the wedding.
a. lyn, the bride.
b. bryanna (my nine year old sister. yes, I know we look nothing alike) getting her makeup done.
c. bryanna again, all dolled up.
d. lyn, getting her hair done.
e. lyn in the limo on the way to the church.
f. nicholas (my seven year old brother. yes, I know we look nothing alike) at the reception. he's a stud, I swear to you.
g. my dad on the left and lyn on the right.
h. hands. they also happen to belong to the bride and groom.
(warning: my cynical side has returned)
I've come to realize that "maid of honor" is merely a code name. a name that makes you feel important. recognized. special. elite. of course, that's only until you realize what the official name is: the bride's bitch.
after settling into an uncomfortable hotel bed at around one in the morning, my sleep was rudely interrupted by an impatient bride at around four thirty, just three and a half hours later. she reminded me that the makeup artists and hair stylists would be at the hotel at six. I thanked her for the nearly two hour warning and promptly returned to bed.
skip ahead two hours. I'm seated in a chair in lyn's hotel room. bridesmaids are running in and out, getting dressed and getting their hair and makeup done. since there are so many of us, I can't sit in front of a mirror, so I have no idea what's happening to my face. I distinctly remember myself saying, "try to make it look natural" and "absolutely no red lipstick. it doesn't matter what shade it is, it looks terrible." I should have been tipped off when he introduced himself as "belinda" and told me his favorite music group was "destiny's child", but oh no. I trusted him. when I finally decided to take a look in the mirror, I didn't even recognize myself. I looked like a porn star with spiders coming out of my eyes. no one seems to truly understand the intensity of this pamela anderson on crack makeover, so I'm going to show you.
a. he penciled over my eyebrows so thick and dark that it literally looked like two brown caterpillars were hibernating on my forehead. it kind of added this manly touch... just what I was hoping for! not. just because he wants to be a chick does not mean I want to sport josh hartnett's unibrow on my face.
b. somehow neon lavender became the "in" eyeshadow color to smother people with.
c. I left with about 85 more lashes than I came in with. and I have a lot of eyelashes as it is, so it looked pretty spiderific.
d. my cheeks were so pink that it looked like someone had attached clothespins to them three years ago and just now taken them off.
e. THAT'S DEFINITELY FIRE ENGINE, #FF0000, REDDER-THAN-RED RED LIPSTICK I'M WEARING THERE, BELINDA. and the lipliner is definitely about seven hundred shades darker than the lipstick itself.
f. there was so much foundation and powder piled on to my poor face that these two freckles I have near my upper lip were completely undetectable.
(g. I should really be concerned that I only have seven hairs on my head, I'm realizing.)
I calmly told the makeup artist that he needed to have his cosmetology license revoked immediately and look up the word "natural" in the dictionary. actually, no. but I did wind up crying a little bit and making him wipe it all off and then running upstairs and doing my own makeup.
after that got squared away, they did my hair, which looked surprisingly nice. maybe because belinda didn't come anywhere near me after I beat him to death with a curling iron. kidding!
nothing too interesting happened after that, aside from one of lyn's male friends who thinks he is a woman getting pissed at her for not making him a bridesmaid.
...
I've learned two things:
a. when in doubt, do not trust drag queens who like shitty music to do your face.
b. do not marry a roman catholic. * the ceremony took two hours. that's two hours of kneeling and praying and standing while someone talked in a language I don't understand. after about nine times of getting up and kneeling back down again, I was this close to yelling out, "AGAIN?!" wouldn't it make more sense to do all of the kneeling, then all of the standing? some of us are senior citizens. or, in my case, lazy bastards.
* don't take offense to this.