Dear Non-believing, romper-doubting, fashion-hating, and altogether confused people who think rompers are dumb:
I often hark on the beauty, femininity, mystique, and altogether over-whelming power of the romper and you sit there, roll your eyes, and tell me “it will never work.” This blog post is my tangible proof that (if I were a rude person this would be the time for me to insert an overwhelming and possibly vulgar I TOLD YOU SO and IN YOUR FACE but as I am quite obviously above such petty insults I will instead refrain myself to simply saying) rompers are–on me–flattering, eye-catching, and hold complete power over random hot strangers of the opposite sex. They also create a deep-seated envy (or desire to emulate) in the female community.
Yesterday was a wonderful demonstration of the alluring power housed in a romper. I put one on, wore it with my gladiator sandals and grey tights, and took it out for a whirl. Emily and I headed first to Starbucks in search of lunch. Sadly this Starbucks only had some baked goods so we decided to move on, but before we were able to leave Attractive Male Number One had to talk to me. He was tall, thinnish but in nice shape, perfectly coiffed dark hair, and impeccably put together. In other words–hotty! He talked to me about voice (he had seen my NATS bag) but it wasn’t just his talking. It was his looking. You know those looks. And he was full of them.
In general when I.E. & Y. go out it isn’t this Emilie that receives the male attention. But yesterday, in my romper, I was unstoppable.
We walked around for a while, ate lunch elsewhere, and then decided that we really needed coffee.
On our way to lunch a car of teenage boys slowed down to yell something provocative and fortunately garbled from the wheezing of their engine.
We went into the Raw Bean Coffee House (which I strongly recommend). I wasn’t sure what I wanted to order–the only things I’ve ever gotten from a coffee shop are blended drinks and mochas. I wanted something not too sweet but not too harsh. Emily and I explained this predicament to the female barista and she suggested I get a caramel Americano. (Side note–BEST DRINK EVER!!! and super cheap.) THEN Attractive Male Number Two (also a barista) came from back behind somewhere to also add his encouragement to hers, and to exchange words with me. I have a witness to corroborate, he could not take his eyes off of me. He was a similar build, not as tall, blond hair, and a charming smile that spread from ear to ear and never turned off. Emily tried to tear his attention away but to no avail–he was MINE! Finally, on the way out, he called after me with something to the effect of, “I hope to see you soon.”
It was adorable.
On the way back into the hotel room a bellhop totally checked me out–and he was definitely not the last male that day.
Several girls gave me glares and! on the way into a session I think I was looking a little too sexy for some old woman to handle and she made me show her badge and once I proved I was legit she eyed me and said, “well, I hope you don’t get cold.” I assured her I would be fine. That, my dear friends, is power. And positive proof that I was rig….I mean…..that rompers are wonderful fashion statements.
Before I give a few more snapshots of Salt Lake I would like to say that this weekend has been (and will continue to be, I presume) one of the most wonderful times in my life. I have been constantly surrounded by beautiful music, talks on technique and pedagogy, sun, interesting characters, and people who share the same passion that I do. I am so content.
A Few of the Interesting Folks I’ve Met Thus Far:
1--Mr. & Mrs. Canada=I made the acquaintance rather informally of this couple from Canada during the first session. They were seated next to Emily and me, or rather I should say they were seated practically on top of Emily. I’m sure she will have much more interesting things to say on the subject but basically there was a very obese woman sitting two seats down. Mrs. Canada scooted over a little, and Mr. Canada scooted over a lot until he was practically in Emily’s lap. And she could not get away. During the master class Mr. Canada proceeded to sing along to everything, do every exercise the clinician was giving the students, and then make very snide comments the entire time. He and Mrs. Canada are the kind of people who make it their business to make everyone else think that they know their business. We had a lovely chat with them in the pool later on…
2–Mustachio (Mario Man)=in the master class was a Baritone with a Hitler ‘stache who walked like he was in an old school video game.
3–“High C“=A NATSAA semi-finalist who thought it was in his best interest to sing Ah! Mes Amis at an audition workshop. He was very smiley, very compact, and very frightening when he attempted to sing those high Cs. He could hit them (and we heard him sing that song a couple different times) but there was some definite spreading/shrieking.
4–Kelli O’Hara=Now I haven’t had the opportunity to exchange words with her, but she is charming, hilarious, extremely talented, discerning, inspirational, full of character and chutzpah, beautiful, and she has a lovely, healthy, toned body. Her concert was fabulous (I need her solo album) and she taught her master class with grace, poise, and personality! (Not to mention merit.)
5–“Had a bad day” hostess=This woman has had been having a bad day every time we have eaten at the hotel restaurant. She is always cranky, rushing, missing something, grabbing, and going. One day we sat down for food and she handed us the lunch menu. I decided that I wanted the lunch special right as she rushed back up, scolded us for having the lunch menu, and handed us a dinner one instead. The food I wanted, of course, was not on the dinner menu. Luckily Emily convinced me I could ask for it anyway. Also–we had an extra person join our party and as we attempted to pull up a chair she reached over, slid my stuff farther into the booth, whipped away the other chair, and pretty much pushed the extra member of the party into the booth. All in a matter of seconds.
6–“You’re too late, or, Slowest Man On Earth“=An elderly, slightly rotund, man at the Spokane airport almost provoked me into a fit of exasperated and crazed laughter when Emily and I were trying to make our connection. Our first plane had been delayed quite some time but we had landed with about twenty minutes before our connection was supposed to take off so we rushed to the counter to get our boarding passes. The man behind the counter was typing something, very slowly, into his computer. He was using one finger on each hand to do so. He shook his hand, something had gone wrong, and then started jabbing at the offending keyboard again. He did not acknowledge our presence.
Emily and I tried addressing him but he did not even look up. Minutes later he finished his task, talked to some other person behind the counter, and then finally asked us if we needed help. We told him what we wanted but he said that we needed to use the ticket kiosk (we had already tried it) and it took some time for the thought to sink in that we actually needed a person’s help. We explained what we needed, that the original flight had been delayed, that we still had about 18 minutes to make our flight and could he please please hurry?
The man looked down at his computer and started poking again. After what seemed like an inordinate amount of time to look up a simple flight number the man met our gaze and very seriously, without emotion, told us, “Oh no. You’re too late.” Incomprehension hit us, “What do you mean, can’t we hurry?”
“You’re too late,” he stated plainly again, and then he looked back down at his keyboard and began the excruciating process of…well…something. Emily and I exchanged an exasperated glance and then settled in for the long haul. The very, very, very, very looooooooooooong haul.
When we finally escaped with boarding passes for a later flight, Emily and I looked at each other, started giggling, and then burst out in tandem, “You’re toooooo laaaaaaaaaaaaaaate!”
I’ve spent rather longer writing this post then I intended, but I just felt that my blog readers deserved an update of my wonderful, fantastical, furlough in music paradise.
Happy Fourth of July, dear friends, and I am going to spend the rest of the evening by browsing my free Bernstein, Barber, and Italian aria songbooks from Hal Leonard before getting some much needed rest and an early bedtime.