So, I generally have zero faith in my ability to hold my shit together when I am feeling jealous or sad in public, but I have to waive my triumphant flag for a sec, ok?
July 9th, my excellent, old friend got married. It was all lovely. Stone church in Western CT, old Federalist-style hall for the reception, live country band, FUN. Oh, and my big exbf was there. With his wife. Who he started fucking when she was 17 and we were living together, and this was, um, right after my dad died. Did I mention they brought their daughter? But, who's even counting?!?! ACK!!!
But I fucking nailed it. And I thought that some other jealous Nellies might want to know the secret.
1) I knew this was coming. There was plenty of warning. I started working out, dropped ten pounds and a dress size, got some hot legs from all the goddamned jogging.
2) I took stock of all of the cool parts of my life, started dwelling on my successes.
3) I bought a hot dress that was a tad too expensive, but undeniably flattering.
4) On seeing them at the rehearsal dinner, unexpectedly, I drank all the white wine within reach and talked nonstop about how great my life is. Obnoxious? Whatever!!! I'm going swimming in the pool by myself in the dark with a cigarette! Byeee!
5) This isn't really a step to success. I had to get up early to get my hair did. In my hangover, I said, "Just half up, normal, please." What I got was something else. My bangs were evenly distributed across my forehead in a wisp-screen (Also, Cheryl, thanks for highlighting my grey streak! Not that anyone cares even just a little bit!) , shellacking the sides of the "up" part straight back, slicked into some faux-braid folded-up looking bobby pin snakepit, and then turning the rest into a crispy waterfall of cork-screw tendrils. Mmm-mmm. My dress was bangin' and my hair was stolen from the 90's.
6) Fortunately, by 4 p.m., my hair relaxed, my hangover ebbed, and I was ready to walk up the aisle with the Pink Posse, ahead of our lovely bride-friend and her groooom.
7) At the reception, I chatted up the ex's parents, which was awesome, because I miss them, ignored their son and his wife, smiled at their kid, and danced a lot. And only drank spritzers.
8) The morning after, I was fresh as a daisy for the brunch, made smalltalk, listened a lot, and then left.
The moral of the story is this: If you're going to get drunk and be weird, keep it way positive and sincere. Also, look good and get the hell out of dodge asap. If you're freaking out about your hair, ride it out. It will relax when you do?
