

So, um, I know this shouldn’t be a rant. God is good. Yes, very good. He did not have Worst Date Ever guy come to me.

 

So my next blog will be covering theology. My defense will be salvation by grace through faith. Brett, this one is for you!