Chapter 1: Attack of the Horrible Bridesmaid Dress
Sitting in the fluffy boutique made me want to vomit, or gauge my eyes out, if I had to hear “Endless Love” one more fucking time. It’s not that I don’t appreciate music, but hearing sappy love songs for the last four hours had official been my own private hell. My limited experience with love could be the biggest aversion to the damn song. Or maybe it was my sheer hatred for the color pink. Either way, today effin blowed. The only time I played in the game of love, I failed miserably. Left shattered into a million and one tiny pieces, and alone. No wonder there are so many single people in this world. Nursing third degree burns from previous lovers was a good enough reason for someone to run far far away from the evil bastard.
“Molly Anne, are you paying attention? I asked what you thought of this dress?” My overly excited and dramatic sister questioned, while she twirled in another weird shade of pink dress up on the pedestal. Everyone in the group that we were with agreed in the selection. All I can see is this horrible color and the big as fuck flower bow right above her ass.
“What’s going on with the funky color?”
“Really Molly, do you have no taste? It’s called rose, and it’s one of the main staples of the wedding. Seriously, I have been planning this wedding for months and you have no clue!”
Her voice reminded me of a banshee, the tone that made you want to walk yourself right off a cliff. She was right; I haven’t paid any attention to this gigantic horrible affair she was planning to her own personal ken doll. Watching her model dress after dress for the bridal party was enough participation for me, plus shouldn't her bridesmaids be trying them on? I’m no expert on the ins and outs of wedding planning, but I figure the bride wore a wedding dress and the bridesmaids wore the other ugly frock, not the bride doing both. But hey, I’ve been wrong before, just ask anyone in my family.
“That dress looks amazing on you Rebecca,” one of her many clone Barbie friends exclaimed, as I rolled my eyes. Of course they liked the dress; it had been by far the ugliest thing she had put on today.
“See this is the perfect color, but I don’t know how the top is going to look on Molly’s chest. I mean you need some curves to fill out the neckline.”
“Are you that shallow Rebecca, wait, scratch that. I can’t believe you are that worried about my boobs. It a dress, just pick a fucking dress and we can be done.” I have finally snapped, there was no coming back from pissed off Molly land now.
There was not one ounce of compassion left in my body for my sister. I don’t care what fucking color the dress is, if it has one strap or two, or if its floor length, or above my knees. All I wanted is for this day to be over. I have a date playing at the coffee house down the corner from my apartment tonight, and I couldn’t wait to get out of here.
“Molly Anne, there is no reason to snap at your sister. She has tough decisions to make, and you are not helping young lady,” our mother glared, making me feel like I was twelve years old again.
“I’m done, pick the dress with your little friends and then order mine. Size two please, remember it’s a size smaller than what you wear.”
I knew throwing the size factor would be like a one-two punch to my sister’s ego. Her appearance was so important to her, just like every other woman at the country club. Being skinnier then her was always a touchy subject, even if she is full of gorgeous womanly curves, and I look like a stick with small boobs attached awkwardly under my face.
“Molly Anne McGlenister, you need to apologize right now!” Our mother’s eyes bulged out of her face, considering that was the only thing that could move with all the Botox she had recently injected. Slowly, I turned around and offered a sweet smile. I flipped the bird and let my smile fall, glaring at the women sitting around the large mirrors. I couldn’t believe anyone wanted to be like those robots. I’m pretty sure they all shared the same bullshit filled brain.
“Deuces bitches.” Sticking my tongue out at them, I turned for the door and stomped my way out of the frilly fucking nightmare. I am never getting married, this was a total joke. If love really existed, how in the world would your future spouse let you jump on the crazy train and plan all this crap? It’s like the bride’s soul has been taken by a body snatcher and all sense of reason had been lost. Well, that would require my sister to have a soul, and I’m pretty sure she sold it to the devil at fourteen for bigger boobs. Why didn’t I think of that?
It was like I could finally breathe again, as I skipped over to my car. No longer suffocating amongst all the carbon copy clones, I was able to run away and not look back. Well, that would hold true till Sunday morning brunch at the club. That was the only day someone could catch me in a damn skirt and polo. If having breakfast with my parent’s wasn't bad enough, I actually had to dress the part of one big happy fucking family too. I had to take out my lip ring, and limit my earrings to only two studs in each lobe. My short choppy black and purple bob would be neatly straightened, and pinned back so the purple pieces were less noticeable; and I once again, was a McGlenister daughter. At least they claimed I was, on days like that. The moment I ran out of there, the stupid shirt was off, and I was planning on driving home in just my bra and panties. I didn’t care if people saw me. At least my undergarments reflected who I was; my parents didn’t have control on what color or style those little ditties were……….. just yet.
My car beeped, as the unlock button was pressed and I slid into the hot leather interior. It’s always hot in the south, but this spring had been unbearable. One would think that living in the lower states with all the ‘beautiful’ sunshine I would tan, but no, that wasn’t in the cards for me. I looked like a damn lobster if I stayed out in the sun for too long. It never turned into a tan once the burn went away, just back to to the lovely shade of white. My mother and sister were always trying to get me to go get a spray tan, but I have a huge aversion to looking like an oompa loompa. Orange just wasn’t my color; I’d stick the basics of the color wheel.
I smashed the key into the ignition and brought my baby to life; cranking the air conditioner as high as it would go. The purr of the engine sent chills down my spine, as I tossed the car into reverse and glanced behind me. The only benefit to my parents having money was this car. It took almost two years of begging my father to let me have a classic before I even got remotely anywhere with him.
“They are not safe vehicles. How about a nice Porsche or a Mercedes?” My father always asked.
But, I was relentless in my quest for the 65 Mustang convertible. I spent months searching for the perfect one, and finally found it outside of Athens, Georgia. It was the perfect color of Cherry red, and still was sporting the original black top. The interior needed work, but her body was in mint condition.
I begged and pleaded to the best of my abilities for weeks till he finally caved and bought this little beauty. My father had sent a driver down to pick it up and haul it back for us, since he refused to do it himself. I remember waiting outside for the truck to pull up with my baby; it was automatic love at first sight. Now, anyone who says it’s not love at first sight its lust, is a lying sack of shit. They apparently have never met my car. I am in a monogamous lesbian relationship with this slick piece of metal. She captured my heart at first glance, and we have been together ever since. Who needed a man, when I had this power between my legs.
Tossing my keys on the bar in the kitchen I wandered over to grab a beer from the fridge. The cold liquid was exactly what I needed after an afternoon like that. Who knew having my sister try on millions of ugly dresses would take so much out of me. It felt like I had just been body checked at a roller derby game; my body was out for the count. Slamming the rest of my Coors Light bottle back, I tossed it into the recycling bin, and headed for the shower. I needed to undo the ‘prettiness’ I had done earlier to fit ‘in’ with the crowd. The real Molly needed to emerge from the fake BS I graced everyone with.
Watching the water swirl down the drain I couldn’t help but feel like it should symbolize something meaningful in life. Maybe, that my life was a big sucking vortex? Or that everything always seemed to head south? It’s not that I have a bad life; it’s just not the life I wanted to live. I had never been into the glitz and glamour that my mother and sister’s world thrived on. I didn’t take part in any social committees, and wasn’t crowned anything at a high school dance. I don’t dress in the latest fashion, and my hair normally had some sort of vibrant color streaked into the black color I dye it. Socially I am an outcast in our community, but in my little world I am a Rock Star.
My father always told us girls we could grow up to be anything, and my mother harped from an early age that we needed to grow up and become the perfect trophy wife. Somehow my lame sister believed all that crap, and now she is falling down the black rabbit hole of marriage. Maybe it’s not my life that represents a drain, maybe it is just everyone else around me. Then again, maybe I just think too much and need to turn my damn mind off. Yep, betting that’s to key to my solitude. Silence, it’s a novel concept.
It never took me long to get ready, just a few minutes to dry my short hair and run a flat iron over the pieces that insist on being crazy and medusa like. My makeup was pretty basic too; however some nights I added a little glittery eye shadow to my normal eyeliner and mascara. However, those nights are rare, considering I had a tendency to look like a street walker after it was done. It took a long time for me to become comfortable with my appearance. All I ever heard while growing up was what I should have been doing different. Making my hair a brighter blonde and adding layers of makeup on my skin, was never going to make the outlook any better. I hated that life, and in return hated everyone around me. Thus making me the stereotypical teen that thought the world was out to get me. Emo had nothing on my inner sulking lifestyle, I was a total wreck.
My family never accepted the girl I chose to be; it was always “Molly, you would look so much better if you just did this”. But somehow I made it through those awful years of teenage angst. Lord knows how, but I actually came out on top. In the end I truly liked myself, and that was all that mattered in my little world.
Tonight was one of those nights I decided to take a little more time on my appearance. Running the flat iron over my ends and backcombing the top to get a little height, let the purple streaks I dyed last week pop out more from the underneath. My eyes are smoldering with the smoky eye look, and the perfect clear gloss was applied to my lips. Taking a step back from the mirror I gazed at my reflection. “Molly Anne McGlenister, what in the world have you done to yourself now?”
I played at the café at least one night a week. Normally that was all the time I had available since my soulless black leach of a boss needed me at every single moment of my life. Being an assistant to the event planner at the club wasn’t my first choice for employment. However there really wasn’t much around here that would pay me what I make, considering I never went to college and insisted on living on my own. I worked at a little local record shop for a couple months after I turned eighteen. It was the best job in the entire world, completely my scene and pace. Listening to music all day soothed my soul and cleared my mind. It was like waking up in heaven each day when I stepped foot in that place.
Sadly, I wanted so desperately to move out of my parents’ house and the only way that was going to happen was if I actually made more than minimum wage. My parents made it very clear they would not help with my living expenses if I did not attend college, and by college they meant Old Miss. Surviving the couple years till my trust fund became available at twenty one was a daunting task, one that I barely came out of. But I managed; I survived the ordeal of early adult life and didn’t end up stripping. Not that anyone would want to see me strip with my itty titty bitties anyway.
I had to quit that amazing job and work with my mother’s best friend to be able to move the hell out of my parents grasp. At the time I didn’t know what hurt more. Losing the music job, or going to my mother and asking her for help with a job. Looking back I realized it was my mother, I fucking hated it when she had one up on me.
Tonight was the night where my soul could fly free amongst the tangled mess I claimed to live in. I loved everything about playing guitar. The click of opening the case, peering into the blood-red crushed velvet insides of my guitar’s save haven. The weight in my hands, when I lifted him out of the case, and place him in my arms. My fingers would glide effortlessly over his strings, and the cool leather of the strap comforts my neck when I slide it over my head. There was not one little thing I didn’t like about playing guitar, it was like my southern comfort in a roundabout way.
“Hey Benny, how is tonight going?”
I gave a soft smile to the man behind the mixing boards in the corner of the small café. Before I took the stage at nine, it was open mic night. It tended to bring in all sorts of people from various walks of life; a truly diverse group of friendly people. It’s one of the main reasons I moved to a loft apartment down town. The vibe the city gave off was amazing; colorful and lively. There were so many cultures crammed into a small area, that everyone was basically forced to get along if you wanted to stay and enjoy the atmosphere. No one was spiteful and mean; essentially a room full of music loving hippies filled the cafe during the night. It was the best place for a music junkie like myself. I could listen to just about anything with a beat, letting my mind get wrapped up in the melodies and the lyrics from the songs, touching my soul and leaving an imprint with every cord strung.