I love getting dressed up. I have my entire life. Shit, I majored in fashion design. And to this day, the touch of taffeta and tule gets me giddy.
My "uncle" Greg is a huge force behind the current Festival of Sail and last night was the Captain's Black Tie Dinner at the Argonaut Hotel. Executive Chef Jeff has been flown out to cook for 300, Mel and the Brians were coming and I needed a gown.
I tried on a dress in New York. It was perfect, and for all intents and purposes, the dress Elizabeth Perkins wore to the Christmas Party in Big. But I didn't want to drag a big dress across the country and really, I never thought I'd rope my peeps into shelling out cash to black tie it up over some sail boats.
Lo and behold, my peeps were in. Shit. I shoulda got that dress.
I took Wednesday afternoon off work and scoured Union Square. But, you know, me in a gown is like Dorothy Zbornak at a dance-a-thon. I look like Mother of the Bride. And here I was yesterday morning, with a ball to attend and not a thing to wear. Becky suggested David's Bridal.
"Are you nuts? Des Moines is a long way to go for a dress."
Melissa laughed hysterically at the concept of me in a David's Bridal buying from the rack, but the seed was planted.
Worse, I woke up Saturday morning with some kind of weird pinched nerve in my back. I could barely move and didn't get on the road to Colma (the closest David's Bridal) until 1pm. Which of course is when Jeff calls.
"I'm prepping in the kitchen. Come down and hang out with me."
"Jeff, I need to buy a gown."
"Really? Buy somethin' pretty."
Yeah, not all of us get to wear a white coat with our name embroidered on it. God, spending the afternoon with my fancy chef friend as he prepares fancy dinner for 300 is my own personal heaven and I couldn't go. Shit. I shoulda bought that dress.
And thus, I found myself at a David's Bridal in Colma trying on gowns alone as excited brides to be swirled around me with their moms and best friends. It was mildly depressing until...oh god. Taffeta! Tule! And I'm a size smaller!
I came home, spending 4 hours getting ready. My tux-clad gay date was on his way to pick me up for a pre-party at Mel's. My hair was acceptable. My lips were red. My ears were heavy with fake diamonds. And I was in taffeta and tule.
I called Mel.
"Um, I got something. It's a little over the top but I'm never taking it off. Mist, I am beside myself with glee."
And then the zipper broke.
Ladies, if you're going to a black tie event and really like your ensemble, don't dance around your house in it. You might fuck it up.
Well, shit. Like I said, I majored in fashion design. I sewed myself right back into my silver taffeta skirt. Hey, I might meet a captain who could rip it off me.
Devine picked me up and we brought champagne to Mel's. Mr. Leubitz running late because he had a pro-tranny protest to attend.
(Ewww, trannies. Don't ruin my prom, Leubitz.) Melissa, of course, didn't go to David's Bridal to get a dress. Melissa could take a shit in the middle of a sidewalk and still be gorgeous. Thus, Melissa wore a champagne colored beaded gown which just happened to be hanging in (one of) her closet(s) begging to be displayed. Ugh, if she wasn't so fabulous, we'd hate her.
We headed down to the Argonaut where I ran into a million of my parents' friends and my new BFF, Aaron Peskin.
Say what you want, bitches. I fucking love this guy. Seriously. I always imagined Peskin to be really unfriendly and intimidating. Nope. He's fuckin' lovely. And he can drunk dial my ass anytime. I kind of want to invite Mr. Supervisor over to watch You've Got Mail and drink Prosecco while we discuss public transit and do each other's hair.
You know, it's not often I find myself covered in floor length taffeta shooting Grey Goose direct from an ice sculpture and chatting with Aaron Peskin literally AS Gavin said 'I Do'.
I was tempted to pat myself on the back and call some people that were mean to me in high school.
Which is when some absolutely dreadful woman in turquoise loudly told Brian, who'd, at my urging been wearing Mel's fedora, that it's impolite for a man to wear a hat indoors. She said it as if she was correcting a grandchild and quite frankly, I was beside myself.
Oh. No. She. Didn't.
Number One, this bitch was talking to a 35 year old, incredibly civicly involved philanthropic attorney who'd gladly shelled out $200 because he's a great guy and my good friend.
Number Two, the executive chef will let me spit on anyone's entree. Do not fuck with us.
Number Three, I think it's way more rude to tell someone AT A BLACK TIE EVENT that Emily Post might question their ensemble than it is to wear a hat indoors. Miss Turquoise Manners needs a little class class herself. How dare she (not realize who she was talking to).
That's the thing with this high falutin' shit. All of my glee at getting dressed up, my delight at gratis Grey Goose shots and my joy in occasionally getting to feel personally connected to fancy shit always gets momentarily ruined by some dilettante who doesn't know their place.
Well, fuck her and her bolero. We're at the kids table!
Each table gets a real, live ship Captain and our table, the kids table, had Nolan, or as Mel called him all nigh, Capt'n Crunch.
Capt'n Crunch was the only Capt'n not in full white military regalia and apparently, asked to be seated with trouble.
He was with us.
I think Capt'n lost his charm at "I wanna hook up with some cougars, you guys!" but I can't be sure. I spent much of the dinner avoiding speeches and hanging out with Jeff in the kitchen.
Anyway, the kids table was way in the back. I worked the room, meeting Mista Lazarus finally, laughing with Peskin, hugging Richard and Barbara, begging Ben for wine, etc.
I think I exited the womb schmoozing.
Anyway, it was tome to go.
Which is how I found myself in a limo with Jeff and Capt'n Crunch.
Which is when we got in a fight with the limo driver.
Which is how I ended up at Vertigo.
In a fucking ball gown.
Ladies and gentlemen, to quote a hobo, I'm just asking for it.
I don't need to go into what went down (vodka, douchebags, sleeping on my brother's couch, etc.) but basically, I woke up this morning with two thoughts.
Number One: Um, am I on my dead grandma's couch? Alone?
Number Two: I wonder if anyone will notice me wearing heels with my brother's plaid pajama pants to brunch at Momo's...
Oh, and here's me losing an earring and then ditching my friends: