a.k.a. - worst dress shopping ever.
NOT AT ALL THAT I'M COMPLAINING ABOUT BEING A BRIDESMAID. I love the fact that N&A asked me to be in their wedding. The difficult part (that I don't like) is the fact that most bridesmaid dresses are designed for people with less *ahem* picky taste. I like myself to be covered, thank you. I don't require things that conform entirely to TAC dresscode, but closer is better. Anna is a sweetie, though, bending over backwards to make sure we're all comfortable in what we will be wearing. We can get jackets or shawls or whatnot to give more coverage. I can't help but feel for her, though. Looking through the dresses on-line, the selection is very limited.
Why must the bridal industry encourage so much... exposure?
But it'll all work out :)
Have I mentioned that I'm EXCITED to be in this wedding?!?! So happy! :)
26 April 2011
25 April 2011
Just a tad egocentric... but not really
Writing philosophy papers does something to one's brain. Or maybe even multiple things. In any case, sometimes those things are good. Like you get inspired and a sentence just flies off the tips off your fingers into the lovely word document. I say "inspired" because I don't really believe that I'm smart enough to come up with things like this. Really... it's all God. I can't just think things like this.
"To die for a friend is not contrary to love of God, self, or neighbor; but rather, it can be the highest expression of all three."
I love truth, don't you? Especially when you stumble across it, like a beautiful rose that was hidden around a corner. You walk around the corner and there it is, smack in front of you.
Dream come true... sorta
At the beginning of the semester, I decided to inflict a bit of torture upon a poor, unsuspecting freshman boy. When I ask for things and do what Sean calls the “cute face”, people have a hard time refusing me. I try not to abuse this power too much… they are usually relatively reasonable requests, although somewhat unusual. Anyway, this request was very unusual. I asked someone if they would be willing to go out on a blind date with someone of my choosing. Much MUCH to my surprise, he said yes. He gave me the power to send him out on the town for an evening with a young lady that I got to pick out for him. I knew that I was going to send him with a mutual friend who is more like a sister to him, but he didn’t know that. He definitely freaked out beforehand. He was good to his word, despite it all, and went out with her. They had lots of fun, but he definitely wanted to get me back.
My roommate was more than willing to help out: she set me up on a blind date.
One beautiful Sunday afternoon, I put on a nice dress, Bridget did my hair, I put on a bit of make-up (shocking, I know), and then Michelle blindfolded me. With Michelle’s arm around my waist, they walked me out of the dorm. I was tentatively walking because I couldn’t see a thing, not to mention that I was pretty nervous myself. I wasn’t sure who they were inflicting my company upon and I felt bad for the poor boy.
Outside the gate of the dorm, something was shoved into my hand. Flowers. How nice. I was told that my date wasn’t going to be speaking to me (to prevent me from discovering his identity), but that he was happy to see me. He took my hand and looped it through his arm, walking me down the path to “the carriage”. When we got to the stairs, my date was in a bit of a conundrum. He couldn’t tell me when to step and he knows me well enough not to just trust me up them. Thankfully, everyone showed up for this date, so Jims and Chris L. took the other side and talked me through it. We stopped between the dorms because that was where the truck was. The next challenge that faced us was getting me into the back of a pick up truck. Standing behind it, I couldn’t tell what exactly was required to get into it. I don’t do well with climbing things and the skirt I was wearing compounded the magnitude of the problem. The boys threatened to pick me up and put me in, but I refused that. I don’t like being picked up. Holding men’s hands and stepping gingerly, I managed to get in myself. I walked to the back of the truck and was instructed to sit down, where they had placed couch cushions for my date and me. For translation, Michelle hopped in the back with “Fred” and me, communicating the things that he wrote down on a little whiteboard. She told me, “He says, ‘I love you… sorta.’” It was an awkward 25 minute drive, bouncing in silence in the back of a pickup truck, not knowing the name of the man I was sitting next to. It made it worse that I had gotten a concussion recently, so the dizziness and nausea were having a field day.
“He says he doesn’t have anything to say… that could adequately describe the way he loves you.”
“He says the silence… is like the tears that silently fall on his pillow at night when he thinks of his unrequited love.”
My date, of course, said none of these things. He just wanted to tell me that he didn’t have anything to say and the silence was awkward. But Jims would have none of that normal sort of thing.
Eventually, after things were done being set up, Bridget stood me up, took the flowers from me, and put my date in front of me. After a few more seconds of arranging, I was un-blindfolded. And there was Chris S., down on one knee, offering me the bouquet of flowers. I turned bright red and laughed. He stood up and hugged me… we laughed at each other, the situation, the crowd of spectators, and the fact that one of my sophomores was my date. We sat down… with seven other people… at a table and enjoyed fresh fruit for about half an hour. Then everyone left to work on their papers and various other sorts of homework. Chris S., Shelle, and I climbed into the back of the truck again for the ride up, chatting about nothing in particular.
My roommate was more than willing to help out: she set me up on a blind date.
One beautiful Sunday afternoon, I put on a nice dress, Bridget did my hair, I put on a bit of make-up (shocking, I know), and then Michelle blindfolded me. With Michelle’s arm around my waist, they walked me out of the dorm. I was tentatively walking because I couldn’t see a thing, not to mention that I was pretty nervous myself. I wasn’t sure who they were inflicting my company upon and I felt bad for the poor boy.
Outside the gate of the dorm, something was shoved into my hand. Flowers. How nice. I was told that my date wasn’t going to be speaking to me (to prevent me from discovering his identity), but that he was happy to see me. He took my hand and looped it through his arm, walking me down the path to “the carriage”. When we got to the stairs, my date was in a bit of a conundrum. He couldn’t tell me when to step and he knows me well enough not to just trust me up them. Thankfully, everyone showed up for this date, so Jims and Chris L. took the other side and talked me through it. We stopped between the dorms because that was where the truck was. The next challenge that faced us was getting me into the back of a pick up truck. Standing behind it, I couldn’t tell what exactly was required to get into it. I don’t do well with climbing things and the skirt I was wearing compounded the magnitude of the problem. The boys threatened to pick me up and put me in, but I refused that. I don’t like being picked up. Holding men’s hands and stepping gingerly, I managed to get in myself. I walked to the back of the truck and was instructed to sit down, where they had placed couch cushions for my date and me. For translation, Michelle hopped in the back with “Fred” and me, communicating the things that he wrote down on a little whiteboard. She told me, “He says, ‘I love you… sorta.’” It was an awkward 25 minute drive, bouncing in silence in the back of a pickup truck, not knowing the name of the man I was sitting next to. It made it worse that I had gotten a concussion recently, so the dizziness and nausea were having a field day.
“He says he doesn’t have anything to say… that could adequately describe the way he loves you.”
“He says the silence… is like the tears that silently fall on his pillow at night when he thinks of his unrequited love.”
My date, of course, said none of these things. He just wanted to tell me that he didn’t have anything to say and the silence was awkward. But Jims would have none of that normal sort of thing.
Eventually, after things were done being set up, Bridget stood me up, took the flowers from me, and put my date in front of me. After a few more seconds of arranging, I was un-blindfolded. And there was Chris S., down on one knee, offering me the bouquet of flowers. I turned bright red and laughed. He stood up and hugged me… we laughed at each other, the situation, the crowd of spectators, and the fact that one of my sophomores was my date. We sat down… with seven other people… at a table and enjoyed fresh fruit for about half an hour. Then everyone left to work on their papers and various other sorts of homework. Chris S., Shelle, and I climbed into the back of the truck again for the ride up, chatting about nothing in particular.
11 April 2011
TAC April
The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The sky is blue. Flowers are blooming.
And everyone is getting fed up with one another.
It happens every year at this time. The same things that make a community great make it occasionally unbearable. We all see each other every day. We have more in common than your average group of 350 people. But after eight months, you're sick of each other.
Don't get me wrong, we all love each other dearly. But when you love people that much and get to know them so well, you learn everything about them. You know their likes and their dislikes, their hometowns, favorite baseball teams, strengths, weaknesses... and failings. We all have them in abundance (who doesn't?), but the patience with which one puts up with those failings diminishes rapidly toward the end of the school year.
Two full weeks of class, two half weeks of class, and a year... ahem, week of finals are all that lie between us and SUMMER. Deo Gratias!
And everyone is getting fed up with one another.
It happens every year at this time. The same things that make a community great make it occasionally unbearable. We all see each other every day. We have more in common than your average group of 350 people. But after eight months, you're sick of each other.
Don't get me wrong, we all love each other dearly. But when you love people that much and get to know them so well, you learn everything about them. You know their likes and their dislikes, their hometowns, favorite baseball teams, strengths, weaknesses... and failings. We all have them in abundance (who doesn't?), but the patience with which one puts up with those failings diminishes rapidly toward the end of the school year.
Two full weeks of class, two half weeks of class, and a year... ahem, week of finals are all that lie between us and SUMMER. Deo Gratias!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)