Work might have something to say about that, but at least this fucking wedding bullshit is over. Thank you Jebus.
My hair and nails looked fabulous, as did my makeup. I didn't pay anything for the hair and nails, though I did get my stylist/old friend a thank you gift. I didn't pay anything for my makeup, either, because I did it myself. My sister paid $15 to look like an Oompa Loompa. Sucker. She did fix it, though.
The problem with my hair and makeup looking fabulous was that my aunts all told me I looked "so pretty, so feminine, so soft." Apparently, my hair and makeup generally look really harsh. My hair, which had three times as much product (like, you could see the hairspray all flaky in some places) in it as it usually does and was dull, looked way better than it normally does. Same with my eye makeup; I had on more than usual, but it looked prettier or girlier or something.
Thank you, aunties. You made me feel like absolute shit. I'm glad to know you think I look like some sort of drag queen or something most of the time. Really, I appreciate it. Never mind that several of them thought I had my hair done on Friday and they were telling me how nice it looked.
Now I get to question every hair and makeup decision I make. I really feel like shit about this.
What else? Oh my God, the DJ was fucking terrible. My aunt actually yelled at him because he was playing such shitty music. I was making requests, but to no avail (though, I got to hear some Bee Gees early on. SWEET). Seriously, it was the worst wedding DJ I can remember. It's sad, because my family loves to dance. The only time he played good songs was during a game or a "only these people dancing" times. What. Ever.
I got to spend a good part of the evening hanging out with one of my oldest, dearest friends. I had some dude either hit me for no reason or mistake the small of my back for my ass. Dude, hitting is wrong. Smacking your friend's sister on the ass in front of him is also wrong.
Pictures were mercifully short, save for the ones we took outside. Those were less bad because the photographer, clearly a seasoned professional, waited until we had a few drinks to take them. We still complained an awful lot.
I have bruises, welts and raw areas from my dress and bra. Yet, my dress was falling down all day. I tried boob-taping it to my bra and boob-taping it to my skin, but neither worked. Probably because it was ridiculously heavy.
So, it's over and I can't think of any other big things that happened. I'm getting really excited for the Mardi Gras party on Friday. Work might kill me this week, though. Chicken Little is out and the only other researcher on my team will be out because his brother died. I'm fucked.