The Night Before the Ball

I got my eyebrows waxed today. Ouch. They are a pretty angry red right now, I hope that fades soon because otherwise everyone will know that A. I have a unibrow and B. I rocked that thing until the last minute.

But really, the night before isn't the last minute.

The last minute would be standing in the bathroom outside the event, which is where I intend to put on the ridiculous strapless bra-corset thing I am going to have to wear.
Ouch, indeed.

Maintenance is a bitch, and I am not a regular at the groomers.

But I think I am pretty ready already.
I have a dress.
I have shoes.
I have a fancy bag.
I have the aforementioned ridiculous undergarment/contraption.
I have a hair appointment for the big do.
And I have Xanax.

Yes, I have things well in hand, or at least, I thought I did. And then someone asked me if Sam was going to wear a tux. I tried to play it off all casual but inside my brain was screaming:
"OH MY GOD YOU FORGOT ABOUT SAM."

So. Um. Yes. Hm. Sam is wearing a white shirt! With black pants! AND A TIE. Because in Hawaii, wearing a tie is really serious business. It's just not done. Ever. Even the lawyers wear Aloha shirts and Birkenstocks to court. Or maybe that was just my lawyer. I don't know. MY POINT IS ties are really not worn here for any reason except prom. I literally cannot think of another time when men wear ties. Okay, occasionally there is possibly a formal church wedding - but I have never been to one of those.

I honestly can't think of a single time that I have seen a man walking around in a tie, unless he was knocking on my door to share the good news about our Lord. And when HE showed up I hid behind the sofa.

But not tomorrow. Tomorrow night there will be gowns, and ties, and maybe even TIARAS. (Oh, I really hope there are tiaras.) And I will not be hiding behind the sofa. I will be right there. In the middle of this big, fabulous party. And then there is some sort of late night extravaganza. I will be up way, way past my bedtime. Craziness.

So, here are a few links in case you want to follow the madness. You know what they say: pictures or it didn't happen. So, pictures.

I'm on Twitter and Instagram: @daffodilblog
Imua Family Services has a facebook page for the event.

And you can follow the hashtags #imuaball and #fantasiaafterdark

Or you can just buy tickets, and be there yourself. Because I think that would be best. Don't you?

Trying to find a gown at 40, during prom season

Can we all just take a deep cleansing breath? One that doesn't stink like a perfume counter?

I love living on an island. I have adapted to having limited options for last minute purchases, and I have learned that even "overnight shipping" takes a week. I know what things I can order online, and which things I need to see in person to decide on.

I have also had several disastrous lessons in online clothes shopping. So I just don't do it.

This decision has saved us a lot of time and money, and it really hasn't been a problem...... until now.

I need a dress.
By Saturday.

This is the vision I had......

I did some pinning on Pinterest, but was too nervous to buy without trying on first..... so last week I went to the mall, and found a corner of the department store that had a few sparse racks holding cheap, fugly dresses that alternated between Matron and Hooker. There was nothing in-between. The selection was totally picked over, sizes were limited, and there were as many sequins on the floor as there were on the clothes. And the ball I'm going to is "The Black and White Ball": there were exactly 2 black dresses - neither of which was my size - and no white dresses at all.

The bridal store in the mall had gone out of business, and Forever 21 had nothing. I stood outside of Sears for a few minutes trying to work up the courage to go and look to see if they had any prom gowns left, but I just.... I couldn't. I couldn't do it.

So I got in the car, bound and determined to find something to wear. I went over to one of the fancy outdoor shopping centers and found some gorgeous gowns at BCBG but I just couldn't pull the trigger and buy one. And because I am too old and classy (shut up) to tuck the tags in, wear the dress and then return it the day after the event (never mind that the employees are friends and readers - Hi guys!) I had to put them back on the rack...... but not before Joyce snapped a few photos:

I really, really liked this black one. 

I totally thought about things I could sell to pay for it.

This is INCREDIBLY comfortable and surprisingly flattering.

Definitely a dress that looks so much better ON 

then it does hanging on a hanger.

This dress was about 3 sizes too small, but I loved it.

Great Gatsby, yes?

We went to 3 or 4 other stores that night, but nothing grabbed me. I left empty-handed.
C'est la vie.

I'm not giving up yet - I still have a few tricks up my sleeve......but I also have my original plan:

Catching cute mice and putting them to work.

I had gray hair. Then I dyed it and people take that sort of thing very personally.

YOU GUYS.

As I have mentioned, I am beginning, the long, slow and sometimes painful process of getting my act together so that I am fit to be seen in public, in advance of the Fantasia Ball I am attending next weekend.

At first, I thought I might just shave my armpits and call it a day. But then, you know, I started thinking about all of the maintenance I do not participate in on a regular basis. Like buying makeup, or coloring my hair, or wearing a fancy dress. Even my elevens have gotten the best of me, I'm sorry to say.

The first order of business was the hair. I have been gray - really and truly, salt and pepper gray all over - for about 5 years. I dyed my hair red a few years ago for St. Patrick's Day, which was hilarious, but then I promptly had it cut about 1/2 an inch long all over my head.

Which in turn led me to dying it back to it's dark brown and letting the gray come in. It was a losing battle, trying to cover the gray. My hair grows fast and thick, and I had an almost constant strip of gray at my root line - which is SUUUUPER attractive and youthful.

I wasn't fooling anyone, is what I am trying to say. Also, denial.

"You can't be too much older than I am," said a woman who was definitely older than me, during a casual conversation one day a few months ago. She looked good, don't get me wrong. I just happened to know she was older than I was. Outwardly, I thought we looked around the same age. The only difference was, she was blonde. And I was not.

"Huh." I thought. "Why would she think I was older than I am?"

So for the last few years I have been gray, and fine with it. Really and truly fine. I got a few blonde highlights every once in a while to keep 'em guessing, but mostly I just let it be. Until I got a wild hair and decided that I wanted to go full-tilt Audrey Hepburn breakfasting at Tiffany's on this ball thing, started searching for a long e-cigarette online, and sent a text to my hairstylist Adiel:
"Let's go dark."



I could almost hear the squeal coming from 15 miles away. "Yes." she said (the "finally" was left unsaid, but certainly implied.) When I arrived at the salon, everyone in the place knew I was there to dye my hair. The receptionist, the other stylists, even the chick in the first chair knew what was about to go down. I have spent a lot of years having hairstylists ask if they could color my gray hair, so I thought it was just unique to the profession, to have such strong opinions about going gray. Boy, was I wrong.


So I sat back, and let them have at it. I did not give any instructions, I did not look at swatches or discuss warm vs. ash tones, or anything. I just sat down and said "Okay, go."

It took a while. Joyce showed up to document the big reveal, but I wasn't ready yet.

So we had a drink.

Just one, mind you. Heavy on the OJ.

Ella took a little nap while we waited.

Then I needed a haircut.

An hour later, my chair was rotated back towards the mirror. "What the hell have I done?" was the first thing I said. My stylist was more concerned about my bangs than the color.

And then, naturally, I posted a photo on Facebook. The reaction, it was swift.
The first thing I noticed is that everyone thinks I look better - and younger - without gray hair. Apparently, while I was walking around feeling empowered, I was also walking around looking 20 years older than necessary.

Huh.

And then, some of my friends and family who have gone gray started to get a little protective. Okay, defensive. Tomato tomahto.
My mom got involved.
People realized my mom was reading, and toned down their responses.
"I like your hair either way." a few said diplomatically.
But the vast majority were markedly relieved that I had finally ditched the gray. And that's okay. I'm glad it looks good, because I really do want to look nice for the event, and I definitely don't want to look 20 years older. So yay for hair color.

But it's only temporary.

Daffodil goes to a ball: If I wear a long gown, do I have to shave my legs

I got invited to a ball in a few weeks time.

I have never been to a ball before, but I have watched Cinderella a million times, so I am going to the pet store for some nice mice and birds who could help a girl out. It seems like the easiest way to deal with what is otherwise a kind of overwhelming process.

Here are some reasons why I might need some help:

-I shaved the back of my head a few months ago. This grow-out period is a bitch.
-95% of my makeup is on the floor of my linen closet, and came free with purchase of a moisturizer.
-I have one "formal" dress - which is more than most people, I know, but leaves a lot to be desired in terms of choosing a dress. I own a dress. I am wearing it.
-I am wearing the aforementioned dress with a pair of sandals I just found in a bag under my bed. This post is really helping to keep me on track.
-I have a 6 week old. If you have kids that you have raised since birth, you may understand what I am saying when I tell you I am barely coherent some days, rarely showered, and usually in sweatpants. I haven't brushed my hair since February.

I could go on, but you get the picture. I am the last person on the planet that should be going to a ball, and it will take every ounce of strength I have to stay awake past 9pm. Since the after party starts at 10, I will begin drinking caffeine-laden beverages at noon.

There is a really good reason for all of this:
The ball benefits Imua Family Services.

Imua has been a part of our lives for years - they have worked with several of our foster children and the results of their comprehensive approach to therapy - mostly through play and exploration - is a wonder to behold. Dude, in particular, benefitted from their services and for that I am forever grateful. When we brought Dude home from the hospital he had a lot of odds stacked against him, from low birth weight to drug exposure in utero. He made incredible progress working with Imua, and Imua worked long and hard on his behalf, partnering with his mother and father to be sure he was making the progress he needed to make before entering preschool.

this is Dude in an infant carseat, which was clearly too big for a Dude-sized infant

But Imua provides more than just services for our foster children - they provide peace of mind. So many people ask me how I can bear to give these foster children back, and the honest truth is that it would be impossible if I didn't know that the team - the doctors and nurses and therapists and social workers and lawyers that I have gotten to know and trust over the years from case to case - would be following the baby for months or even years to come. Because I know that they will be getting to know the family, and supporting them through the child's early years, sometimes even doing the visits in the family home, I am able to have some peace of mind when I hand these babies over for the last time and say goodbye.

They do good work at Imua Family Services, and I was proud to be asked to support their fundraiser this year. But then I realized it would mean actually pulling myself together for a fancy evening event.

This will be interesting.

To hold myself accountable, and also to make sure I get some feedback, I will be undergoing my makeover in public. Right here. Hair will be dyed, skin will be waxed, wrinkles will be blasted, dresses will be tried on to see if I can find one I like better then the one I have, and then of course, the grand finale:

The updo.

I might even wear a corsage.

Good lord, it's like 1993 Senior Prom all over again. But this time I won't be driving a turquoise Cadillac with a white leather interior (sadly, because that car was amazing) and I'm pretty sure I won't have a perm, either.

I'm not ruling it out, though. The thrill of the reveal, coming soon!

Abuse me, baby

Today, against my better judgement, I returned to roller derby practice.

I have a confession to make.

As much as I love roller derby (and oh, roller derby, how I love you) it is kicking my ass. On Sunday, I got completely hammered. And not in a good way - no alcohol was involved. During Sunday's practice, I went down so hard, and so often, that by the 4th time I just weakly held up one hand and made the "OK" sign when they asked if I was all right. The derby girls, who have seen their share of crash landings and ass whoopings, made a collective "GASP" when I went flying/careening/sliding along the pavement on my left side. It was not cool, it was not graceful, it was not pretty. There were murmers from the assembled crowd of "ouch" and "oh MAN" and "that's gotta hurt" as I lay very very still on the pavement and listened to my skate wheels still spinning somewhere over my left shoulder.

Eventually I got up. I did. I got up, and I even skated some more. And by this afternoon I was able to sit down without wincing and moaning - which is a MARKED IMPROVEMENT.

So of course, I got my gear on and went right to practice.

About an hour in, I was practicing some new technique when - once again - I went flying. And once again, landed hard on my left hand and skidded along on my left side. When I came to a stop, my left arm was waaaaaay over there, at a funny angle. And once again, I was breathless and cursing Drew Barrymore and her damned "Whip It" for getting me into this mess. Bitch. (No, really, I adore her. But still. It's all her fault.)

I made it through the rest of the practice, though I sullenly refused to do the 75 pushups because I literally couldn't put any weight on my hand or shoulder without wanting to vomit and simultaneously falling facefirst on the concrete.

I had spent just about enough time bonding with concrete for one day, thankyouverymuch.

On my way home, I had to stop for lunch stuff for the kids. So of course, I went to my beloved Whole Foods. And as I perused the meat cases, looking all gross and holding my left arm close to my side, carefully not using it because I was afraid it might just Fall Off, two of the butchers came up behind the counter. They were big guys, local, joking to each other in pidgin as they cleaned up for the night.
"Can we get you anything?" they asked.
"No, I think I'm all set, I'll come back tomorrow."
"OK. Hey, can we ask you a question?"
"Sure." I said, thinking "oh shit, where is this going...."
"Do you skate that derby thing - the roller derby?"
"Yeah" I said, feeling kind of embarrassed because honestly, I do less skating and more sliding around on my ass but whatever. Details.
"Yah !" said one. "I TOLD YOU" said the other. "Awesome" they both said. "Those socks gave you away" one explained. And they had all kinds of questions. About practice, and our track, and who we played against. I answered as best I could, and made sure to clarify that I was the new girl, and really not a member of the actual team yet. "You must be a pretty tough girl, though, to skate with the team." one of the butchers said. "No, really, I'm not." I assured him. "I get my ass handed to me every time I go to practice." "Nah," he said "I can tell. Only a brave girl would get out there and take the hits like that."

And I have to admit.......I smiled.

Three Things

Have you ever visited Mighty Girl?

You should. I find her very inspiring, and her style? Well, obviously she's got that in spades, which is something I enjoy vicariously.

And she's got the list. This life list. This Mighty Life List. And she has had several companies sponsor her as she crosses these items off her list. Needless to say, her list is fucking awesome. And some of the items really NEED a corporate sponsor. So yay Maggie for finding a way to make it happen. We should all be so lucky.

In the glaring absence of corporate sponsors (and since I am between jobs, I don't really have any damn sponsor at all except my husband who is basically sponsoring my entire life - so it seems shitty to throw a list at hime of Things I Want to do Before I Die that He Needs to Pay For) I have embraced her goal for this month of crossing 3 items off her list.

Let me rephrase that. I'm not crossing things off HER list, I'm crossing them off my own. 3 items off MY LIST.

Only I didn't have a list. I still don't have a list,. That's on my list for next month.

But in the meantime, I did manage to accomplish three things that I have always wanted to do, or was scared to do, or wondered if I would be able to do, or thought I couldn't do, or some combination of those options:

1. I stood up for myself, and walked out of a job even though I needed the money. I held my head up, and I was the better person. I did not throw a fit, or act like an ass. You know how sometimes, someone says or does something nasty, and for 2 weeks you wander around muttering all of the snappy comebacks you wish you had been able to come up with at the time? I didn't have that. I am 110% at peace with how it all went down, and it was a life-altering experience. I hope you never find yourself in that position, but if you do, I hope that in the end, you look back on it and say "I am proud of how I handled that".

2. I joined the roller derby. Good God. I totally did. I bought skates, I went to practice, and I loved it. I am petrified, and sore, and at the same time completely thrilled. I needed to have something for me. I don't go to the gym (I think we have covered that) and I have never excelled at team sports, but man......I think I can do this.

3. I sent out a query. Instead of thinking of story ideas in bed as I fall asleep, forgetting them in the morning, and then reading the article I had in my head - with someone else's byline - a few months later, I came home, sat down, wrote up a proposal for a story, and faxed it along with samples of my writing. And while of course I hope that it gets picked up, and that they love it, even just faxing that initial letter tonight was an accomplishment. It was a major hurdle. It was something I have always assumed I wasn't good enough to do and tonight I just.......did it. I didn't follow any samples online, I just wrote from the heart, because that' show I write. And if how I write doesn't get their attention, then I'm not writing the way I should be and I shouldn't get the gig ANYWAY. So fingers crossed that something I submitted interests them enough to contact me, but even if I never hear, back, I will be less hesitant to submit my next story idea (but if this doesn't work, then next time I am actually going to follow the professional suggestions).

Alright, so there you have it. 3 things down.

Next month, 3 more.

A nice little Wednesday

Today, I was reading my blogroll per usual, and discovered a new and exciting contest that I felt compelled to enter, if only because I have never entered anything like this before.

You know, it's not my style to set myself up for humiliation/epic failure, but what the hell.

So I followed the directions, added the badge that was supposed to provide the link to the nimonation page so everyone could just click on over there and give me a bump....and that is when things started to go terribly wrong.

An hour later, I was still trying to install the fucking badge. My laptop battery died. And you know, I had to (deep sigh) make lunches and take the kids to school. And take that cat that does not even belong to me to the vet. Again.

Anyway, as soon as I got home, I went straight to work.

Only at this point, the site that I am attempting to link TO is not loading. I know, it must be all of those readers rushing to nominate me - thanks guys !

At this point, I am starting to remember why I never enter these things, or make an effort to increase my readership. Because I find myself 3 hours later in tears, crouched over my laptop sipping cold tea in a tank top and boxers, swearing at my internet connection and wanting to throwthe computer out the window. Meanwhile, the crackberry is blinking and filling up like crazy because in entering the contest I also, apparently, agreed to "follow" something that I do not wholly understand, which means that every time someone ELSE makes a comment on the website (something along the lines of "THE BADGE DOESN'T WORK"), I get an email alert. Fucking awesome.

So anyway, no time to blog today ! Maybe I'll put some pants on and take a wak around the yard shoveling dog shit. Might be more fun then what I got going on right now.