Though not quite the palindrome I was hoping for, the 18th of November was still a special day for all those involved. After being ‘pampered’ the day before with a manicure and pedicure, the upcoming nuptials seemed like far less of a challenge than the torture I had just suffered. Additionally, I had also been chosen to be one of the bridesmaids. For my dear friend that was getting married, I would walk over red hot coals. And nearly did, considering that I stayed the night as the hairdresser would be knocking on the door early the next day. Any rest I was hoping for, however, proved to be an elusive and rare commodity. 

At six, I reluctantly rose from bed. My entire body ached and all four of my limbs protested such treatment after exerting my body past its limits at badminton. Pushing aside the fact that I only had about three to four hours of quality sleep, I soldiered on by forcing a smile on my face. This was my friend’s big day. It would not do to complain (much). 

Breakfast was served by the mother of the bride. We were not the only ones to indulge the eggs and sausages on display. Many of the bride’s cousins and nieces in her extended family had also slept over. They were just as eager to snatch up a plate as they prepared for the day ahead.

Stomach sated, I dreaded when it would by turn. To have my hair pulled and strained the name of ‘fashion.’ To distract myself, I pulled out my phone and watched several videos on YouTube, keeping track of the channels I had subscribed to. Allt he while, I was also trying to avoid any make-up until the appointed time.

When noon finally rolled around, I was caked in powder that had been used to contour my cheeks. My hair was up and stuffed with fifty or so bobby pins. Suffice it to say, I was already anticipating the drive back home. 

A lackadaisical lunch followed before it was time for photographs. By this time, the groom and his four groomsmen had arrived for the appointed tea ceremony.

For close to an hour, we posed and smiled until we were expected to arrive at Lauriston House for the actual wedding ceremony. Any nerves I had were quashed by my exhaustion and I was tempted to sleep as we drove through the back streets of the suburbs.

There was little time to rest when we arrived. The ceremony was just minutes away and we had to ready the foyer for the reception that would follow immediately after. It was simplicity itself to set up the wishing well and the collection of pens. Before I knew it, we were counting down the seconds until the ‘big’ event by taking several pictures while cloistered in the waiting room.

As the clock struck four thirty, out we hopped. Dressed in a shade that would be best described as maroon, we trailed after the excited flower girls and watched as the bride made her way on stage. 

To call it magical would be to fall into a cliche. Yet there are no other words to describe the moment that the vows were read and the rings exchanged. While I was disappointed that their kiss was chaste (I was hoping for much more tongue), I could not help sharing in the joy that the deed was done.

Group photos followed.

Using that time, I caught up with many of the others that had been invited. We chatted until we were all expected to head in. I also managed to sample many of the canapes on display, smearing my lipstick before the grand three course meal.

The reception followed a traditional set-up. Entrees, mains and dessert were served – interspersed with eloquent speeches from those that had been asked. The two most memorable hiccups during the evening was the groom’s mother upending a little of the program by demanding that the guests were bored even before the first dance – and the fact that the DJ had no idea what an equaliser was nor cared to tone down the music when we were supposed to be eating.

When it was time for the bride and groom to take to the dance floor, all of their dearest friends cheered. Before long, all of us were up there, shredding up the linoleum. Yours truly proved to be a versatile dancer. Many compliments were tossed towards my mother for my prowess.

After all was said and done, and the other guest had departed, it was finally time for this blogging bridesmaid to head back home. Hopefully next time I’ll simply be a guest. Being part of the bridal party, while exciting, also meant that there was plenty of work involved. Organisation was key throughout the entire day.

Still, it was a great experience to have and to memorialise on this humble blog. And for you, the readers, to enjoy reading about what little antics serve to distract me from providing quality gaming impressions.

For any blushing awaiting their ‘big’ day, the Hen’s Party is a time to unwind and relax with those nearest and dearest. Or to celebrate what’s left of their time as an ‘independent young woman who don’t need no man.’ With my third wedding of the year looming on the horizon, I readied myself for what would be an exhausting and draining weekend. 

The Saturday was beautiful. Perfect for any event that might grace it. Yet, it was during the early hours before I had even managed to start it that I encountered my first stumble. After vacuuming the house from top to bottom, I hurried to the nearby station to pick up one of the other lovely ladies. Right on schedule, we pulled up at the local supermarket to pick up a collection of juices that would be needed for the cocktails that the other girls would be indulging later that evening.

But as we drove towards the house of the soon-to-be bride, the traffic kept us locked in place. Every light was red as we limped through the major arteries of Greater Sydney.

Contrary to my own expectations and the image that I had painstakingly curated over several years, we were late. There was barely enough time to unload the car before we were on the shuttle bus. Our destination: the Gunnery Barracks. Feeling a little under dressed compared to many of the others, I, nonetheless, kept my nose high as I mustered what little decorum I had. Pinky out, I savoured the herbal infusion with much delight even as I devoured the scones, sandwiches and other delectable desserts. 

All too soon, our time ended. But not without suffering through minutes of watching the food go cold as many were desperate to take the ‘perfect’ photograph. 

As we piled back into the bus, it was not long before we arrived at the quaint Airbnb in the Rocks. Out we came, carrying our overnight bags and an entire shop’s worth of alcoholic beverages the others were hoping to mix.

And thus, the games began in earnest.

Things started simple enough as we acclimatised to our new surroundings. Yet it was not long before this blogger was forced to volunteer as a model. The other hens delighted in caking my face with powders and blushes, as well as attacking my eyes with a combination of eyeliner and eye-shadow. They twisted my hair into something ‘fashionable,’ pinning it up with a hundred or so bobby pins. To top it all off, my fairy godmothers conjured a dress from toilet paper for me to wear.

Suffice it to say, I retreated soon after. I will never know what happened for the rest of the evening. Most likely a combination of bawdy jokes and tasteful dares. In any case, the hour had grown late and I had never been much of a night owl despite my predilection for hobbies where it would be advantageous.

The next day started with me being the first to wake. Having dressed, I took it upon myself to be the personal alarm clock for many of the others as we were expected to check out at ten.

Brunch was enjoyed out in the Rocks with many of us exploring the markets that were set up on the Sunday. Though I was tempted on several occasions to pick up a souvenir of our time, I withheld the urge. Perhaps with the whole wedding ordeal over, I might visit it again during a free weekend (or just spend it writing and/ or gaming). 

When the clock struck noon, we finally decided to head back to the suburbs. There was still time aplenty before a conjoined event with the bucks and many took the opportunity to recover. Perhaps I should have used that time to duck back home for a quick shower, but there had only been a couple of hours and there were still bridesmaid duties that needed attending.

Laser tag, however, proved to be a delightful distraction. And while I kept my eye entirely focused on the time, I still arrived home at ten. Nearly forty eight hours later, I was finally back in my own bed. Thus, ended a weekend that I was not likely to forget for some time.

This was taken from my previous Tumblr blog and I thought it best to restart it with the same post that I did five years ago. In fact, it makes for the perfect introduction to what many will see here. So enjoy. 

On a side note, I’m still debating whether or not to slowly import the rest of my blog posts to WordPress should the worst happen. Time will tell.

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Starting a blog, like many things in life, seems quite difficult. The key question is how to begin. Or at least, an introduction of sorts. I know I’ve dabbled in a few attempts but have never made much headway in consistent content. It always starts with the same old reason: maybe I should start something new. I know I’ve done this with stories I’ve wanted to write and a journal to keep track of ideas, but often interest fades only to be rekindled several months or a year down the track.

From high school to university, one of the major ice-breakers was to throw in a positive adjective that started with the same letter as your name. In a discussion with friends, we noticed how bland most of the adjectives were.

‘Nice Natalie’ ‘Terrific Theresa’ ‘Awesome Albert’

What about others like ‘tantalising Thomas’ or perhaps ‘Nebulous Nancy’? What if we weren’t limited to positive ones or even an adjective?

‘Acerbic Andrew’ ‘Banal Barry’?

What do you think? If you could introduce yourself with an adjective or a word that starts with the same letter as your name, what would you use?