It happened. Again. I tore a fancy dress on the dance floor. This time straight up my ass. I’m all class after all. Both times occurred post-dramatic weight loss, which is ironic in an Alanis Morissette sort of way. So I thought it appropriate to examine these black flies in my chardonnay.
Rip #1 aka “The OG Rip”
The first dress I tore is an emerald green taffeta strapless number most likely from H&M. My husband and I were at an “Eyes Wide Shut” themed birthday party where we knew only the host and the birthday boy. My husband dutifully wore an elephant nose mask because that was the only mask I could find that didn’t cover his glasses—his only demand in exchange for being willing to wear a mask at all. So not being the best at party mingling amongst strangers, I hit the dance floor early and I stayed there. Somewhere toward the end of the night, I got really into whatever song they played (my best recollection is they put on “Poison,” and Girl, I must warn youuuuuu…) and took a deep dip down to the floor and “kkkkkrrriiiiipp!” resulting in a gaping hole the length of the right side of my torso. At first I tried to keep dancing but it soon became apparent that my right boob was in danger of popping out, so I put on a jacket and we left. That dress now hangs on my office wall as an offering to the karma Gods that such an embarrassing thing should never happen again. And also because I just love that dress so much.
So you can imagine my horror when it did happen again.
Rip #2 aka “The Ass Rip”
I was at a fabulous wedding recently. A very DIY wedding where I had a lot of responsibility, not to mention my ENTIRE family and my bestest of friends were in attendance. And we were in wine & foodie territory. Oh. And I was a bridesmaid. AND I was asked to give a speech at the rehearsal dinner. So fun! But so many potential pitfalls—wine, amazing food, stress, wine, lack of sleep, emotions and family. And wine.
By the morning of the wedding I was exhausted.
While curling hair at 8:30 a.m. my hands were shaking and for a moment I didn’t think I was going to make it. But then I remembered that my mom had sent me out that morning with a protein shake in my bag. Saved by Mom and a protein shake! I didn’t each much else that day—a few crackers with cheese and a mimosa, which at that point counted as sustenance. But the bride looked beautiful which was my primary concern and the pictures and ceremony practically whizzed by.
So when the dancing started that night at the wedding, I was all over it. The absolute best DJ’s I’ve ever danced to (www.redshoela.com for those of you planning a wedding or a party) were spinning, I was surrounded by almost all of my favorite people in the world, and I had some stress to burn off. Three songs in, they played Salt ‘n’ Peppa’s “Push It,” and it. Was. On.
I pushed it. I pushed it good.
I saw my girl Lydia Howerton (shout out to www.applesandonions.com) and she saw me and we pushed it like the true NorCal girls that we are. We pushed it real good. And then “kkkkkrrriiiipp!” I knew the sound cuz I’d heard it before. I reached back to feel nothing but spanks from the ass down. I pulled a friend off the dance floor and brought her to the emergency bridal supply room where I knew we would find safety pins and lipstick. At this point, lipstick was essential. Because this time there was nothing that could keep me from that dance floor. Not embarrassment, not stress, not hunger, not family, not a giant hole exposing my behind.
I danced for 3 more hours. Safety pin butt and all. And I was serious. I had already ripped my pretty purple bridesmaid dress, so what was the worst that could happen? Well, the thought did occur to me that I might get stuck with a safety pin to the buttocks, so I did pull back on dipping to the floor which was hard for me because it’s one of my favorite moves – so hip hop video girl satisfying. The next wedding I go to I’m wearing something loose and flowy to allow for plentiful video girl floor dipping. Watch out Schwartzbergs!!!
So what’s the point?
The point is I lost half a pound that week. When I stepped onto the scale I literally threw my hands into the air and cheered. People must have thought I’d reached goal or something. Nope. Just half a pound down after one of the funnest/most stressful/funnest weeks of my life. Blammo! The point is that even when I could not focus on staying on track, when things went terribly-ass-hanging-out-wrong, when emotions ran so high I thought I was going to burst (well I guess I did, technically – ha!), I somehow managed to keep it together. Even if it was with safety pins. I mean we all need a little help now and then, right?
A little self evaluation:
For all you WW’s out there, I thought I’d share my self-review of the weekend in case you find it helpful.
Here’s what I did right this wedding weekend: I ate a lean protein rich breakfast every day; I did a lot of physical labor—ladder climbing, loading and unloading cars, frantically moving flowers into the shade; I focused on keeping busy because when I’m busy I’m not as hungry; I stopped drinking alcohol earlier in the night; and clearly, I danced my ass off. 20 activity points of dancing alone!
Here’s where there was room for improvement: I didn’t track at all; I was VERY stressed out; I was VERY emotional; I ate a greasy, fried meal with beers the day after the wedding followed by chips and fudge on the drive home (I didn’t drive. Just drank beers. I love my husband.); when I got home I had a hard time getting back to normal controlled eating which resulted in eating giant amounts of popcorn with buckets of salt on it instead of healthy smart dinners.
Perfection is not the key, friends. But dancing might just solve all your problems.