Wedding dress success

I went wedding dress shopping yesterday, and it was an experience.

If you remember, I had some qualms about going wedding dress shopping. Yesterday morning, I had a case a nerves similar to those I would get on the first day of school. Not entirely sure what to expect, but still excited for the experience.

I had made an appointment at Southern Bridal, a boutique in Mandeville, Louisiana, where I live. Overall, I had a great experience. Here are 5 things I learned about wedding gowns while shopping for wedding gowns:

1. There is no such thing as a standard sample size.
Southern Bridal, though small, had a lot of dresses, and several designers. I found myself confined to only two or three designers because they had samples in "larger" sizes (and my larger I mean 10, 12, or 14). If it was any smaller than a 10, as they say, fuggedaboutit. My maid of honor brought me in a beautiful dress that was a size 8, and I couldn't even get it on.

2. Forget standard sample size, there is no such thing as a standard sizing system. Period.
A 12 in one designer would fit, but be too snug in another. Also? I learned I could fit in a size 14 in certain dresses, if they were a certain style. I didn't really want a mermaid style dress, but in the interest of being open-minded, I decided to try on some. Well, once we were in the dressing room with them, I couldn't even get them on. Clearly, the sample sizes were not meant for someone with hips. They could have been beautiful on me, but we'll never know. Oh well.

3. Those bitches can be heavy.
You just don't realize how much tonnage beading, lace and embroidery can hold until you are trying to get a dress with a fully beaded bodice and train on.

4. A dress might be gorgeous, but breathing is never overrated.
I tried on a discontinued dress that was breathtaking...literally. I mean, it fit, but it was TIGHT. The people at the store "thought" there was enough fabric to let out, but really, on a purchase like this, I'm going to need a more positive answer then "I think." Also, some of the beading was loose, and in general, my mom and I were hesitant about buying a sample dress, even if it was 50% off (for the record, the dress was pretty pricey to begin with so, the discounted price was okay, but with alteration fees I'm not sure it would have been that much of a steal).

5. In the end, you may pick out a dress you never envisioned yourself in.
Needless to say, I've thought about John and my wedding day a lot. Of all the factors involved in a wedding, my wedding dress has been the one that has changed the most. I guess it's because I hadn't tried any on yet, but every time I envisioned our wedding day, I saw something different. With that said, the dress I picked yesterday is nothing like I ever thought I would wear. It's absolutely beautiful, of course, (I can't describe it here, but if you want to know more about it, email me at secretbrideblog (at) gmail (dot) com) and it was the only dress that when I put it on, I felt like a bride in. Not just any bride, but John's bride. This was the dress, that when I wore it, I could see myself walking down the aisle in. This was the dress I wanted to marry John in.

I just re-read that, oh my, is it ever sappy. But I guess weddings are sappy affairs.

Also, on Twitter the other day I asked what undergarments to wear while trying on dresses. Thanks for all the replies! I ended up going in a bustier and Spanx, and both made the dresses fit really well (when I could get in to them!).

In the interest of entertainment, here is a photo I posted on twitpic yesterday, of the aforementioned size 8 dress I couldn't get into.

Wedding dress fail:


ETA: I still can't believe I found a dress so...easily. I honestly thought it would be much more difficult, but I am relieved it's over, and so happy I found the perfect dress for me. (Granted, it was the first dress I tried on, but of course I tried on about a dozen or so after, just to be sure. What can I say? I like to be extra positive :P.)

#30

#30 Accept the fact I will never join a gym and find a fitness program that works for me.

I often tell people I'm allergic to the gym, and I'm not lying when I say it. I have real, legitimate, visceral reactions when I am in, near, or around a gym. I start to sweat, itch and shake. I get a pit in my stomach. Every fiber in my being is screaming, "GET AWAY GET AWAY." Sometimes, I break out in a rash.

I've been told, by people with "medical degrees" and "knowledge", that this is less of an "allergic reaction" to the gym itself, but probably a "reaction to the anxiety I associate with the gym". Pffft. Whatever, doctors. I'm allergic to those bitches, and that's all there is to it.

Regardless of whether trained, medical professionals are correct or I am, one thing is undeniable: I really hate the mother effing gym.

As I have admitted in previous posts, I am not one of those stick thin girls. I'm not one of those in shape girls. Hell, I'm not even one of those average girls (all though, on a good day, I can pass for it). I am, as my noni so fondly calls it, a "big" girl. Slightly overweight. Big boned. I will never be thin. At my absolute smallest, I squeezed into a size 8, but if I'm being entirely honest, I was more comfortable in a 10. I am currently in a size 12. Sometimes, I wear a size 14.

And this, gentle readers, is why I hate the gym.

When you are a un-fit size 12/14, things don't always look good in motion. I believe Bridget Jones said it best: You know, wobbly bits. I have them. And, they, well, wobble when I try to do active things. Like, say, run. Or bike. Or whatever. I have no control over the direction certain body parts lumber off in. Things bounce without permission. Objects may make sudden, unexpected, uncontrollable movements. What I am saying is, I cannot control "the motion in the ocean" (Isn't that a pleasant image? I apologize). And there's nothing I can about it short of lubing myself up and shoving my whole body into a spandex suit, and you know, I'm not even sure that would do anything for my appropriately named thunder thighs.

So, when I run on the treadmill next to those stick thin, really fit guys and gals, I am super aware of what my own body looks like.

In addition to the body image dimorphism, I often feel like going to the gym is a competition against those around me. I see Pretty Blond Girl running, and I feel like I have to run as long as she does. If you haven't figured it out yet, I hate running and am not in shape, so this is delusional at best and down-right crazy at worst. I can never run as long as someone else at the gym.

Unless I find someone in worst shape than I am to compare myself to, I will always feel inadequate at the gym. And that's unlikely. How many overweight people do you see at the gym? Exactly. Few, if any. They avoid it for the same reasons I avoid it. Look it up. It's called gym intimidation. Seriously, you can Google it.

Anyway, long story short, the gym and I are not friends, and we never will be.

With that said, I want to look stunning on my wedding day, and I would love to put forth the effort to lose some weight. Just not at the gym. Enter my father (this is a good story, I promise). My dad walks every morning. Walking is something I can do. It's actually better on your joints than running, and brisk walking burns about the same calories per minute as running does .

So, every morning at about 6:30, I've been walking a few miles with my dad and other people from the neighborhood. It's actually, dare I say it, fun, because there's good company for gossiping, and I don't feel like anyone is judging me. I actually feel superior than people. I feel like I am exuding a very "Look at me! I'm up and at 'em and sweatin' and burnin' some fat! You all wish you were as awesome as me!" attitude. It's very liberating.

Anyhoo, so I'm walking. And I've added crunches to the routine, too. And soon, I'll start P90 with John. Between all of this, here's to hoping I'll see some results.

Wedding gown shopping, and why I'm losing sleep over it.

NOTE: Thanks to Andrea and Ace for commenting on the previous post! I appreciate the advice!

In a couple of weeks, I get to do one of the things I've looked forward to for most of my life. I'd say it's something most girls look forward: Trying on wedding dresses.

The funny thing is, I'm terrified.

Like most women, I've struggled with my weight for most of my life, and I'm sure the rest of it will likely be the same. I am not obese by any measure, but I am somewhat overweight, something I'm highly uncomfortable with due to the fact it's pointed out to me constantly by certain people. I blame my love of food, tasty, fattening food, usually, for my "tubbiness". I'd probably weigh a whole lot less if I had a little more will power, but I just can't deny myself that extra cookie/cake/brownie/french fry/what have you. What I'm saying is, food and I are BFFs.

I've always been this way, so it's not anything I'm not used to, but for some unexplained reason, I've gained a few pounds in the last few months. I say unexplained because I have been exercising more and watching what I eat more, so I'm truly perplexed. I know it isn't muscle gain, well, maybe some, but I honestly just feel flabbier.

(And if any of you wise cracks even for a moment suggest that I am pregnant, I assure you I am not.)

So, obviously, the last thing you want to do when you are feeling fat is try on clothes. You especially don't want to try on an article of clothing as important as a wedding dress. Add in the fact that I know most dresses run small, and I already wear a size 12 regularly, so I'll probably end up ordering a size 20 or something, and I'm breaking out into a sweat just thinking about it.

I've read all the crap about not concentrating on the number, just think of how you look in the dress, and while I can do this with jeans (I cut the tags out of all my jeans so no one else knows their size), I don't think I'll be able to do it with a wedding dress. Also, 12 is much easier to swallow than 20. I blame the media on this skewed body perception, but doesn't everybody?

Also, I am taking along my mother, who has always been more petite than I, and my skinniest MOH. This probably means nothing to you, but my MOH and I went on a diet together my senior year of HS. We both lost a lot of weight, but I gained it all back in college, and she was able to keep it all off. I have always felt a little upset with myself over this, because I figured, "well, everyone gains weight in college," but clearly not.


I know it's all mental, but my mind is my worst enemy. I'm hoping it will be more pleasant than I expect, as I am sure I'm overreacting, but still. Worrying is, unfortunately, what I do best.

Moving, NYC, and life, among other things

So I survived my two day journey back to Louisiana from Massachusetts. Hardly. Kind of. Okay, it wasn't that bad.

Originally, we were supposed to tow my car behind the Penske rental truck so John and I could be in the truck together. This was supposed to be a test. Can we survive 30 hours trapped in a truck cab while driving cross country together? If yes, marriage should be a breeze. Well, when we went to put my Honda Civic on the tow dolly, we encountered a problem. It went something like this.

JOHN: OK, I'm going to drive it up now.
ME: Alright.
*John edges car onto dolly"
ME: STOP STOP STOP THE FRONT END IS HITTING IT! STOP STOP STOP!
(For the record, "it" was a huge screw on the dolly, and it was denting my front end.)

Well, it turned out the ground clearance on my car was too low, so we couldn't use the dolly. Cue panic attack.

I don't like surprises. I hate it when things don't go according to plan. I have very little "go with the flow" when it comes to things like this. I like order. Schedules. Plans. So this, this unexpected change, was the cherry on an anxiety sundae that tipped me over into full on, stress-ball Katy.

Basically, I had a melt down.

We had to bring the dolly back to rental place, and I have to give Penske props. Everyone we spoke to was really helpful and completely pleasant to deal with. They refunded me the cost of the dolly, and we had no problems whatsoever. If you ever need to rent a truck to move or what not, I highly recommend Penske. Good prices, great service.

We left at four AM Friday, the 7th. Things were going smoothly until we hit NYC.

In short, this is what we stared at for two hours:


NO ONE, and I mean no one, should have to sit in the Bronx for that long. I'm totally counting this as #26 completed. It might be fudging a little, but whatever, I experienced the joy that is the NY driver, so I'm considering it done.

We went on to get lost in New Jersey, thanks to the complexity and idiocy that is the NJ Turnpike. This resulted in another break down, but thank God for John, who was the sweetest thing ever, trying to get me to calm down. Seriously, this is why we are together. He balances out my crazy nicely.

The rest of the trip was uneventful, which was nice.

I am now living in my parents house (yuck) in Louisiana. It's the greatest of scenario, but the food is good, the bed is comfy, and frankly, I've seen worse. I still don't have a job, but I'm working as a freelance writer for now to pay the bills, which is actually pretty fun, considering. (SHAMELESS PLUG: If you want to hire me, check out my website www.katharineflockton.com)

Yesterday marked 10 months till the big day. Later this month I am going wedding dress shopping for the first time, and I am really nervous. There will be a post detailing this more later, but for now, what advice do you have for gown shopping?

Carbs make the world a better place. Especially when you spent a Sunday night drinking a lot of alcohol. Hey, I don’t judge you (okay, maybe I do).

This was written yesterday, posted today, so just pretend you are reading this on a Monday, okay?

Last night my uncle (who I live with) took me out in Boston to celebrate finishing my master’s (which technically won’t be finished-finished till December, but whatever) and also my moving out of his house, something I suspect he is both looking forward to and dreading. We started our evening at a restaurant called Rocca, where we were supposed to have dinner, but because apparently the main dining area is closed on Sunday we decided to have a drink there and relocate for dinner.

(I realized I should have been taking pictures, but I am notorious for bringing my camera out with me, and then never taking a single picture. Oh well. As a result, we are going to play the “Let’s Google Image Search things I would have taken a picture of had I remembered to” game.)

So, anyway, we ended up having the best drink I’ve ever had at Rocca. It’s called a Strada 6A, and if you are ever in Boston and find yourself looking for a cool place in the South End to have a drink GO HERE AND ORDER THIS ONE. It was super tasty.


After the tasty drink, we went to Masa for dinner. Masa is like an upscale Mexican restaurant, which at first I was really excited about, but after reading the menu, finding most EVERYTHING in Spanish, so I wasn’t 100% sure what I was ordering, and not seeing a taco or burrito in sight (yes, I know this isn’t authentic Mexican, but it’s what I’m used to), I was a little wary. In an effort to be daring, and knock another thing of my list, I decided to try mahi-mahi, mostly because my mother once said I would like it, and I usually trust my mother.

It should be said I don’t particularly care for fish. I hate the way it smells; I hate the way (most) tastes. Unless it is deep fried, I usually stay away from it. But, I didn’t want to be lame and order the chicken.

Well, my dinner came, I hesitantly took a bite, and to my chagrin, I really liked it. It tasted nothing like fish, and, I really hate this saying because it’s so cliché, but it tasted like chicken.

This was not my dinner, but it kind of looked like it:


I just Google imaged searched mahi mahi, because I realized I’ve never seen one, and now I feel really bad, because it’s actually a really pretty fish! I’m sorry, little mahi mahi! Just in case you have never seen one either:


Anyway, pallet = expanding. I consider this a small personal victory, because when it comes to food, I am really picky. Mostly I just don't like the way a food sounds or looks, or I didn't like one type of a food cooked a certain way (as it was with fish), so I avoid it all together. I've been meaning to work on this. There is something very...young about saying, "I don't like _____, it tastes/feels/looks weird." So, good for me, I guess?

After dinner, we went on a tour of Boston gay clubs, starting at Club Cafe, where it was apparently piano bar night, where I had the following run in:

Attractive gay man carrying 2 drinks: Excuse me.
Me: Sure.
Attractive gay man, who has now bumped into me in the chest area: Oh! Sorry about that. Nice boobs though.
Me: Thanks.

This is why I love gay bars. Because you can have instances like this one and it's not all awkward and creepy, and it's funny and light and self-esteem boosting. Every girl should have a few gay friends for exactly this!

We then went on to Fritz, where I was literally the only female in the bar, and then closed the evening at the Eagle. And now it is the day after, and I am paying for my evening of fun dearly. Apparently I just can't bounce back as quickly as I used to, which is sad and unfortunate.

P.S. I am moving back to Louisiana in 3 days! And I get to see John in 2! This has nothing to do with anything, but I am really excited about it :). We've been doing the long distance relationship thing for a year now, and let's just say I was ready to be done with it a year ago.