#NerdsUnite: I'm 23 and in less than a year - I'm getting married (The Sexy Calf Contest)
Tuesday, January 10, 2012 at 12:31PM<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Jack. We met on the twitter not too long ago, and the dude has a lot going on. First up, like many of us - he works in social media, but in less than a year he's going to get married. Oh and did I mention that he's only 23? And his bride to be is only ... ::gasp:: 22? Holy crapsicles Batman, this is going to be good ... I only have one more thing left to say ... HIT IT JACK! </editorsnote>
#TalkNerdyToMeLover's @JackMEB
So I entered a Sexy Calf Contest.
Yep. That happened.
The setting? A bridal expo. My fiancée Ashley, myself, and Katrina (our wedding planner/roommate) all headed out to the Doubletree Ontario to get the 411 on every aspect of organizing a wedding. Representatives from caterers, travel agents, venues, and entertainment wildly flung brochures in my face, pleading we chose their services. More often than not, I directed them to my boss: Ashley (which totally backfired; she put my phone number down on several contests to win honeymoons, resulting in spam voicemails). While Ash and Katrina browsed and listened to sales pitches, I made sure to sample every food item around. I scarfed bruschetta, cake, carnitas, and made three shameless passes by Buca Di Beppo’s tiramisu display.
Most of the vendors were pushing honeymoon packages, and since we’re anti-tropical (we live in Southern California; we get sun and beach 10 months of the year), few had anything that truly interested us. A few displays were curious, such as the company that sold a single, one-size bridesmaid dress that could be worn 20+ ways. The main event was an entire room’s worth of wedding dresses, which the girls declined to participate in since I was around. After we made our rounds, I lost a close 2-1 vote on going home vs. seeing the fashion show, so we grabbed some seats.
While we waited for the fashion show, a fantastic seven-piece Latin band played for the early attendees, hitting on all the essential covers and their own original Spanish material. While I had no plans of making my size 14’s salsa at my wedding, I asked Katrina what something like that runs – she casually answered, “Oh, $10,000, easy.” Fortunately, I’m sticking to my original goal: $100 for the live entertainment, which will be provided by a friend or our dream musician.
As the 2:00 pm start time approached, the suited emcee grabbed the mic and started talking to the crowd and playing some games. Maids of Honor were asked to stand and play a game, followed by the mothers in attendance, then the grooms.
Amidst a sea of 100 women, about 8 bodies rose. After being praised as the few “brave enough to attend” and “supportive of our future wives,” the host asked for participants to come to the stage.
Now like our own Jen Friel, I’m damn confident online, in business, and in written works, but I’m as shy and awkward as could be in person. Having recently decided to work on that (and with some beckoning from Ash and Katrina), I ran up to the stage to participate.
That’s when the rules came.
A bride’s sister was asked to sit in a chair. I immediately feared that my clumsy frame would be forced to give a lap dance; thank God that wasn’t the case. Instead, we were asked to roll up our jeans, come down the catwalk, and prove to the crowd why we had the sexiest calves there.
This is not a typical Jack situation.
I elected to be in the middle of the pack, becoming participant #4. As the music played, each guy took his turn strutting his stuff, stopping to give a quick calf flex every few steps. The judge was not impressed. I did my best to laugh and fake coolness, but after #3 danced his way on and off stage, I was up.
I gave a few steps with feigned confidence, approached the judge, and gave my strongest flex. The reaction?
Well, except a girl. You get the idea.
With most of the competition complete, it seemed I was the favorite. For a few brief seconds, I felt confident and thought that I had a shot at winning the damn thing. Smiling, I walked back to my place in line.
#5 was as tame as the first few contestants, and I became excited at the prospect of winning.
Then #6 walked down, shook his hips, and threw his calf on the judge’s cheek. And that was that.
Losing out on the free Sunday brunch is surely a loss I’ll never live down, but the crowd and Ashley sure got a kick out of it, and it felt good to be a bit embarrassed.
All that nonsense means my planned announcement will get pushed to next week, which will be a big update on photography, Ash’s dress, and whatever else we accomplish in the next week. Until then, I’m going to go do some leg presses and prep for the next bridal expo.
