What not to wear

Going out to a birthday party tonight for a classmate of mine that I've barely spoke two words to before in my life. Ah well. It's all in the name of having a good time. Unfortunately for me, this means that I have to figure out the incredibly complex Saskatoon dress code again. I nearly always get it wrong.

The first time I went out, I wore jeans and a ratty old t-shirt to the "Round up" dance. I mean, it was a two-step party where people get sloshed and watch stupid video skits. Everyone else was in silk, satin, former prom dresses, feather boas, etc. Luckily, I prefer dressing down to dressing up. But then the next time we had a social function, it was the Awards Night Banquet where all the parents and grandparents and school sponsors come out for a dinner and awards ceremony. So I went in a lovely skirt and black top with a crystal necklace and whatnot - and everyone was in cordoruoy, jeans, and t-shirts. They were all "whoa! you dressed up!" and I was all "Whoa! you guys didn't dress up!"

I felt like an idiot. I hate overdressing.
It's like Lily says in The Princess Diaries (in reference to Princess Mia's doc martens, jeans and red hoody), "Why didn't we dress like her? We look like idiots!"

And last night, I went to Medicomania which is a talent show put on by the med, dent, pharmacy, nutrition, physiotherapy and vet med students. There were going to be stupid skits and some singing and dancing and stuff. I wore jeans and the same shirt I had sowrn in anatomy lab earlier on in the day. Everyone else was in little black dresses and strappy sandals.

So I have given up and now wear whatever the hell I feel like wearing. I used to think that I had that philosophy down pat, but my annoyance at being dressed opposite to everyone has made me realise that I care too much about f*cked up dress codes that make no sense whatsoever.

From now on, I wear what I want and i that means that I'm the only one in the rubber chicken suit, then so be it.

And so tonight, I am mixing it up. I am wearing a lovely strapless little black dress, but over top, I am wearing my ratty brown linted up Old Navy sweater with a funky turquoise and crystal flower-shaped pin. Oh yeah.

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Well, just got back from the party and needless to say, everyone was in jeans and tank tops. With my new attitude to clothing, however, I only laughed it off and shrugged. I thought it was going to be a pub, but apparently, it's a pub/country bar/nightclub. It would appear that that is the only type of night time hangout there is in Saskatoon. The beauty of Saskatoon pub/ country bars/ nightclubs, however, is that you only pay TWO DOLLARS COVER CHARGE and all drinks are about THREE DOLLARS!!!!! Turns out I only had 8 bucks cash on me but with that, I managed to pay my cover, check in my coat, and get two drinks.

Anyhow, I thought that I was going to be sitting around chatting it up with my classmates whilst nursing a beer. Instead, only 6 people showed up (none of whom were the birthday boy. he was 2 hours late)and they were very interested in dancing the night away. So after finding out I couldn't check my huge MEC purse into the coat check, I lugged it around my shoulder and wandered to the dance floor in my chunky brown sweater. I felt like some sort of overheated St. Bernard dog with a big barrel around its neck.

After a half an hour of trying to dance with both sweater and monstrosity of a purse, I decided something had to change. I did the following: a) removed sweater andtied it around my waist, hoping like hte dickens that my strapless dress wouldn't fall down b) put my purse down where I could keep an eye on it, and c) got a stiff drink.

My alterations improved my demeanor significantly - especially the stiff drink. Unfortunately, my dress did start slipping down (which is the whole reason I wore the sweater on top in the first place) and in what can only be described as a stroke of genius, I removed the straps from my bra and attached them to my dress so essentially, I changed my dress to one with spaghetti straps and my bra to a strapless one. It worked. So after another couple of stiff drinks, I was set to party it up till the cows came home (that's only an idiom folks, although being in Saskatoon, that wouldn't be too far from the truth).

And party it up we did. I started out the night with two left feet. I ended it off dancing to nearly everything htat came my way. Suddenly, "Friday Cowboy" wasn't so atrocious anymore and the wierd guy in page-boy hat and matching sweater that kept coming up to dance with me wasn't so wierd either.

I ended up buying a straight shot of tequila for the birthday boy which I believe nearly killed him. For one thing, he was turning 30 and for another, everyone else had already bought him something to drink. But what is a 30 year old doing partying it up with 20 year olds in the small hours of hte morning anyhow? Shouldn't he be at home drinking chamomile tea, wearing pinstriped pajamas and sleeping? Seriously! (My apologies to all you lively 30 year olds out there. I'm sure I'll be more sympathetic in another 9 years.)

Well, that is all for now.

I'm with Jeff on this one: drunken blogging is the best.