golden girls

Everyone needs a friend they can be totally and completely open and honest with. A person who doesn't bat an eyelash when in a high pressure situation you let out a belch because you saw a cucumber in your salad and thought, "oh my god! that looks good!" instead of "oh my god. that is gonna make me feel like crap." A person who knows you well enough to say, "You aren't even listening to me anymore, are you?" when your eyes glaze over and you get lost in your thoughts because she mentioned running which led you to "things that suck" which made you think of "things that don't" and next thing you know you're envisioning Colin Firth in Valmont. What is it about men in knickers? Oh. Sorry. Where was I?

Okay, so get that friend. Got her? Okay. Now put her in charge of finding your wedding dress.

I hate to shop*. My friend, Jen, is also not a fan. We were filling up on sarcasm when they passed out the shopping gene. Being that Jen is that^ type of friend, she is also the perfect person to put in charge of dress shopping. Well, "put" is a strong word. I believe she yanked the reins right outta my hands, saying "Bitch, I'm gettin' this shit done." I think she's living out some dream of being a personal stylist. And being that she always looks divine and my idea of dressing up is wearing clean jeans, I may have thrown the reins at her when she reached for them.

Even though next Saturday is The Dress Shoppe Day of Hell, we set out this Saturday to a recommended boutique in North Beach. The boutique doesn't take appointments and only has two fitting rooms so we figured getting there a bit before closing might actually be wise. Not so much. Apparently, people wait for hours to try on dresses there. If I had known this prior, I wouldn't have even entertained going. The only thing I hate more than shopping is waiting. A shop where you wait with bridezillas. A very frilly corner of HELL.

So we were too late. We filled out appropriate forms, perused some dresses, wrote down the ones we liked for next time, and Jen tried once more to weasel us into a fitting room. After being turned down a second time, she looked at me and said, "I think a margarita and a nap are in order." Fifteen minutes of shopping followed by a margarita and a nap? Seriously, why am I marrying Mike?

*...in a store. With The Public. Shopping on the internet when I should be working and not buying pretty earrings or art is not bad. In fact, it is wonderfully amazing.

^ Look/scroll up. Yeah. That first paragraph. There ya go.