The reason why I can count on one hand and no fingers the number of productive things I did today and also why I’m writing this at 11 PM trying to make my self-imposed Sunday post deadline: drill team banquet.
The banquet, for those who don’t know, is a formal evening meal to celebrate team accomplishments throughout the year. It was today, from 5:30 to 9:30—for me, anyway; I left earlier than most others because I was so cold I couldn’t feel my extremities—but actually felt like eternity. Not because it wasn’t fun, because it definitely was; this event’s just been looming around the corner for a long while.
It was a huge source of stress for my mom and me because we don’t regularly attend events in which we have to dress nice. In my family, a formal dinner generally entails microwaving frozen Marie Callender lasagna and throwing on some sweatpants. As opposed to chips, toast, and, you know, not wearing pants at all.
We’d known banquet was coming for about a year, but neither of us wanted to think about it—see, this is where I get it from—so of course we left all preparation to the night before.
Last night, 6PM
Mom: I don’t have a dress. How formal is this?
Me: Really formal. Like, homecoming-prom kind of formal.
Mom: What’s homecoming?
Me: Come on, you don’t know what homecoming is? It’s like a school dance during the first semester. You wear shorter dresses to homecoming and long dresses to prom. Super formal.
Mom: I don’t get it. If it’s homecoming, who’s coming home?
Me: Alumni, I guess. Is this really that important—
Mom: You mean college students showing up at a high school dance? Isn’t that weird?
Me: Of course they don’t—
Mom: So then who’s coming home? *walks off*
Me: Oh my God. I don’t know.
Mom: *from another room* What do you know?
Last night, 9PM
Mom: You’re doing my makeup, right?
Me: What? No. I can barely do my own makeup; why would you assume that?
Mom: But you wear makeup all the time.
Me: … Do you even live with me??
The reason why I don’t wear makeup? Not because of unrealistic beauty standards, and not even because it damages your skin. It’s because I’m just lazy. Yeah, makeup can perform miracles like actually breathing life into my typically dead expression, but the entire process of applying and removing it is just so unappealing.
Starting this year, though, I’ve had to adjust this lifestyle on account of makeup being required for drill team performances. I think I’ve gotten better—not particularly impressive if you happened to be an unfortunate witness of my first attempts—but it’s a progressive effort.
We ended up embarking on a half-hour drive to my mom’s friend’s house—yes, the one from my “evacuation” post—for her to school us on our woeful ignorance of all things cosmetic.
Because I have unlimited space but severely limited time and motivation, I’ve decided to summarize my night with a few choice scenes.
- The Food
Me: I’ve gotten way too much. *gestures to the mound of salad, pasta, meatballs, and chicken piled an inch high on my plate*
Friend: You think?
Me: Yeah. That’s why I never give myself too much freedom in choosing food when I’m famished. Now, I’m going to start exerting some self-control so I don’t—ooooh, let me just get some of that.
Friend: *watches me scrape excitedly in the lasagna pan* What was that about self-control?
Me: I can’t hear you over the sound of this lasagna calling to me.
- The Food
Friend: Oh, look, cake balls! Chocolate and vanilla truffle, I think. Which one are you getting?
Me: You know, people say that those who prefer vanilla over chocolate are boring. *takes two*
Friend: But you just got two vanilla…?
Me: *shrugs* Well, they’re right.
Me: Mom, my speech is going to be funny. If no one laughs, I’m expecting you to pull through for me, all right? Can you do that?
Mom: I can’t be the only one laughing!
Me: *hisses* I can’t be the only one without a supportive mom! *stands up with paper, walks six steps toward senior I dedicated the speech to*
Me: *sees another person stand up across the room of ~200 people*
Me: *realizes that there are three more speeches before my turn*
Me: *dies a little inside*
- My Actual Speech
I would repost it in its entirety (because, I mean, that’s one less blog post I have to churn out), except it’s dedicated to a specific person, so I’ll leave you with two excerpts.
“Someone [once] commented on how much caffeine was probably in ____’s system. ____ then brandished her can of Coca-Cola and joked: “Coke is my crack.” And I said: “Don’t you mean Coke is your… Coke?”
“In that letter, you said that I was a ‘sophisticated, reliable, intelligent, strong, sincere, poised, and beautiful young lady.’ I agree. But don’t forget humble.”
Needless to say, I will probably not be invited to do another speech next year.
This is probably the longest post I’ve written so far, and I incredibly still have more to say. But you’ll have to excuse me; I’ve got to go wash off this cake of makeup before it seeps into my skin and hijacks my body like in that zombie snail video, the one I find so horrifying yet can’t seem to stop referencing.
Rereading that sentence, I realize that now is probably a good time to stop writing before this post gets any stranger, and get some much-needed sleep.