Monday, March 29, 2010

Elbow elbow, wrist wrist

Thank the heavens above, the fitting the other day went well and that bride is no longer my concern. Idiot that she was, she was once the problem of a different seamstress but 5 fittings later decided it wasn't working out, so it was now on my shoulders. Yup, I had to redo someone else's work with only 4 days to do it. Bah! Oh, and that seamstress had already redone it three times. You can understand why I was a bit nervous about the situation.

So, onto happier things...or at least less fresh things (why do I feel like I need to be walking on the beach with a trusted friend when I say that?). Have I mentioned that I hate pageant people? No? Well, I do. We've had a couple brides come into the shop with their fake tans, bleached all to hell teeth, ugly blonde highlights perfectly coiffed with the aid of the biggest bumpit ever created and their moms. Oh the moms. Their moms do all the talking (typically about how amazing their daughter is) and the daughters do all the bitching. Bust still, why so much rage?

1. They get nasty orange makeup all over the insides of the dresses. Seriously, why do you need makeup on your chest? How is it getting into all the nooks and crannies of the designer dresses? Why is it always the same exact shade of orange?

2. The delicate little snowflakes are so much more special than every other bride ever. "Well, she is used to wearing very expensive gowns, so this one has to be amazing," and, "Well she's been in a lot of pageants and won the *insert random title that means absolutely NOTHING to anyone with any sense* two years running, so I certainly hope you have something that can wow us." Look, I don't sell the dresses, I just make them look right. I couldn't care less if you aren't "wowed" by the dresses here.

3. They sit and fuss over the smallest details that, apparently, make them look bigger than they are. Honey, between the eating disorders and the overexposure to UV rays, you look like a freaking slim jim. I know you are just fishing for compliments about how you actually look so great, well this stream is all tapped out, best try elsewhere.

4. They call me Hon, Sweetie, Babe, and every other variant that exists. Listen, Sugar, I am older than you and I have a name. Use it or GTFO.

Is that enough? Is my hate justified yet? I had one of these cheeto orange monstrosities a while back that stood out more than some others. A few minutes into the fitting it turned out that I had known her brother several years back. We were never super close, so I just chuckled a bit and went back to pinning. She decided that "Ohmygosh, that is just so crazy and who could have imagined such a small world! And ohmygosh, mom, call him right now!!"
Yes, while I was trying to do my job, I was forced into an awkward phone call with a guy who I hadn't spoken to in over 5 years. He was married and had 2 or 3 kids and, after asking me if I had kids, questioned when I was going to take the leap.

*On a side note, if you want to make me all stabby, ask me when I am going to have kids. I typically tell people that unless they are directly involved in their making, they don't need to worry about what goes on in my uterus so much*

I go back to pinning the girl who is quickly becoming my least favorite person ever while her mom insists on telling me all the amazing things her kids have accomplished. The list pretty much consists of being pretty, and procreating. Once it was all finished, both of them made sure I knew to be extra careful and do an extra good job on her dress since she is so super important. They even tell me I should come to the reception since I'm basically an old family friend now. Yeah, I got home and proceeded to chuck the dress on a chair in a wad*.

*Look, the dresses are all made in China and get smooshed into a tiny box to ship on a boat. Nothing I do can hurt it any worse. I make sure they don't get damaged or dirty, but sometimes you have to let a few crinkles show your rage. That is, until I steam them out.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Disclaimers and stuff

I suppose I need to put this up here somewhere:
This blog is for entertainment purposes. I make a large effort to keep everyone (including myself) anonymous. If you somehow happen upon this and think you know who I am, or think I am talking about you and your tender little feelers are all hurt, just ask me and I will remove the story. Honestly, the likelihood of this happening is about the same as me winning an oscar. I'm not sure how it would happen, but I have my fancy shoes all polished just in case.

I know I am not the only one out there with crazy stories, so feel free to email me your own. Please keep it to stories you have experienced first-hand, since we're all about integrity around here.

Comments and discussion are encouraged and welcome. I will be screening all comments for now, but maybe if you're good you can say what you want and have one (ONE!) juicebox before your afternoon nap. Maybe.

I have plenty more crazy, but for now I have to go work on a dress that has been re-done 3 other times. Yes. This is attempt number 4 to satisfy this precious little snowflake because some people don't know or say what they want. Only 3 more hours before I have to put on my "Yay, weddings!" face. In the meantime what do you want to hear about? Funny stories? Awkward moments? How I got stuck doing this? How not to end up on this blog? Just tell me. I do, after all, make a habit of giving the people what they want.

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

And so it begins

"I don't know how you can deal with brides everyday!"

This is a phrase I hear all too often. I have been working for some time as a seamstress primarily working on wedding gowns. Honestly, it's not the most horrible gig in the world. I work from home (in my p.j.s most days), make decent money, set my own hours, and, oh yeah, get to deal with some of the craziest people on the planet (and their moms!). Hmm...why do I do it? Meh, who cares. At least I get some entertaining stories out of it, and, by extension, so do you.

Where to begin. How about we keep it fairly tame for this intro post. This happened fairly recently and is still extremely odd to me. I had a first fitting with this bride the day before and she was rather picky, but not awful. Honestly, how many times do I need to pin the bustle for you to feel at peace with it? We finished up, set up a pickup appointment, and all was well. For that day. The next day (sunday-my day off) my phone rang at 9 am and guess who it is. Here is a basic transcript of the conversation (for a written copy send a self addressed envelope to Pueblo, Colorado!):

Her: Hi, I was just calling because I just had a nightmare last night that the hem on my dress ended up being too short.

Me: Um...ok...

Her: Yeah, so I think we should make it longer than what you marked yesterday.

Me: Well, I can do that if you like, but I marked it to just above the ground and it really should be fine.

Her: I know, it's just in my dream it was really too short, so I think we should move it just to be safe.

Me: *getting a strained neck from how hard I'm rolling my eyes* You got it. I will do it a little longer than what is marked.

Her: Good! Thanks!

Don't you hate it when people insist on telling you about their dreams? Seriously, though, why would you phrase it like that? She could have just told me she had decided she wanted it longer, but she feels the need to tell me it's because of a dream?
Brides are crazy and there is the proof.