Something Blue

Did you dream of your wedding as a child?

I did not.

I know girls growing up who, at the age of 8 or 9, had very SPECIFIC ideas of what their wedding would look like.

I was not that girl.

I mean, I think I imagined I would get married.  And I think I imagined I might wear a wedding dress but beyond that...

Maybe part of my issue is that I didn't go to a lot of weddings as a child.  I used to look through the wedding albums in my grandparents' den and I used to imagine what my family members were thinking when the pictures were taken.  My mother took me to the ceremony of our next-door neighbour once, and that was nice, but I didn't really get what was happening, although I did think the dress was pretty.

I don't even have a lot of experience with weddings as an adult.  Most of my friends are either a long way from getting married or married already; I think I've attended 5 weddings as an adult.  I've been a bridesmaid one time, and that was *kind of* a shotgun wedding, so I don't think most of the usual traditions were observed.

Long story short, I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING.

Last weekend, I did maybe the worst thing I could possibly have done to myself.

I went to the local wedding trade show.  

I live in the Niagara Region.  Weddings are pretty much our number 2 industry here.  It was some overwhelming, claustrophobic, serious shit.

First, when you enter and pay, they ask if you're a "bride" and they give you a sticker that announces this to the world.  Putting the sticker on your coat is a MISTAKE because that alerts all of the rabid vendors to your status and FRESH MEAT.

The whole thing was this slippery meat market of greasy deejays and fast-talking photographers.  Occasionally, there would be a mild-mannered cakery owner offering samples which I do not need to eat because I know who is baking my cake or my friend who is a florist that I basically word-vomited on because I was too punch-drunk from what came before, and that was lovely, but I must say, the worst booths were the bridal shops.  

At these shops, a middle-aged woman with one of those "could I speak to the manager" haircuts would congratulate me just a little too saccharinely on my engagement, gushingly ask me if I had bought a dress yet, and then ask me the date of my wedding.  I would answer and would be met with a moment of silence, the previous moment's treacle still dripping from the woman's mouth.  Then she'd say, "2018?" to which I would answer in the affirmative.  At this point, she would wipe the syrup from her lips and go into full-on pearl-clutching mode, gasping at how I hadn't even tried anything on yet, and just-so-I-know it takes 5-7 MONTHS to get a dress, and then you have to have it altered, and then she would roll her eyes and raise her eyebrows and say I should come in for an appointment immediately and we'll try to find me SOMETHING.

And I'm not sure why this is a huge surprise to them because NOBODY FUCKING TELLS YOU THIS SHIT AND HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO KNOW IF I'VE NEVER DONE IT BEFORE AND YOU'RE REALLY ONLY SUPPOSED TO GET MARRIED ONCE ANYWAY. RIGHT, BITCH?

Suffice it to say, the specific boutique I'm referring to in this situation (though most were similar experiences) bullied me into making an appointment which I full-on no-showed because they were assholes.  

Suffice it to ALSO say, I had a full-on ugly-crying meltdown when I got home that I was never going to find a dress and the whole wedding would be a disaster.

Good news: I found a dress the following Tuesday, and it was from a consignment shop so it's in my closet RIGHT NOW.  Take that, local boutique staffed by misanthropic harpies!

Lessons learned: The giant wedding guide binder that I bought shortly after I got engaged is not entirely accurate about timelines.  My new strategy is to do ALL THE THINGS WAY TOO EARLY!  NOTHING WILL GO WRONG!

I Just Wasn't Made for These Times

Way back when I was a wee girl I went to Catholic School.

Our health education textbook was called Fully Alive and it did provide a basic understanding of the mechanics of sexual activity, as well as a thorough explanation that these mechanics were for married, heterosexual adults.  But that's a rant for another day.

Point is, the earlier years were more about personal development, ambitions and values.  My grade one textbook asked me to draw a picture of what I wanted to be when I grew up.  Although I've never been an artist, much less when I was six, my multicoloured pencil crayon scribblings show a pink-haired person with a purple electric guitar surrounded by pyrotechnics and lasers.

I think I was kind of obsessed with Jem and the Holograms at the time, but I, for sure, wanted to be a rock star.

Fast forward.

I never learned to play a purple guitar.  I never dyed my hair pink.

At the age of 9, my friends and I wrote this song, the first verse of which I still remember and could sing, if pressed, after several gratis shots.  We spent half the day choosing outfits and putting on our mothers' makeup, and then had a concert on the back stoop for our parents.  I remember really thinking that, despite the fact that I had a cursory knowledge of how to play the piano and my friends played no instruments at all, we were totally going to make it.  We would be discovered by an agent who just happened to have a flat tire on a back road in rural Canadian Shield Ontario and we'd be signed immediately.  I remember, many years later, finding a diary entry outlining my struggle with the fact that we were going to be famous, but I wasn't really sure about the obligations of fame and how they would conflict with my desire to one day be in a relationship and have a family.  I clearly was wise beyond my years in some ways, but also vividly imaginative in others.

I spent much of the rest of my teen years and young adult life lamenting the fact that I never learned how to play the guitar, despite many New Year's Resolutions pledging otherwise.  I did become a very capable pianist and that has served me well.

When I finally started adulting, my piano skills came in handy.  They opened doors for me when I moved to a small town in northern Ontario.  My electric piano often had food dribbled on it because I would spend more time practising than tending to my activities of daily living.  I melted more than one spatula because I started cooking something and thought I could squeeze in a few minutes of practice while something simmered.  I was the pit band leader for four community musicals, and learned thousands of pages worth of sheet music for the local music festival.  I remember once having a stage pass for the local Fall Fair and thinking "Yes, this is it!  I'm a rock star now!  I have a stage pass!"

Since I've moved away from northern Ontario, I've had the pleasure of being in two bands.  I get to rock and/or roll every week with great musicians and cool people, and sometimes I'm even on a stage.  I tell people I can't come to their party because I have a gig that night and the tiny six-year-old inside of me squirms with glee.

But the rock star life is not all I thought it would be.  It's definitely not stadiums full of cheering fans and pyrotechnics like I thought it would be when I was 6.  It only takes one or two "shows" to empty, seedy bar-rooms to feel disheartened.  More than one person has had "helpful" comments between sets about what we or I could do to make our show better and it makes me wonder what I did wrong to make them feel like they should say something. And even when it's good, it's hard work.  Yesterday, I spent 10 hours driving to a gig, hauling and setting up (that's right, only the rocking-est rockstars get roadies), playing my heart out, tearing down and hauling again, and then driving back.  I drank water all night, had one regrettable shot of rye to celebrate a great show, and still feel like I was hit by a Mack truck today.  Plus I missed my friend's birthday party and had to squelch out of a phone date with a good friend.

So why do I do it?  Because I literally got paid to sing and dance on stage last night.  Because it's awesome to see people shaking their hips and pumping their fists and mouthing the words, and it's awesome to know that I was part of what made that happen.  It's super gratifying to hear the crowd yell out that they want to hear one more song.  I like when strangers shake my hand because they enjoyed what was in their ears all night.  And mostly I do it because I feel like I owe it to that little girl who dreamed of pink hair and purple guitars and pyrotechnics.  I think she'd think I was pretty cool.

Happy Halloween!

This year, my costume is: D.I.N.K. secretly hoping fewer children than usual come to the door so she can eat all the Smarties herself.

Cheers!

Anxious

I would say that, in general, I do not suffer from anxiety.  At least not in the way most people mean when they say, "I have really bad anxiety."

If you need someone to make a public speech, I am absolutely not going to be the first person to volunteer.  But if I draw the short straw, I'll probably be fine.

If I need to work in a group or find a partner in a room full of strangers, I am going to have the same moment of panic as everyone and then make the same "Well, I guess we're all in this together" face to the person next to me and hope for the best.

I have the same social reservations as everyone, and some might call it anxiety, but I've never left a room or bailed on a meeting because I was too anxious.

Things that DO make me anxious:

1. People not showing up when they say they're going to show up.  This is my kryptonite.  If someone is not where they say they're going to be at the appointed time, I will fo sho be texting to be like "i'm here.  where u?" and if you don't respond like, immediately, I'm going to be texting you every five seconds until I receive a response.  This is an endearing quality that wins friends and influences people.

2. Having to arrange a booking or purchase requiring a deposit and a time limit. 

This, I would say, is turning into some kind of super-kryptonite for me.  When I was trying to secure financing to purchase my house last year, I think I actually was clinically insane due to lack of sleep, developed stress-related styes and more than once did my boyfriend have to put me in a nelson hold so I could stop hyperventilating and go to sleep.

I'm finding the same thing is true now of booking a wedding venue.  My dream (insofar as I've "dreamt" of my wedding) has always been to get married at my family cottage.  Which is far from cities and hotels, and is in the middle of cottage country.  Point is, it's getting booked up pretty fast.  I'm one event application and one phone call deep and I can already feel that tingly feeling in my ribcage gearing up to put myself into some kind of hypocapnia.  I'm sure I'm going to lose the venue that my mother put on hold because they needed a deposit last week that I won't know about until tomorrow.

I'm starting to see why people elope.

New Things I've Done: Uh...filled out an event planner for my wedding?

Weird Things That Have Happened to Me: I performed a feeding course for other staff at work.  Sounds normal because I'm the dietitian, right?  Weird because I've actually only fed someone who could not feed themselves one time in my life.  One. 

Resolutions: Deep.  Fucking.  Breathe.  I see a lot of lying face down on the floor and breathing into my belly in my future.

HALP

Anyone else tried to plan a wedding while they were also trying to make minor (but not inexpensive) improvements on their house?

Like, I have a budget and I make pretty good money, but it does sort of feel like I'm going to be at the bottom of a giant debt hole forever.

#firstworldproblems?

Probably.

Still, my nightguard is in rough shape these days.

New Things I've Done: I pickled pears.  I feel like there's a rhyme about this, but I also feel like I might be mixing up Peter Piper with the Bare Necessities.  ...And now I'm going to be humming Disney tunes all week.

Weird Things That Have Happened To Me: I have one of the worst bruises of my adult life because I was playing a tambourine too vigorously.  True story.

Resolutions: Get adequate sleep.  I thought I was legit suffering from depression because I just couldn't get excited about anything.  I had a meltdown about not meeting my gym obligations this week.  (Also, since when do I have gym obligations?).  It's 8 hours or bust, now.

In the Immortal Words of Whitesnake...

I joined another band.
I was elected to the roller derby league executive.
I watched a semi-professional production of Rock of Ages and I'm feeling the kicky-chorus-member/cranky-pit-band-member itch.  Also, I'm humming Whitesnake more frequently than usual (how usual is usual in this case?).


Here I Go Again.

I've been here before, and the knee-jerk reaction is to think to myself that I'm super predictable.

Someone wants me to make up harmonies and sing back-up in their rock band? I'm there.
Someone thinks I'm a responsible, even-handed person with reasonable critical thinking skills?  Yes, I will serve on your board of directors!
Watching some broad play the piano in a fun musical production and knowing I could kick her ass at a game of "Who sight-read it better?" while simultaneously knowing that I will never volunteer and will wait to be asked which will never happen and I'll feel wistful about what might have been forever?  That's me.

But then a tiny part of me that should maybe be a bit louder is saying that maybe I find myself here because of key parts of my personality.  And maybe that's not a bad thing.

Yes, I do have a good ear and a pretty ok voice.
Yes, I am a pretty even-handed person, with good critical thinking skills, who is good at setting aside her own feelings and seeing the big picture or playing the long game.
Yes, I am a pretty damn good piano player and also a really dedicated worker and I can learn three hours worth of pretty complicated music and play through the shoulder and back pain.
Yes, I am not as humble as I like to seem, but I do feign humility because I was taught from a young age that to blow my own trumpet was unbecoming.

But wait.

Why do I own a trumpet?

Maybe if I actually practised blowing it a bit I might become a reasonably good trumpeter.

(True story: I actually do own a trumpet, and I am learning [relearning - I did play in high school] how to blow it, but I think you get I'm being metaphorical here).

You get what I'm saying.  And if it IS the only road I've ever known, maybe I should just keep on truckin' (she said, mixing her music references).

New Things I've Done: I got engaged!  Hurray!

Weird Things That Have Happened To Me: I got engaged?  I will admit that I was starting to think that the universe just didn't have it in store for me.

Resolutions: Blow trumpets that belong to me!  No, seriously - I should just do the things I'm good at more and let more people know about them.  Because I actually really enjoy positive feedback.

Reminiscing

I've undertaken to make .pdf copies of the many, many binders full of sheet music I've collected over the years.  It's been a strange process.

On the one hand, it's incredibly rewarding to toss empty binders out of my home office that were once filled with slightly crumpled, somewhat tattered photocopies of music of almost every genre.

On the other hand, it makes me wistful.  For six out of the past seven years, I played the piano for a small-towny music festival and that is where most of these pieces of music originated for me.  Every time I scan a new song I am reminded of the time in my life when I played it.  Some I barely remember playing at all.  Some I could happily never hear again.  Some remind me of the terrible children who sang them (terribly behaved, or terrible-sounding).  Some remind me of great triumphs (my own or someone else's).

I smirked to myself when I scanned the pages of a rather challenging Christmas song sung by a pretty tipsy soprano in striped Mrs Claus stockings who skipped several pages in her song while I simultaneously turned pages like a madwoman and calmly played until I found the spot she had jumped to and kept playing.  The audience never knew any different.

I became teary when I came across the song I played at the beginning of my career as an accompanist; two cousins dedicated it to their dying grandfather when they sang it at the music festival and then bravely sang it again at his funeral.

Even the satisfaction of tossing used binders was tinged with the memory of the somewhat sadistic glee of the music teachers I worked with as they filled the binder or the wonder of some young lady's grandmother that I should learn ALL THOSE SONGS and the satisfying thunk of the binder on the music stand of the piano when I first sat down for the day.

And I wonder if I will ever come to use this music again as meaningfully as I once did.  Will my sight reading skill and my ability to not sweat it when a terrified child with a pretty voice freezes like a frightened deer and bursts into tears three words into her song ever be put to as good a use as they were in that time?

Being an accompanist was a strange combination of voyeurism and exhibitionism.  I was always performing, and yet nobody was ever there to see me.  I witnessed crazy things - friends becoming frenemies becoming enemies, miniature prima donnas and boy sopranos experiencing crushing defeat when the preteen nerves or puberty interfered with their natural talents, children growing into adults, ugly ducklings (in every sense of the word) becoming swans.  And these were the things anyone could see.  As the accompanist, I had a backstage pass as well.  I was aware when a plan went awry.  I always knew when a panicking soloist went off-book; I was the one who had to think fast to make it look natural. I was the first to realize that a struggling singer had surprised themselves with the fruits of their own hard work.

I hope I get to do it again someday.

New Things I've Done - I got a new job.  I start next month.  I also plan to add "started commuting less" to the new things I've done list.

Weird Things That Have Happened to Me - I got some dental work done last week and my whole mouth feels worse for it.  This is why I hate the dentist.

Resolutions - Drink more water.  In a fit of pique I recently tossed out all my loose leaf tea, and as it turns out, that's where most of my fluid intake comes from.  Lately, I've been waking up with hangover-type headaches, and I'm pretty sure it's from reverting back to my non-hydrating ways.