LAST STOP Y'ALL... get in the limo: debi!!!

y'all, we almost didn't make it to our last guest.  i thought she might be too busy to take a ride (and to be honest, this is One Busy Lady), but when i saw meg's beaming face in the virtual limo i knew we had to get to edinburgh and entice the ever lovely debi, of my happy sewing place, to jump in the cooper.  i think we can all agree, she makes the sewing blogisphere a very happy place indeed.  and let's not forget david, who i can only imagine will be giving ruggy a run for his money at this year's oscars.  (you may notice i've gone ahead and awarded ruggy a crown early.  he deserves it for all that driving.  rob, you best step up those sewing skillz if you hope to compete.)  woohoo debi!  get in the limo, and bring debonair david with you!!!

I'm super excited that Oona asked me to contribute to her party extravaganza!  And I have to say that at our next meet-up we should totally get a limo and then pick up all these lovely ladies (and gents) and so many more! How fun would that be??

Let's start with a bit of background on little Debi. As a child, I loved dressing up and I loved vintage fashion.  I would play for hours with paper dolls (the 1930s hollywood ones and the international paper dolls were my favourites).  It's weird because I now see so many parallels with my current love of sewing.  So, as you can imagine, any event that requires dressing up would have thrilled my little heart.

Moving onto little high school Debi...I was very studious, very shy and somewhat naive but once I made friends, they were friends for life.  I had so many interests and felt that all things were possible.  I saw no reason why I couldn't be the President of the Future Homemakers of America and also be in the Future Business Leaders of America clubs.  I'd never had a boyfriend (until senior year) and the entire scope of my universe was my hometown.....that is,until her junior year of high school.

I had been asked by a boy to go to junior prom.  He was very socially awkward and I really didn't enjoy hanging out with him but since there weren't really any boys in my life at that point, I agreed to go with him.  I bought a dress that I adored--the type of dress that says 'I am going to a ball!'  Not two days before the prom, this boy says he doesn't want to go.  HE STOOD ME UP!  Who does that???  I can't say I wasn't relieved but what was I going to do?

This is where Annika comes into the picture... but first a bit of backstory.  I started taking German my sophomore year in high school and I loved it.  Our high school participated in an informal exchange with a sister high school in Germany.  One day, my german teacher says that there are three german students that will be coming to our high school for a semester and she wondered if any of us wanted to host them.  My hand shot up in the air (I should mention that this is before actually talking to my parents....god bless teenagers....).  Well, somehow my strategy worked.  I told my parents what the teacher proposed and they thought about, talked about it...and I was waiting on edge for their answer...and they said yes--we could host an exchange student for six months!  I felt a little like Anne Shirley did with Diana--I just knew we would be kindred spirits. 

During the second semester of my junior year, Annika arrived to stay with us.  We were best friends the instant we met.  We had so much fun together.  In fact, not more than a week into her stay with us, she suggested that I come to Germany to stay with her family for a semester (which I did my senior year).  All of a sudden, my little world opened up.  I enjoyed spending time with Annika and the two other German students and learning about their experiences growing up, what their high school was like and just their whole way of looking at the world.

So when prom rolled around, the other two german students decided to go together (as friends) which left Annika without a date.  So you can see how my potential prom disaster turned into a much better night after all. Annika and I decided to go together and just enjoy the prom--dancing with our friends and dressing up!

And enjoy it we did....I had a blast...I then went on to stay with Annika and her family and that's when I first fell in love with Europe.  There were no proms, but there was a lot of disco dancing ;-)  I still keep in touch with Annika and my host family and that joyous feeling of exploring new cultures and traveling has never left me!

Fast forward to today and how I still love to dress up!  Luckily, I now have the perfect prom partner for life.  We recently attended a graduation ball and it was really fun to be back in a prom experience but as adults! 

OKAY Y'ALL!  if that wasn't an uplifting tale to end on, i don't know what is!  what an Awesome. Freaking.  Ride. i can't thank you lovely ladies (and gents) enough for joining us in the cooper.  


are you partying with us virtually?  holler at me with a link so we don't miss you in the wrap up!  now, between tonight's Sew LA shindig and my actual day du birth tomorrow, i'm guessing you'll have a little extra time to get those links & pics in.  


we're pulling up to promaballoona now... i can see the twinkling lights and smell the booze... cheers, peeps everywhere!

get in the limo: daughter fish!

you KNOW i'm wearing a tiara tonight... are you attending?  you just might get one too....

woooEEE, it's good to be back on the east coast, even if it's virtually!  it's time to grab my homegirl christine of daughter fish.  when i read her first ever post, i said something like PLEASE DON'T STOP POSTING.  luckily for all of us, she didn't.   and even more lucky for moi, we've stomped, drunk, and eaten around new york together many times and solemnly swear to do so again... but for now, get in this virtual ride, mizz fish!

Happy birthday, Oona! For this promaballoona extravaganza I racked my brain trying to remember what the heck happened at my prom. You see, large chunks of the evening seem to be missing from my memory. I figured this must be the inevitable result of time passing. After all, if it weren’t for Facebook, I probably wouldn’t remember what 95 percent of my high school peers looked like. 

But then, I found this:

My mom made my dress, I do remember that much. It was silk and I vaguely remember spilling something on it at dinner. I don’t know where my date’s face went, though. Pictures also prove that I wore this dress to Homecoming. 

I expected these pictures to bring a flood of warm, feel-good high school memories. But still, nothing came. Curious, I dug out my high school journal, and discovered a major clue to the memory loss. I’ll save you from the long, unedited version. Here, just an excerpt.

5-11-96

10:09 p.m.

Last night at this time I was at my last high school prom….we had a big party afterwards, at a beach house we all chipped in to rent. There was a lot of alcohol and I drank far too much. I had a grand old time from 1 a.m. to 3 a.m., then I was puking and put to bed. I got pretty wild and now have whiplash! I even woke up drunk.

Me in my new prom dress. It's vintage, which was sort of my style in high school. And, of course, I'm drinking (while reading my journal).

A grand old time? Whiplash? Really? I sounded like a geriatric alcoholic. I began to consider whether, perhaps, I had had a problem in high school. Then it dawned on me that this journal excerpt sounds suspiciously like my wedding reception. Whiplash? Check! Puking the next morning? You betcha! Only hazy memories of the party? Absolutely! No, I don’t have a problem. It’s just, when I go big, I GO BIG!

So Oona, be warned. When you’re back east side of the continent, we’ve got to go big for your birthday! Can you handle it?

YOU KNOW IT.  can we skip the whiplash part though?  'kthnxseeyouinamonth!!!!!  

we've got one more globetrotter to pick up before this pink party pops up at its promaballoona destination... see you there IRL as the kids say, and if you're celebrating virtually be sure to document and shoot me a link of YOUR party, the wrapup limo is being waxed as we speak..............................................................................
come back tonight for the very last and FABULOUS installment in this cruise down memory lane!   

get in the limo: lady katza!

those fiesty redheads.  they're tipping the scales in the cooper, and lady katza of peanut butter macrame is about to bring the house down with some booty shakin'.  LOOK OUT.  get in the limo, lady, and tell us about PAYBACK!

The Revenge Prom

Some of you may have guessed that I'm not normal.  I don't fit in with the crowd, period.  The only high school prom I went to while I was in high school was my Senior Prom.  I went with my boyfriend and my best friend/soul sister. Here's me and Veronika at MY Senior Prom. 

(This is a great photo of me, and a bad one of her.  She's an actress in Germany now and is amazingly attractive. )

Notice I said "while I was in high school".  Yes, that's right.  I WENT BACK!  See, my boyfriend at the time was a year younger than me and I went back with him to HIS high school prom.  Our relationship was pretty rocky at this point because I'd all but moved out and had hit the magic 18 and was able to get into a lot of the Goth clubs.  And I started working Renaissance festivals and otherwise doing a lot of things you do when coming of age.  The biggest revelation of all was that I was attractive.

Yup. Attractive. I was CONVINCED all through K-12 that I was the Ugly Duckling, that I was fat (HA!) and my pale skin and reddish hair made me undesirable.  Upon moving to Georgia, one of the biggest contributors to this was some Varsity hotshot named Tripp.  My soul sister, Veronika, called him Cro-Magnon man.  Which, in retrospect, he totally was.  The top of his head was flat from ramming it into other men in tight pants and padding, but I digress.  He's important later in this story. 

So, in any case, the beau asked me to go to his Senior Prom and I had just spotted THE MOST AMAZING DRESS EVER!  But it had to be special ordered, and after batting my eyelashes at Dad, he agreed to buy it for me. I still have this dress hanging in my closet.  It was worn by one of my good friend's daughters, who is openly homosexual, and on Homecoming Court.  Which is why its the Magical Dress that will never be given away.  

It took me a while to find some photos, but this is what I dug up:

(Please to be noticing the computer.  Yes, even then I was Total Geek.)

The beau wore a matching vest.  We looked Fabulous!  And it was at this point in my life was finally convinced that I could stop traffic. It was that sort of confidence that I went back to High School Prom.  And I got one of the girl's at the Renaissance Festival to do my hair. 

Much of the rest of it was a blur.  I know that me and the beau started to fight, but I was mostly ignoring it because there was music and a dance floor.  I've always loved to get down and had been having a blast at the different Goth clubs on the 18+ nights.  I kicked off my shoes and started to drop it like its hot. 

And that's when I got the attention of the Varsity boys.  Suddenly I found myself in one of those dance circles shaking my tail feather while everyone cheered me on. Kinda like Romy and Michelle's High School Reunion.  And wouldn't you know it, Mr. Flat Head Tripp himself came out to the middle of the circle and tried to do the bump'n'grind with me.  WITH ME!!!  He didn't even know who I was.  What did I do?  I stopped dancing, turned around, put my hand in his face and walked away.  Everyone watching started laughing at him.

Best. Prom. Ever.  I don't have to remember the rest of it because THAT was worth everything else.  

turn up the music, ruggy, and lady, be good!  we're speeding back to our 'hood, our east coast 'hood, that is, for another virtual pickup in the morning.  and i have a feeling she'll be awake and partying when we get there...

get in the limo: my sis mokosha!

working up a few extra frills for my promaballoona dress...

meet my sister from another mister, mokosha.  i've lost track of how many times we've inspired each other.  in fact, i've outrighted copied her style.  i'll read her posts and finish the ends of her sentences before reading the end of them.  i'm certain we would have happily shared one closet growing up, one bookshelf, and one very well stocked bar cart.  it was a long drive to get to you, sis, but worth every mile... grab a drink and get in the limo!

so, here i am

beer in a hand

reasonably awake 

let's ride promballoona limo :)

..

my prom party no.1:

i'm 14 years old

my country is called yugoslavia

my hair is so short i'm almost bald

i wear maxi hippie dress that i designed 

(and had an old lady sew it for me)

and i'm spending entire night outside 

drinking beers and smoking

..

my prom party no. 2:

i'm 18 years old

my country is still called yugoslavia

(or maybe it's serbia and montenegro this time

i can't remember and am too lazy to google it)

my hair is a bit longer this time

i wear a maxi skirt and v neck blouse that i designed

(and had a friend's mom sew it for me)

no need to spend time outside

as we are over 18, and therefore allowed to drink alcohol

and smoke 

..

my prom party no. 3

aka my reunion party no. 1:

i'm 24 years old

who knows what's my country called

everyone lost their track..

i have a bob cut, and hair dyed fluorescent red

i wear black poofy halter dress with tulle petticoat

and all my girl friends are pregnant

meaning i'm the only one drinking 

and boy do i take that seriously..

i quit smoking some time ago

(some pics from the night prove me wrong though)

..

my prom party no. 4

aka my reunion party no. 2:

i'm 28 years old

my country is called serbia (for now)

i decided that i feel like a redhead

so i stick to it (just keep it natural, 'cause i'm a grown up now, right)

i wear the dress from these photos

one that i made myself

i even manage to walk in my huge platforms ('cause i'm a grown up, you know)

and dance and run and jump

and drink vodka like middle aged russian carpenter (how very grown up too)

and party and afterparty and watch the sunrise

..

my prom party no. 5:

i'm 29 years old

i live in a country called kalkatroona

i have a bad hair day

but i don't give a fuck

cause my dress is awesome

and i'm channeling my inner holly golightly

and my sister oona (the awesomest of all the sisters)  is going to pick me up with limo

and we're off to see the wizard 

the wonderful wizard of oz..

..

mokosha

sis, i'm pretty sure i'm never letting you out of this limo.

if you're coming to promaballoona virtually, remember to share your links with me this weekend for a big wrapup prom party here!  and meet us back in kalkatroona this evening for drinks and another redhead...

get in the limo: EVEN IF IT'S A STRUGGLE!

if you've laughed along with leah of struggle sews a straight seam as much as i have, you know her creative process can be... strugglesome.  her entrance into the limo was no different.  peeps, she got straight into the trunk.  i have no idea why.  i invite you to use those great big beautiful brains of yours and envision this pictureless post!  ooh, it's like a radio tale....

I just spent ten minutes scouring for photos and of course I have not a one. Sigh. Life is the worst sometimes....

Okay, so here is my story. Given that I'm at the back of the limo I feel like I should discuss AFTERprom, but I promise to keep it clean....

My prom wasn't exactly the fulfillment of all my deepest childhood fantasies, but it wasn't the worst thing ever, either. I went with a good friend of mine from Latin class (because cool kids take latin. Arms and the man and all that. Trust me on this one. Cool kids can decline and talk about pluperfect and all that mess because once you get past the grammar and the Vatican jokes you get to read Catullus and Catullus is awesome and dirty and hilarious. Cool kids study latin. Tell your friends. And at least I'm prepared if I'm ever transported back in time to the Roman empire, which is more then most people can say....). Anyway, my prom date, let's call him Claudius (because, well, Latin), was a friend who had literally no interest in me romantically, but that didn't matter, I still wore an awesome dress. I did not make said dress, because I didn't sew then, but I bought it from a boutique and it was like that dress Marilyn Monroe wore in The Seven Year Itch but in red. RED. I was one daring 17 year old...

So anyway, in my dress (would that I had a photo!) and my corsage (white, because it goes with everything, and before you ask he was a perfect gentleman and called me up to ask the color of the dress because he was raised correctly, well done Claudius), I was pretty hot, if I do say so myself. Much good it did me. I got less action on prom then a movie theater that only screens adaptations of Nicholas Sparks novels. But that was okay, our prom was in a nice hotel, I whirled around alone on the dance floor with my red dress and my hair all done up (I got to go to a hair dresser! What? Yes, and I got a manicure and a pedicure, my mom sure went all out for something she thought, and still thinks, is awfully silly). So if it wasn't MAGICAL then at least it was fun enough.

And then came the after prom. I had heard a lot about after prom from my older brother. I expected a night of debauchery, delights, and even maybe someone getting handsie. Yeah. None of that happens...we did the afterprom party at a a hotel down in Atlantic City. Claudius had, by this point, disappeared, he wasn't much of a partier. Neither was I, really, but this was a chance to cut lose, go nuts, do shots of something sweet and make some bad decisions! Yeah, not going to happen. For one thing, the hotel didn't have heating. And it was April. In New Jersey. It wasn't warm by any stretch of the imagination. I spent the evening wandering around in search of something decent to drink (even then I didn't drink beer) and someone interesting to talk to. Neither ever surfaced, and I huddled in one of the rooms we had paid a small fortune for, wishing I had brought more layers. Prom movies really don't prepare you very well for reality, now, do they?

Still, I went, I saw, and if I didn't exactly conquer then at least I didn't do anything really dumb. And I looked AWESOME. But you will just have to trust me on that one. 

i DO trust you, miss struggle, and if y'all need evidence, i present to you exhibits A, B, and C.  what about you? did you sacrifice comfort for fashion at your big teen night?  FASHION HURTS, Y'ALL!


we've got a loooooong way to go to pick up our next lovely lady... in fact i'm gonna hop up front and navigate. see you in the morning!

get in the limo: sown brooklyn!

you know i had to stick my mug up in here eventually!  i'm practicing my prom photo smile, thought i'd say hiya. 

do you remember the days when wanett of sown brooklyn was headless?  hey, it happens to the best of us. those days are GONE!  i do believe she could be recognized now not only by that beautiful face, but by that perky booty.  i can say that because she has outright challenged me to a booty battle.  (oh yes, it's on.)  

apparently there were also days when our vivacious wanett was not only headless, but a bit teary...

Be The Heroine

Oh, prom. That time that each girl looks forward to. That blissful, pre-wedding dress shopping experience of dropping fuckloads of cash on a one-time-wear garment. The makeup. The manicures. The salon appointments. Those were the days......just not for this girl.

Like most things in my life, my prom going experience was not at all what I hoped it would be. I was generally unpopular with boys in that boyfriend/girlfriend way (due to my extremely overprotective family's desire for me to spend ALL of my time at home) so I didn't have a date. Dress shopping was a nightmare. Doubly so because, as the older sister, I had no one to swoop in and save me from shopping with my mother. I was allowed to get acrylic nails for the first time. Though, I was such a novice, I couldn't unbutton my pants and needed help to go pee. I was comically late for my hair "appointment". I'm misusing quotation marks to emphasize the ludicrous use of the word appointment when talking about a black hair salon. My hair was in a boring bob, anyway, thanks to the bad trim (that was really a haircut) I received at a previous salon visit.

By the time my mother and I were hurrying back home so I could make my limo on time I was a nervous, nauseous, crying mess.

Don't I look THRILLED!?!!?

I put on my boring (but quite risque for me, back then), black, spandex, one shoulder cliche of a dress, a pair of shoes I hated and a sheer button-up top because I suddenly felt shy with my one shoulder exposed. I topped it off with no makeup. At all. And dashed outside to meet the limo. Only it wasn't there.

Near tears (again) and feeling uncomfortable with everyone in my neighborhood eying me in my dress, we went looking around for where the limo might be. Remember, this is in an age before cell phones were prevalent. Just as I began to feel certain that it left me, I looked around and ALL of my friends had gotten out to come look for me! This act alone saved my mood and led me to have as fun a night as I could have with two left feet and no date, lol.

For this prom, Promaballoona 2012, things started off nearly as bad as my high school one. Due to a broken machine, new machine delivery madness, scheduling and lack of sewing mojo this prom was off the rails before it was on them. After it was all said and done I had no time to take fancy prom date like photos with my hubby. Which made me sad.

In an a massive push against that sadness and my innate tendency to procrastinate, I was up until all hours last night (July 28th) sewing not one but two PERFECT prom frocks!! As a reward for my efforts, I beat the rain as my daughter helped me with two separate photo shoots to capture my Barbie Pink and Sweet Cream frocks!

Barbie Pink
The Facts
Fabric | Sumptuous hot pink cotton sateen courtesy of Kollabora
Patterns | Vintage (1940s) Simplicity 2693 and my TNT skirt pattern, Simplicity 9823
Year | 1940s and current
Notions | Thread, a zipper and elastic. I did not interface the bodice, but it is doubled.
Time to complete | Made during an all night sewing marathon, so I'm not sure. It went together pretty effortlessly, I must say.
First worn | On a two part photo shoot with my big girl aka kick ass photographer!
Wear again? | HELL YEAH!! Try and stop me ;P
Total price | Nearly FREE!! I won the fabric, was given the elastic by my sister, the zipper from my granny, the bodice pattern is from a swap and the skirt pattern was probably .99 cents.

Sweet Cream
The Facts
Fabric | 100% cotton paisley embroidered fabric from fabric.com
Patterns | Vintage (1940s) Simplicity 2693 and Vivat Veritas' scalloped waist skirt pattern
Year | 1940s and current
Notions | Thread and a zipper.
Time to complete | Made during an all night sewing marathon, so I'm not sure. It went together pretty effortlessly, I must say. The entire dress is doubled. The fabric was slightly sheer and very lightweight. I sewed the two skirt sections together at the bottom edge, turned it right side out and pressed it. Worked like a charm!
First worn | On a two part photo shoot with my big girl aka kick ass photographer!
Wear again? | HELL YEAH!!
Total price | I don't remember what I paid for this fabric, but I can assure you it wasn't much. The bodice pattern is from a swap and the scalloped skirt pattern is free online.

I took some advice from the recently departed Nora Ephron. She said:

"Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim."

I saved my prom experience this time around. Snaps for me!

look out ruggy!  THE LIMO IS FULL OF HEROINES!!! and we're off to grab our next one.  what about you, peeps? are you sewing up your super princess heroine dress? turn that prom UPSIDE DOWN! 

whoah, okay, lemme calm down.  color explosion, man, it gets me amped up.  i think, for our next stop, we'll let our imaginations paint the picture... see you later for cocktail hour!

get in the limo: ginger makes!

what's this?  ANOTHER sewist i've not yet met in the flesh?! SOMETHING MUST BE DONE!  and something shall be done, yes indeedy, when i get back to east coast soil.  till then, if you're in los angeles, i hope you're readying your prom frocks for the fabulous sew LA party this sunday...miss make and miss christine certainly are!

ginger makes wonderful things, namely this yellow dress which i have vowed to snatch forcefully off her body should she wear it to our future meeting.  she also makes me laugh out loud, a trait she shares with all the guests so far...  she positively screamed when she saw taran's gown and beat feet to compare pastels.  it's getting raucous in this ride.  ruggy's having trouble steering.  peeps are getting... queasy... hurry up and get in this limo, girl!  

First things first-- I have to wish a VERY happy birthday to one Miss Oona Balloona!  The festivities 'round here sure have been epic!  Ye Royal Birthd'Oona is rapidly becoming one of my favorite holidays!

OK... let me be honest right upfront.  This is a sordid tale of drama, terror, and tragedy.  If you're looking for some light reading, LOOK AWAY.  Just kidding.  But only kinda.

So my sophomore year, with the big homecoming dance right around the corner, when the guy I liked didn't want to go with me (I was uncool and a bit of a... ahem... late bloomer), I resolved to skip the dance and stay home.  Sensible, right?  I wasn't into the idea of going with someone just to go.  Unfortunately, my best friend's boyfriend didn't find this arrangement acceptable, so he took it upon himself to find me a date... but he didn't mention this quest to me.  What he DID do was tell my geeky lab partner that I wanted to go with him.  (I didn't.)

My lab partner was not good with the ladies.  I was super chatty as a kid, so I always tried to strike up a conversation with him in class (and everyone... you have no idea how many times teachers asked me if I had something I "wanted to share with the rest of the class" during my teen years!), but he would answer curtly or mumble under his breath in response to my questions.  I assumed at the time that Simon hated me (and I knew that he thought I was dumb-- he never let me do any of the experiments!!).  Needless to say, I was completely shocked when he asked me to the dance and followed up the invitation with, "So, I know you're not already going, and D---- said you wanted to go with me".  What could I do?!

I really didn't want to go-- I didn't really know this guy, and he didn't seem very fun, but I did what any sensible sophomore girl would do and buckled under peer pressure!  My friends thought it would mean a lot to him if I went with him, and since I didn't want to hurt his feelings, I said yes. Unluckily, my best friend and her boyfriend broke up the week of the dance (jerks!  They got back together right away, too!), so the fearsome foursome of bestie's boyfriend's engineering was broken up!

I'll skim over the gory details, but here are a few quick bullet points (imagine these laid out in a PowerPoint presentation about my awkward youth):

Even though I had my driver's license, he wanted to pick me up, so his mom chauffered us in her minivan and WAITED IN THE PARKING LOT while we ate dinner

He didn't talk and answered all my questions/conversation starters with one-word answers

He yelled at his mom for talking in the car

Didn't dance, but didn't want me to dance with anyone else, so I spent most of the night standing around watching the clock

Left for a few minutes, brought back a glass of punch, drank half the glass, told me, "Ahh, I feel so much better-- I just needed to throw up!", and THEN offered me the SECOND HALF OF THE GLASS, IMMEDIATELY AFTER TELLING ME HE HAD JUST THROWN UP

I insisted on dancing the last dance cause it seemed like the right thing to do, and as the song was finishing up, the lights came on and the guy that I had a searing, white-hot crush on spotted me from across the room and yelled, "Hey, look, Sonja's with [Geeky Lab Partner]!!"  and LAUGHED WITH HIS FRIENDS LIKE THE POPULAR JOCK IN A TERRIBLE TEEN MOVIE

I graciously ended the night by RUNNING UP THE STEPS TO MY HOUSE to avoid a pukey good-night smooch (tell me you wouldn't have done the same!)

Oy vey.  Don't you sometimes wish you knew in high school what you know now?  Like that sometimes when geeky dudes are mean to you, it's because they like you?  And that when you're out with a girl you like, you gotta take a risk sometimes and open up?  And that HOLY CRAP, sometimes the guys you like in high school are actually huge jerks!  Ugh!

Needless to say, I swore off dances after that and promised myself I'd never, ever go, a promise that I kept until, oh, the first time a guy that I liked asked me (haha!  some resolve I had!).  I went the very next year with a boyfriend, and my senior prom date was Man Friend!  We had a great time, and I wore a dress that my mom made for me (at my insistence, to my specifications, and that is a terrible testament to my hippie style at the time).  We celebrated post-prom with my best friend, her butthead boyfriend, and another couple we were good friends with, and we had a blast.  But don't worry-- no perfect storybook ending here!  We decided to go to Six Flags the next day, and although I don't do roller coasters, I caved under peer pressure again ("This coaster is so mild-- you'll be totally fine!").  FRIENDS.  Do not, I repeat, DO NOT listen to peer pressure... that is, unless you want to throw up on your Man Friend and also maybe just a liiiiiiiiiiittle on the group of German tourists riding in the roller coaster car in front of you.

                          

Man Friend + I at prom. Don't let my undead expression fool you-- I had a great time! Also... If you ever meet Man Friend and he's like, "Hey, crazy question, but are there photos of me on a sewing blog wearing a tuxedo with tails?", you HAVE NEVER SEEN THIS PHOTO.

Peer pressure leads to vomit.  Moral of the story.  That and, that Man Friend is a keeper.

 What a guy! And hey-- don't be jealous of my wreath 'o' fake flowers!

i adore this last picture, don't you agree?  YOUNG LOVE!  not even an on-demand-hurler can defeat it!  i suppose man friend was the pay off from that prom from hell.  excellent dividends.


we've got another gal who ended up roses in the end... see you tomorrow morning (over spiked coffee, mais oui) for our next pickup!

get in the limo: karen!

what's UP, y'all!!! thought you might like a glimpse of what's in the trunk of this stretch cooper... fabric scraps! and you thought it would just be fulla booze.  these pieces of happiness are making their way to sew LA's promaballoona, where tipsy prom princesses will fashion them into corsages.  just in case their dates didn't provide them with flowers, as our next guest's gent so thoughtfully did... 

so far, as amy pointed out in the comments, i've met everyone in this limo in realio life.  how did that happen?! here's an exception to that rule: i first "met" karen of did you make that in her amped up me-made challenge... because wearing a daily me-made wasn't enough, she set the personal goal of taking pictures in the wild, avec strangers, and it was a LAUGH RIOT.  i've been spitting out coffee over her posts ever since, and gnashing my teeth when i missed her stateside not once, but TWICE.  she's got a lovely tale, and it is entitled:

SHOUT ‘YES’!

My prom story is a salutary tale of scheming females and dumb broads. Can you guess which I was at 17 years of age? But I’m getting ahead of myself. Oonaballoona invited me to share a prom story and share it I shall.

I was studying for my A-levels in Sixth Form. Life was about to get heartbreakingly unhappy at university, but I didn’t know that then. I was still swimming merrily in my little pond with a gang of firm friends. I was so innocent, it makes me ache to remember.

Jeremy was in the year above me. I’d been harbouring a massive crush on him ever since we’d gone on the same school trip to France. I should have known from the way he danced with our French tutor that he was as deep as a puddle, but hey – I was young and in love.

Back home, a neighbouring school announced a prom night! Prom events were virtually unheard of in the UK then (we’re talking the last gasps of the Eighties) and the mere suggestion of such an occasion conjured pictures of impossible glamour. 

I didn’t wait for Jeremy to ask me to go; I invited him. I set about losing as much weight as I could, because I’m pathetic that way. I bought a new dress (in hindsight, startlingly unoriginal and way too old for my years), got my hair cut and coloured, and dreamed, dreamed, dreamed of our future romantic evening. The prom was a Valentine’s Prom and my birthday was on Valentine’s Day – a sure fire recipe for the happiest evening of my life. And it nearly was the happiest evening of my life. Until the phone call came through…

Jeremy had an ex-girlfriend. She was still in love with him. She called me disingenuously to share the excitement of my plans. She dropped into the conversation, ‘You’ll probably kiss him, won’t you?’ The unhappiness leaked from her voice and, like a fool, I felt sorry for her. ‘I won’t,’ I promised. You know what? I meant it. The manipulative madam had pushed me into a corner and now I was tying my own wrists to the railings. I must have had ‘MUG’ tattooed across my forehead.

I went to the prom with Jeremy, floating on a cloud of happiness. In front of everyone, the DJ presented me with a surprise bouquet that Jeremy had bought me for my birthday. We danced. A friend came over. ‘Kiss him!’ she cried. I shook my head, remembering the girl who was sitting alone on a sofa. Jeremy looked puzzled. My dad drove him home. I waved goodbye. As the car pulled away, I wondered … had I made the right choice?

She phoned again the next morning. I told her she didn’t need to worry, that I hadn’t kissed Jeremy. Several months later she started lying to me about when the gang were going out so that she could avoid me being around him. They never did get back together. 

Later, I’d have a brief romance with Jeremy but then he went to university and within the first couple of weeks I was dumped. It didn’t hurt too much – I think I knew he wasn’t a keeper. But I learned a really big lesson when I was 17 years old. Let me pass it on to you now.

When someone says, ‘You’ll probably kiss him, won’t you?’ SHOUT ‘YES’!!!!

peeps, are you with me?  because i'm getting a posse together, we're jumping in the time machine, and we are going after that ex girlfriend!!!  NO ONE MESSES WITH KAREN!

all right.  we've all got our game face on in the limo.  it's time for a hella shout yes.  i wonder who we can pick up next to get this throwdown started.... let's meet back here for cocktail hour today and find out...

get in the limo: ANOTHER sewing scientist!!!

WELL.  those sewing scientists.  they're all over the place, aren't they?  if you haven't had the pleasure, meet vicki from, you guessed it, another sewing scientist.  when we picked her up, there was no stopping the AP force field, and she and cindy are now joined at the hip.  they're crowding me out of the sunroof!  i don't mind, though, because i could not stop laughing when i heard her tale.  get in the limo and school us, vicki!

I think I’m the oldie in this limo:  I graduated in 1988 from Eastern Shore District High, a rural high school in Nova Scotia.  So make some extra room on the bench seat back here, make sure the schedule for the evening is printed in a large font, and let’s stick to a nice Argentinian Malbec for the evening, shall we?  I can’t hold litres of beer like I used to be able to, and I’m sure you don’t want to be pulling the limo over too often for pee breaks.

The ‘70s and ‘80s were a nasty time in prom history at my school:  pickup trucks full of kids driving drunk down winding, unlit country roads to party all night on the beach.  Alcohol poisoning, car crashes, injuries, pregnancies, assaults, death.  I can see why the parents, teachers and the students themselves decided to take matters in hand and start hosting Safe Grad parties.  We were escorted directly from the dance in yellow school buses to a sports complex in the closest city.  We were kept locked up there all night to swim, eat junk food, dance and basically keep out of trouble.  For that night at least.  I went to the prom with older friends when I was in grade 11, and again when I was graduating from grade 12.  

Ladies and Gentlemen, for your viewing pleasure, welcome to the ‘80s:

Our Grad night started in everyone’s respective back yard, getting the requisite Awkward Photo with Date.  Here is mine from grade 11:

(All of these friends are now professors or business owners, so I’ve hidden their faces because it’s too much trouble to track them down, explain what the heck Promaballoona is and ask for their permission to use their images. And yeah, I know that hairdo makes me look like my forehead exploded, but hey!  It was 1987.  What can I say.)

All through grade 11 (and much of grade 10 actually), I was dating this boy next to me who I’ll call Lesson #1.  What’s Lesson #1 from 25 years in the future?  Just because a boy is cute and popular, and lavishes attention on you part of the time, it doesn’t mean he’s worth all your time.  If he’s not crazy for you 24/7, he’s not worth your precious teen years, because let’s face it:  you’ll never be as slim and fit, as full of energy and as randy as you were as a teenager.  Why waste that on part-time fun??

(17-year-old me.  OMG, to have that body again….)

The standard Prom costume at my school was girl in poofy, shiny, white or pastel dress and boy with matching cummerbund.  I was just sooooo much cooler than everyone else, and I had to stand out in some way, so I got my mother to make me that black prom dress.  Matte black.  It had boning and was fully lined with black cotton for comfort.  I loved it.  Lesson #1 bought me that yellow rose wrist corsage, which should have been the final hint that he didn’t know me at all.  

Lesson #1 and I were about to break up, and the other couple in the photo weren’t a couple at all, but two people from our group of friends that needed dates.  Heaven help you if you didn’t go with a date.  For some reason, it was an unspoken rule that you couldn’t go alone.  Ah, teenage conservatism.  We thought we were so cool but we were actually following an incredibly tight-assed set of adolescent rules.  Anyway, there was no hanky-panky going on between any of us that night, but we did get a few good eyefuls of other couples who were taking advantage of the darkened gymnasium.  I remember at one point dancing with Lesson #1 and him whispering an incredulous, “Are they doing it??!??” 

Here I am just before my grade 12 prom, with the boy I’ll call Lesson #2:

Lesson #2 was actually sick with the flu that night, and still managed to come along, which in retrospect, was probably the only selfless thing he ever did for me.  Scratch that:  he probably did it because he thought I’d put out.   Yeah, good luck with that in a locked gym full of 200 kids and teachers.  Lesson #2 is that charm is false and as you get older, you learn to pop that balloon full of hot air the instant it swaggers in front of you.  

This dress was made for me over a weekend with my aunt P, a full time teacher and a part time sewist.  I flew up to stay with her, and she draped and sewed the dress while telling me precautionary tales of university culture, looking at historical patterns together, drinking beer and smoking hash with her friends.  Yeah, she was my cool aunt.  I told her I wanted something Art Nouveau or Deco, and we decided on a ‘20s style dress based on a design by Erté.  I can’t find an image of the dress we used, but here’s a taste of Erté’s style:

She draped this purple satin dress with a handkerchief hem and a black net overlay.  It had black sequin straps and hung loosely in a modified ‘20s style.  It was beautiful.  And then in a typical teenage way, on the night of the prom, I put on the dress and thought it was all wrong.  (Remember, the ‘80s were all about strapless dresses with tight corset waists and poofy skirts)  I stupidly cut off the straps and cut a length of netting to act as a belt.  Ugh. Why hadn’t I had the confidence to dress how I really wanted to?  At least I kept the ‘20s jet necklace and earrings and didn’t substitute them with plastic ‘80s gaudiness.

I don’t really remember much of that night because I think I fell asleep.  Lesson #2 probably crawled away to sleep off the flu on some bleachers, and I remember me and another girl pulling some gym mats into a corner and lying down, so I must have missed much of that G rated evening.  Every summer I worked full time at a canoe/kayak club to save $$ for university, so I think I had already put in a full day’s heavy lifting outside in the sun, and was probably exhausted.  No worries though; I don’t think I missed anything scandalous worth writing about here.

The reality was that the real grad parties happened before or after, and so were spread out over several weeks, diluting the damage potential.  I went to a lot of drunken parties, but for most of them I was the designated driver and stuck to the ginger ale.  I hooked up with a couple of guys that I knew I probably wouldn’t see again, and had great fun.  I didn’t take that chance with a couple of guys who would have been great catches, but like Tanit-Isis said in her post, you always let the “good ones” get away because they aren’t as confident or persuasive as the bad ones.  I actually spent my last week before university with a gang of nerd-boys who were taking their Life Saving Bronze Medallion course at the canoe/kayak club where I worked.  Ah, the fun I could have had on that last week with that gang of virgins….;)

Now that I’m a responsible parent (ahem), I’m wondering how I can in all good conscience talk to my kids about being responsible when fooling around in high school is honestly just so goddamn fun.  When can you get away with that kind of stuff again? 

Oh yeah.  University. 

please note that vicki appears to be double fisting it here.  yes, that could be someone else's glass of chardonnay, but i like my version better.  i have evidence of her drinking skillz.

my favorite lesson: Why Waste Time On Part Time Fun.  having that engraved, stat.  what about you?

get in the limo: cation designs!

i was worried this stretch cooper wouldn't be big enough for all these sewasaurus rexes, especially this heroic one.  we stomped around LA's garment district together, roaring like the dinosaurs we are, and now cation designs is in the virtual house, and she's bringing the AP party, yo!  get in that limo and give us some calculus!!! 

Seeing as how Oona was the first (and remains the only) sewing blogger I've ever had the privilege of meeting IRL, of course I was beyond excited for her birthday prom. Imagine my devastation, then, at learning that not only is it happening during my time away from TCOCC, but it is also during my husband's birthday weekend. Which means, of course, that there's no way to sneak down to Sew LA for this once-in-a-lifetime event. Ah, well. It looks like I'll just have to hop on the virtual limo...which makes it only the second limo I've ever been on, since I didn't do the whole limo-thing for any of my formal dances in high school.

I've already written before about my actual senior prom experience, so I won't go into that again, but just for Oona, I'm digging back into my blocked-out memories to tell you all about my senior boat dance experience. Senior Boat is when all the seniors get on one of those cheesy Hornblower-y cruises and make a little trip around the San Francisco Bay, and it's the first big senior event of the year. I don't think I would have gone, except that -- get this -- my AP Physics teacher announced that he would give extra credit to anyone who went to Senior Boat with another AP Physics student. His reasoning being, of all the nerdy kids at my very nerdy school, AP Physics students were the most in need of socialization, and this was his ploy to get us away from our books and out amongst the general population. Well, it worked. Only thing is, I decided to ask a guy from another high school, whom I'd met only briefly at a marine biology summer program a couple months before. We'd kept in touch via email, but I wouldn't say we really knew each other at all. All I knew was that he was taking AP Physics at his school and he was taller than me...obviously good reasons to spend five hours with someone. Let's call him Stewart.

Every time I look at this picture, I cringe a little.
Stewart and I had no idea how to pose for a couple picture,
so the poor photographer had to direct us. "Hold her hand!
Okay, now put your other arm around her waist!"

I had no idea what to wear to a semi-formal dance on a boat, so I ended up buying a pink, be-rhinestoned tank top and a pencil skirt at the mall, thereby managing a vaguely secretary-goes-to-have-drinks-before-dinner look. Yes. I was a paragon of fashion. Which was just fine, since Stewart managed to also look like a businessman who had taken off his tie after work. But, being that we were underage and good kids, there were no actual pre-dinner drinks. We both probably could have used a couple, though, since, as one might expect, we didn't have a whole lot to talk about aside from school and a few reminiscences about our summer not-a-fling. What made matters even worse was that he announced before dinner that he had money from his parents to pay for dinner for everyone and he would brook no arguments. Normally, having one's dinner paid for isn't a bad thing, but we were double-dating with my best friend and her date was none too pleased about oh, having his masculinity (in the form of paying for dinner) insulted; he spent the entire dinner bristling silently, refusing to speak, while Stewart remained oblivious and my friend and I chattered away madly in an attempt to prevent any awkward silences.

Like this, but in the dark, and facing each other.

After a supremely uncomfortable meal, we headed over to the boat and my friend and I were relieved of the task of making small talk, thanks to the Backstreet Boys, N*SYNC, and the like, all blasted at hearing loss-inducing decibels. Dancing, unfortunately, proved to be too much for Stewart and I; neither of us knew how to do much besides head-bob awkwardly (think: pigeons walking, only they happen to stay in the same place). This wouldn't have been so bad, except that Stewart stood head and shoulders above the rest of the crowd, so it felt to me like everyone was staring at my date and wondering why he couldn't dance. Mortified, I suggested that we stop dancing and go up to the top level of the boat to see the views of the bay and bridges. This being SF in the late fall, though, I promptly began freezing to death. And then there was the matter of making more conversation: we ended up talking about -- wait for it -- our calculus classes. Le sigh.

Thankfully, the evening didn't end altogether unpleasantly. After Stewart noticed how cold I was, we went back downstairs and, instead of attempting to dance some more, ended up drawing on the condensation on the windows. This was sufficiently goofy and random to suit me, and we parted on good terms. Unfortunately, the overall experience was poor enough that I stopped keeping in touch with him. However, I was able to salvage the night somewhat by learning about the dangers of using too hot an iron on polyester fabric, a very valuable lesson for a young future seamstress!

See, I decided to try to return my skirt to the mall and get my $20 back (a big deal, when you're in high school!) for a skirt I would probably never wear again. However, this plan required ironing out the wrinkles, and this was before I knew anything about fiber content and the melting point of polyester. Having made a nice row of shiny iron marks across the front of the skirt, what did I do? Did I give it up as lost? Never! That twenty dollars was lunch money for a week! Ever the intrepid (and more than a little clueless) teenager, I decided that the obvious course of action was to iron shiny marks onto the entire skirt. And you know what? IT WORKED. I successfully returned the skirt (to an equally clueless teenaged cashier), ate tater tots and It's-It ice cream sandwiches for lunch for another week, and resolved to only ever attend formal dances with actual friends. Thankfully, my job as a high school teacher means that I always have the option of attending formals with my best friend and husband, but as a chaperone instead of an angsty teen!

With my then-boyfriend-now-husband at a formal several years ago. I was just starting to discover my costuming tendencies and opted to wear a cape over my dress. I'm surprised he still wanted to marry me, even after that early warning sign.

Oona, it's only for love of you and your birthday that I'm willing to dig through not only my memories, but my high school photos, to put together this blog post recounting the sadly laughable story of how a nerdy girl does formal dances. I'm still a little shocked that I get to be included in the cool kids' limo, especially now that it is revealed how much of a dork I am! Happiest of birthdays, Oona, and thanks for giving us all a chance to relive prom!

the limo is all the cooler... and waaay smarter... because of you!  all the cool kids know that social events are better when there's extra credit involved.  it's like going to school, at night!  peeps, have you ever dated based on curriculum?

as if the IQ level hadn't risen enough, we're picking up ANOTHER scientist later this evening... yep, we're making daily double stops thru saturday to get this limo filled up in time for sunday's real life and virtual reality promaballoonas!  STEP ON IT, RUGGY!