A Palace Ball
So, I guess, ball season is over for me. No more make up sessions and ball dresses and uncomfortable heels. No more purses so small you have to decide between carrying your tampons or lipstick. And sadly, no more being a princess for a night... or 3. Last night was the IAEA Ball in the Hofburg palace. I think that was my 7th time attending and you know what? That ball requires a lot of alcohol. And I did not have that last night. It is a fabulous location and the people watching is epic, but I forgot how absolutely exhausting this ball can be. To quote a friend: Champagne problems, my friends. And I will get to that in a little while. Yesterday was a chill day at home. My back was hurting and I spent some time googling "Does combining Midol and Advil kill you?" I took a bath and I laid down on the floor and luckily by 4, the pain lessened. At 4:30 a make up artist came by to spackle my face. I had never met her before but she had generously donated make up sessions as a prize for my fundraiser raffle so I thought I would hire her for the Ball. I asked for a smoky eye and a less red face and she got to work. After about an hour I was done and it was time to put on my ball dress and my bling and head into the winter night.... not looking like this.
I met my friends C, C, R, F, G, S and T at the Regina Margarita in the First District. I was glad I could join them and to catch up with C and C who were in town visiting. It's a lovely Italian restaurant and on Saturday nights they have a singer and keyboard player and it is very Big and Carrie from Sex and the City in that episode that he suddenly acts like a Goodfella. I ordered a non-alcoholic beer because my strength knows no bounds. At one point, my friend R. cleared her throat and said "Um. I just have to point out that you are NOT wearing the pink dress that you were working on." and I dropped my head in shame and said "I know. I have failed." This is the problem with my social media bravado, people know when I have not done something I have bragged about. The SHAME! We had some starters and I had pizza and we chatted and Google image stalked people (my favourite). After dinner we had coffee, whipped out our phone calculators to figure out our share of the bill and realized that none of us would ever be accepted to MIT and then made our way to the Hofburg palace. As we walked through the palace arches, we noticed a crowd of people dressed for the ball going in a different direction. We spent a good 2 minutes wondering what was happening and then C and I nominated G to ask a couple why they were going in the wrong direction. Some people may say that's bossy, I consider it outsourcing. G stopped a couple and asked why they seemed to be migrating North and they said "Apparently based on our tickets, we need to enter from the other side." And they weren't amused. My feet were already screaming and so I helpfully said "Well, that's a load of crap." and our small group stood there bitching about the new entry policy while the poor couple stood there, not sure if they should start walking again. We let them go and continued to the regular entrance, grumbling that we would be outraged should they make us go to another entrance on the other side of the palace.
Well, there was no drama, we were let in and then we faced another change: the coat check situation. Every year it's been the same procedure; a long hallway of coat racks with disgruntled palace employees, taking our coats and passing us our numbers. This time it was a smaller room and we were told that at the end of the night, we would have to locate the "Kassa", pay for the coat fee and then take our receipt to the coat check. No bueno. I don't like change. We de-coated, checked our make up, I checked my feet for feeling and then walked to the grand staircase. Every year there is a traffic jam and people in kilos of tulle try and get the money shot with the marble bust of Emperor Franz Josef. There is also the small group of 50 people who try to recreate their prom pictures while dangerously arranging themselves on the marble steps. It's a cacophony of people in jewels and trailing dresses and stilettos and the fact that someone has not broken their neck yet is an absolute miracle.
We finally made it up the stairs and walked through some of the absolutely incredible rooms. It's a palace, it's grand, it is totally my style aesthetic. My friends located their table which was located in a room just off the main hallway and, since I have a runner ticket, I sat down with them because no shame. I ordered a Pepsi and looked around the beautiful room and said "I am totally going to Instagram this and be like 'Renovations to the apartment are done. #Ikea' and then people are going to start wondering what happened to all the money I raised at the fundraiser.. Heh. Heh. Heh." Um, actually, side note, the money raised from the fundraiser is being deposited into the Verein account as soon as it is finalized. Don't worry. It's cool. I'm good for it. I rested my feet for a few minutes and then walked around with a couple of friends. The funny thing about being sober at a ball is realizing how blotto so many people are when they show up. I was amused. And smug. But to be fair, most of the tipsiness was visible in the under 25 crowd and I can't fault them because that was me last year at 34. Heh. I bumped into a few friends on the way as I minced through the immense palace. I visited a couple of other rooms, getting caught in ball traffic jams when the hallways narrowed. A ball traffic jam is just as fun as a car traffic jam but with more Chanel No. 5 and having people step on your dress repeatedly. I sat down with my friends H, A and B and ordered another Pepsi (I'm like a super hero, I know) and people watched. There was quite a parade of dresses. At one point I blurted out that I felt I was now qualified to be a gynecologist after a Kardashian doppelgänger walked by in a very see-through dress. I even spied someone dressed as Disney's Cinderella, I shit you not. She had the hair, the choker and the dress and I may or may not have wondered if my Pepsi had been spiked when I first saw her in all her Disney glory.
I walked and I walked and just after midnight, I realized it was time to go home. My feet were aching and I was exhausted. Pity me. Waaah, my feet hurt from standing on marble surrounded by immense chandeliers and baroque mirrors. I paid for the coat check, then picked up my coat, and stepped into the cold night and jumped into a taxi. The taxi sped through the palace grounds, through the large arches and into the Michaelerplatz that house Roman ruins. We passed the Lipizaner horse school, passed the Opera House and I smiled. Hands down one of my favourite routes through the city. I walked into my building, tripped up the steps because my dress got caught on my heel and then opened the door to the apartment, kicking off my blasted shoes. It was a lovely night and not as cray cray as I thought it would be... I'm not sure, but it could have to do with the fact that I did not pickle myself. So there it is, my ball season is done. I'm ok with that. I am also ridiculously proud of myself and incredibly smug that I went to another event and avoided the booze. So smug. The sun is shining, and I am cleaning and writing and of course pinning ideas for a friend's baby shower that I am hosting in March. I cannot wait! It is going to be a Tiki theme and I love a good theme so the next few weeks are going to be a blast!
In a little while I will take the Kid for a walk in the almost balmy weather and then meet a friend for some boring-ass tea but at least the company will be fabulous. And the last thought to this post is: I think my bangs are more popular than I am. They are going to need their own Instagram account. I'm a little jealous that I am being upstaged. I thought regret would come in a different form but here we are. Have a wonderful Sunday afternoon and toodles!
I met my friends C, C, R, F, G, S and T at the Regina Margarita in the First District. I was glad I could join them and to catch up with C and C who were in town visiting. It's a lovely Italian restaurant and on Saturday nights they have a singer and keyboard player and it is very Big and Carrie from Sex and the City in that episode that he suddenly acts like a Goodfella. I ordered a non-alcoholic beer because my strength knows no bounds. At one point, my friend R. cleared her throat and said "Um. I just have to point out that you are NOT wearing the pink dress that you were working on." and I dropped my head in shame and said "I know. I have failed." This is the problem with my social media bravado, people know when I have not done something I have bragged about. The SHAME! We had some starters and I had pizza and we chatted and Google image stalked people (my favourite). After dinner we had coffee, whipped out our phone calculators to figure out our share of the bill and realized that none of us would ever be accepted to MIT and then made our way to the Hofburg palace. As we walked through the palace arches, we noticed a crowd of people dressed for the ball going in a different direction. We spent a good 2 minutes wondering what was happening and then C and I nominated G to ask a couple why they were going in the wrong direction. Some people may say that's bossy, I consider it outsourcing. G stopped a couple and asked why they seemed to be migrating North and they said "Apparently based on our tickets, we need to enter from the other side." And they weren't amused. My feet were already screaming and so I helpfully said "Well, that's a load of crap." and our small group stood there bitching about the new entry policy while the poor couple stood there, not sure if they should start walking again. We let them go and continued to the regular entrance, grumbling that we would be outraged should they make us go to another entrance on the other side of the palace.
Well, there was no drama, we were let in and then we faced another change: the coat check situation. Every year it's been the same procedure; a long hallway of coat racks with disgruntled palace employees, taking our coats and passing us our numbers. This time it was a smaller room and we were told that at the end of the night, we would have to locate the "Kassa", pay for the coat fee and then take our receipt to the coat check. No bueno. I don't like change. We de-coated, checked our make up, I checked my feet for feeling and then walked to the grand staircase. Every year there is a traffic jam and people in kilos of tulle try and get the money shot with the marble bust of Emperor Franz Josef. There is also the small group of 50 people who try to recreate their prom pictures while dangerously arranging themselves on the marble steps. It's a cacophony of people in jewels and trailing dresses and stilettos and the fact that someone has not broken their neck yet is an absolute miracle.
We finally made it up the stairs and walked through some of the absolutely incredible rooms. It's a palace, it's grand, it is totally my style aesthetic. My friends located their table which was located in a room just off the main hallway and, since I have a runner ticket, I sat down with them because no shame. I ordered a Pepsi and looked around the beautiful room and said "I am totally going to Instagram this and be like 'Renovations to the apartment are done. #Ikea' and then people are going to start wondering what happened to all the money I raised at the fundraiser.. Heh. Heh. Heh." Um, actually, side note, the money raised from the fundraiser is being deposited into the Verein account as soon as it is finalized. Don't worry. It's cool. I'm good for it. I rested my feet for a few minutes and then walked around with a couple of friends. The funny thing about being sober at a ball is realizing how blotto so many people are when they show up. I was amused. And smug. But to be fair, most of the tipsiness was visible in the under 25 crowd and I can't fault them because that was me last year at 34. Heh. I bumped into a few friends on the way as I minced through the immense palace. I visited a couple of other rooms, getting caught in ball traffic jams when the hallways narrowed. A ball traffic jam is just as fun as a car traffic jam but with more Chanel No. 5 and having people step on your dress repeatedly. I sat down with my friends H, A and B and ordered another Pepsi (I'm like a super hero, I know) and people watched. There was quite a parade of dresses. At one point I blurted out that I felt I was now qualified to be a gynecologist after a Kardashian doppelgänger walked by in a very see-through dress. I even spied someone dressed as Disney's Cinderella, I shit you not. She had the hair, the choker and the dress and I may or may not have wondered if my Pepsi had been spiked when I first saw her in all her Disney glory.
I walked and I walked and just after midnight, I realized it was time to go home. My feet were aching and I was exhausted. Pity me. Waaah, my feet hurt from standing on marble surrounded by immense chandeliers and baroque mirrors. I paid for the coat check, then picked up my coat, and stepped into the cold night and jumped into a taxi. The taxi sped through the palace grounds, through the large arches and into the Michaelerplatz that house Roman ruins. We passed the Lipizaner horse school, passed the Opera House and I smiled. Hands down one of my favourite routes through the city. I walked into my building, tripped up the steps because my dress got caught on my heel and then opened the door to the apartment, kicking off my blasted shoes. It was a lovely night and not as cray cray as I thought it would be... I'm not sure, but it could have to do with the fact that I did not pickle myself. So there it is, my ball season is done. I'm ok with that. I am also ridiculously proud of myself and incredibly smug that I went to another event and avoided the booze. So smug. The sun is shining, and I am cleaning and writing and of course pinning ideas for a friend's baby shower that I am hosting in March. I cannot wait! It is going to be a Tiki theme and I love a good theme so the next few weeks are going to be a blast!
In a little while I will take the Kid for a walk in the almost balmy weather and then meet a friend for some boring-ass tea but at least the company will be fabulous. And the last thought to this post is: I think my bangs are more popular than I am. They are going to need their own Instagram account. I'm a little jealous that I am being upstaged. I thought regret would come in a different form but here we are. Have a wonderful Sunday afternoon and toodles!
Comments
Post a Comment