Captain Oblivious and the Formal Caper
You may be aware, by this point, that an evening out with Captain Oblivious has a certain nightly Fail Quota to fulfill. Last Tuesday's formal, fun as it was, was no exception. I got my first hint as to the size of the fail with the arrival of my carpool buddies. Now, Diana and Nicky showed up no problemo, but Min had some difficulty with the front gate. And with the intercom. And apparently with all three of our mobile phones, because she solved the problem by having her dad pick the lock. As you do.
However, my fixtures sustained no permanent structural damage, and we proceeded to get in the car and drive to the hotel. On the way I learned that Nicky's parents have the most sedate brand of road rage I have ever seen. It's like they're pissed at the assholes on the freeway but they can't be bothered raising their voices, so they just snipe under their breath. And Nicky suddenly makes a whole lot more sense (:P sorry man, it's true. I suspect that I'm entirely unsurprising once you've met my parents, as well).
We arrived at the scene and were photographed quite a lot, by each other and the official photographer. Now, the last time I got new glasses my parents convinced me that transition lenses were a good idea: you know the ones - they go dark in the sun. Also on stage, under spotlights and in a camera flash. So I generally take them off for photos, and then put them right back on again because, natch, I can't see a freaking thing without them. Y'all can see where this is heading, can't you. So I take my glasses on and off a lot, and they get bumped around some, yadda yadda. When they get bent out of shape I just bend them back, because they're... bendy like that. Right?
Wrong. Apparently the stress was too much. The bridge snapped, right at the edge where duct tape will either a) not work or b) look fucking retarded. Well, I was due for a new pair anyway, so all's well, right? WRONG. This is where the "can't bloody SEE" point comes in. All this happened before we even set foot in the main hall. We were still in the lobby, people, for heaven's sake. All I'd had the chance to do was take a few photos, play with my cane a bit and skillfully catch Shelly's tipped over glass of water, preventing at least half of it from spilling down her dress (presumably to balance out my clumsiness for the rest of the evening). So here I am about five minutes into the event of the year, I haven't had a chance to see practically anyone's dresses yet and I. Am. Blind. As. A. Goddamn. Bat.
(A small pause, here, to note that after reading a few pages of All Star Batman and Robin I find myself unable to refer to anything bat-related as anything other than goddamn. To the goddamn bat cave! Goddamn bat apologies. Goddamn bat goddamn bondage gear.)
Anyway, my friends were kind enough to lead me around a bit so I could at least talk to everyone and wave in their general blurry direction. Everyone admired my daring not-quite-drag (especially the boys, for some reason, which was quite bizarre) and I informed them that I would admire their outfits in return, were they visible to me as anything other than large curvy blobs of colour. Then we went inside, where I was deposited at our table and informed that a slide show was running which I really couldn't see much of. At that point I hit on the brilliant idea of holding up half of my glasses and looking through on lens like a monocle. This would not work for extended periods of time but at least enabled me to pay attention to the occasional shiny thing and see what my food was before I ate it. It was, incidentally, some really lovely chicken and risotto with gravy. Half of my table asked for soy sauce. Nicky and I despaired.
Then it was time for the prizes. Each table got a little voting slip with the following captions: Hottest Hair, Best Bling, Sexy Single, Ultra Unique, King and Queen. And, in a rare moment of not fail, I won Ultra Unique! Thus partially reimbursing my hat'n'tails rental by a twenty dollar Westfield giftcard. We did wonder how exactly one can be ultra unique - doesn't unique mean unlike anything else? Surely once you're already unique, you can't really get any uniquer? But logic bows beneath the power of alliteration! My table also put me down for king but, you know, our girls school isn't quite that insular. I suggested Olivia for Best Bling because my glasses-less impression of her dress consisted mostly of OMFGSHINY and she won, which presumably means that the rest of the grade concurred.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fail. After some unspectacular dancing (there was really nothing else to do) we all trooped back to my place for the Art Nookies Afterparty. You'd think I could manage a cab ride home without triggering any sort of fiasco, debacle or zombie invasion. You'd really think so, wouldn't you? And you'd be WRONG again. (The reason I keep saying WRONG is that I've just re-watched The End Of The World. Always imagine WRONG in that voice.)
Guess what Captain Oblivious went and did? Yup, I left my tophat and gloves in the cab. Tophats, by the by, are not exactly cheap. As soon as we got inside I realised what was missing and panicked. I'll spare you the details of trying to find the number of the cab company online and realising in despair that we didn't have the number plate of the taxi, and just say that my Fail Quota overfloweth muchly.
Luckily my little anxiety disorder has improved sufficiently that there was little-to-no hysteria and we soon settled into the afterparty. This meant vodka, crackers and embarrassing stories which I shall not repeat here for Diana would really strangle me this time. We all camped out in my living room, which was not as exciting as my dreams of camping out in the attic, but the latter is currently tragically lacking in such necessities as, oh, for example floorboards, so we made do.
I woke up with a crick in my neck the size of Azerbaijan and led everyone to the junction for breakfast. We split up because some of us felt like McDonalds (I know, I know, but you really can't screw up pancakes. If I could just steal a lot of those tiny delicious packets of whipped butter I could stay out of the place entirely). In one last parting shot of fail, we nearly lost Nicky and Diana when it turned out that my vague hand gestures were insufficient in terms of directing people to cross two roads instead of just one. I then dispatched the people catching buses and hung around with Nicky till her parents showed up, and that was the end of that.
Only, not quite! Because I still had to return my outfit to the rental place, which is rather hard to do when half of said outfit is AWOL in a cab. A great deal of running around and phone calls followed, and the panic attack I thought I'd managed to skip resurfaced in the face of my mother's inability to follow directions and attempts to be helpful by ringing the wrong cab company, insisting they were the right ones, and screaming at me over the mobile when I found this upsetting. Eventually it emerged that the gloves had been returned by the driver, but the top hat had not. This struck me as odd, because I distinctly remember folding up the gloves and putting them in the hat, so I wouldn't lose them. Oh, irony. Never leave me.
In any case, the retrieval of the gloves involved a train trip to Whoop Whoop Erskineville. It turns out that at least my public transport/wandering around strange suburbs with the dubious aid of 131500.com issues have cleared up, because it was a fairly nice trip and I found the place with no problems beyond some cruel and unusual building numbering. I guess I've gotten used to this whole kindasortamaybenotlost thing. If I'm not late to anything it turns out to be very amusing during, not just after.
Unfortunately the hat never showed up, so that's eighty dollars I really didn't need to spend on one night's entertainment and some pretty photos. Speaking of photos...
I have no good non-watermarked images yet, but here's my group! Aren't we adorable! Jenny is projecting her Sleaze Aura once more. But we love her and we know she can't help it.
So that was the long-awaited Formal post. A good time was had by all, including the asshole who stole my hat. As an official end to my high school life it was strangely fitting in representing it - quirky, blurry and full of fail, but in good company. Cheers, guys!
However, my fixtures sustained no permanent structural damage, and we proceeded to get in the car and drive to the hotel. On the way I learned that Nicky's parents have the most sedate brand of road rage I have ever seen. It's like they're pissed at the assholes on the freeway but they can't be bothered raising their voices, so they just snipe under their breath. And Nicky suddenly makes a whole lot more sense (:P sorry man, it's true. I suspect that I'm entirely unsurprising once you've met my parents, as well).
We arrived at the scene and were photographed quite a lot, by each other and the official photographer. Now, the last time I got new glasses my parents convinced me that transition lenses were a good idea: you know the ones - they go dark in the sun. Also on stage, under spotlights and in a camera flash. So I generally take them off for photos, and then put them right back on again because, natch, I can't see a freaking thing without them. Y'all can see where this is heading, can't you. So I take my glasses on and off a lot, and they get bumped around some, yadda yadda. When they get bent out of shape I just bend them back, because they're... bendy like that. Right?
Wrong. Apparently the stress was too much. The bridge snapped, right at the edge where duct tape will either a) not work or b) look fucking retarded. Well, I was due for a new pair anyway, so all's well, right? WRONG. This is where the "can't bloody SEE" point comes in. All this happened before we even set foot in the main hall. We were still in the lobby, people, for heaven's sake. All I'd had the chance to do was take a few photos, play with my cane a bit and skillfully catch Shelly's tipped over glass of water, preventing at least half of it from spilling down her dress (presumably to balance out my clumsiness for the rest of the evening). So here I am about five minutes into the event of the year, I haven't had a chance to see practically anyone's dresses yet and I. Am. Blind. As. A. Goddamn. Bat.
(A small pause, here, to note that after reading a few pages of All Star Batman and Robin I find myself unable to refer to anything bat-related as anything other than goddamn. To the goddamn bat cave! Goddamn bat apologies. Goddamn bat goddamn bondage gear.)
Anyway, my friends were kind enough to lead me around a bit so I could at least talk to everyone and wave in their general blurry direction. Everyone admired my daring not-quite-drag (especially the boys, for some reason, which was quite bizarre) and I informed them that I would admire their outfits in return, were they visible to me as anything other than large curvy blobs of colour. Then we went inside, where I was deposited at our table and informed that a slide show was running which I really couldn't see much of. At that point I hit on the brilliant idea of holding up half of my glasses and looking through on lens like a monocle. This would not work for extended periods of time but at least enabled me to pay attention to the occasional shiny thing and see what my food was before I ate it. It was, incidentally, some really lovely chicken and risotto with gravy. Half of my table asked for soy sauce. Nicky and I despaired.
Then it was time for the prizes. Each table got a little voting slip with the following captions: Hottest Hair, Best Bling, Sexy Single, Ultra Unique, King and Queen. And, in a rare moment of not fail, I won Ultra Unique! Thus partially reimbursing my hat'n'tails rental by a twenty dollar Westfield giftcard. We did wonder how exactly one can be ultra unique - doesn't unique mean unlike anything else? Surely once you're already unique, you can't really get any uniquer? But logic bows beneath the power of alliteration! My table also put me down for king but, you know, our girls school isn't quite that insular. I suggested Olivia for Best Bling because my glasses-less impression of her dress consisted mostly of OMFGSHINY and she won, which presumably means that the rest of the grade concurred.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fail. After some unspectacular dancing (there was really nothing else to do) we all trooped back to my place for the Art Nookies Afterparty. You'd think I could manage a cab ride home without triggering any sort of fiasco, debacle or zombie invasion. You'd really think so, wouldn't you? And you'd be WRONG again. (The reason I keep saying WRONG is that I've just re-watched The End Of The World. Always imagine WRONG in that voice.)
Guess what Captain Oblivious went and did? Yup, I left my tophat and gloves in the cab. Tophats, by the by, are not exactly cheap. As soon as we got inside I realised what was missing and panicked. I'll spare you the details of trying to find the number of the cab company online and realising in despair that we didn't have the number plate of the taxi, and just say that my Fail Quota overfloweth muchly.
Luckily my little anxiety disorder has improved sufficiently that there was little-to-no hysteria and we soon settled into the afterparty. This meant vodka, crackers and embarrassing stories which I shall not repeat here for Diana would really strangle me this time. We all camped out in my living room, which was not as exciting as my dreams of camping out in the attic, but the latter is currently tragically lacking in such necessities as, oh, for example floorboards, so we made do.
I woke up with a crick in my neck the size of Azerbaijan and led everyone to the junction for breakfast. We split up because some of us felt like McDonalds (I know, I know, but you really can't screw up pancakes. If I could just steal a lot of those tiny delicious packets of whipped butter I could stay out of the place entirely). In one last parting shot of fail, we nearly lost Nicky and Diana when it turned out that my vague hand gestures were insufficient in terms of directing people to cross two roads instead of just one. I then dispatched the people catching buses and hung around with Nicky till her parents showed up, and that was the end of that.
Only, not quite! Because I still had to return my outfit to the rental place, which is rather hard to do when half of said outfit is AWOL in a cab. A great deal of running around and phone calls followed, and the panic attack I thought I'd managed to skip resurfaced in the face of my mother's inability to follow directions and attempts to be helpful by ringing the wrong cab company, insisting they were the right ones, and screaming at me over the mobile when I found this upsetting. Eventually it emerged that the gloves had been returned by the driver, but the top hat had not. This struck me as odd, because I distinctly remember folding up the gloves and putting them in the hat, so I wouldn't lose them. Oh, irony. Never leave me.
In any case, the retrieval of the gloves involved a train trip to Whoop Whoop Erskineville. It turns out that at least my public transport/wandering around strange suburbs with the dubious aid of 131500.com issues have cleared up, because it was a fairly nice trip and I found the place with no problems beyond some cruel and unusual building numbering. I guess I've gotten used to this whole kindasortamaybenotlost thing. If I'm not late to anything it turns out to be very amusing during, not just after.
Unfortunately the hat never showed up, so that's eighty dollars I really didn't need to spend on one night's entertainment and some pretty photos. Speaking of photos...
I have no good non-watermarked images yet, but here's my group! Aren't we adorable! Jenny is projecting her Sleaze Aura once more. But we love her and we know she can't help it.
So that was the long-awaited Formal post. A good time was had by all, including the asshole who stole my hat. As an official end to my high school life it was strangely fitting in representing it - quirky, blurry and full of fail, but in good company. Cheers, guys!