Broadway and the Blue Dress
And The Bloodstains That Adorned It [Adventure]
TW: Blood on this one. That’s gonna be a theme for some of these. Also mentions of a place that sells alcohol.
So sorry to be gone for so long.
Stuff happened. A whole lot of stuff that maybe someday will end up in another post.
But I’m not ready to talk about a story that has yet to reach its conclusion.
What I WILL talk about, however, is another story in the “Shanie Nosebleed Chronicles”.
I mentioned I have nosebleeds, right?
Well… that led to some interesting situations.
But let’s start from the beginning of this one.
My father was the band director of the local high school.
Our music program was famous. As in, people the next state over knew who my dad was. And as such, I had privileges and opportunities most kids didn’t.
One of these privileges was the ability to go on band trips long before I was in the band.
And every year, the high school band would take those who had earned enough money in band fundraisers to New York City to see Broadway shows. And as the director’s daughter, I would always be brought along.
Sometimes, this led to issues.
Like me being exposed to Miss Saigon at the age of EIGHT.
(If it means anything, that show was in Toronto and was somewhat censored. I’m pretty sure the Broadway version wouldn’t have let me in the theater.)
But this isn’t about that.
This is about a Jekyll and Hyde.
And a beautiful blue dress.
So, I’m 15 years old.
And despite being a huge fan of action figures and aggressive sports, I also loved a really pretty dress. And going to Broadway each year always meant it was time for ballgown shopping.
To Macy’s we went.
My parents had money.
Enough to be quite comfortable.
But spending it on me wasn’t usually their favorite thing to do. So when we went ball gown shopping, I usually got stuff off the clearance rack.
Didn’t help that we were trying to shop for ballgowns for a CHILD.
However, this day, a dress caught my eye.
It was a deep, rich, navy blue. Almost like if ‘royal purple’ was a blue. And it was covered in metallic blue beads.
With shoulder pads.
And somehow, in my size.
The price was well over $300.
In 1998 money.
(For context, the current inflation counter website says that $300 in 1998 is worth $588 in 2025. And that dress was OVER that.)
My parents said no IMMEDIATELY.
So, back on the rack it went as I sulked over to the clearance rack.
None of the dresses on that rack looked good on me. Dress after dress, they either didn’t fit right or didn’t look good. I was a late bloomer, not yet filled out in the chest, and technically, these were dresses designed for WOMEN. None of them worked with my flat-ness.
But I kept thinking of the blue dress with the fully-covered front and shoulder pads.
And being heartbroken.
I knew that dress would fit perfectly, I could FEEL it.
But, no luck, no love.
We switched to the slightly more expensive rack.
Still nothing.
We tried for two hours, going on three.
There were no gowns that worked.
Eventually, my father told my mom, “Hold on…”
She helped me out of the latest dress… and about 3 minutes later, returned with the blue dress.
My jaw dropped.
“We might as well give it a shot,” she said with a smile.
I tried it on.
It fit PERFECTLY.
And when I showed my father, he was IMPRESSED.
… he also said we would be cutting the shoulder pads out of it because “No 15-year-old should ever be wearing shoulder pads.”
“No!” I protested.
Because I knew. The shoulder pads made me look like a grown-up.
And we were going to Broadway, for the first time with my high school FRIENDS.
I wanted to look like a grown-up with THEM.
So, he agreed. We get the dress, and the shoulder pads can stay.
Now, for some context.
Remember how I said I was an edgy teen who was sort of, um, Satanic?
Well, part of the teachings of Anton LaVey were to weaponize your womanhood.
So I had a habit of dressing like a……..
Let’s just say I didn’t dress appropriately for a teenager.
Part of that was me having trained myself to wear 3-inch high-heels.
And as we drove off with this dress in the back seat with me, I knew just the pair of bought-from-Goodwill high heels I would wear with them.
And thus, the most beautiful blue dress I had ever seen was bought, taken home, and ready to go for Broadway.
Now, this was 1998.
And every year, we would go to see TWO shows.
The first one we saw that year was the Saturday matinee of Ragtime, which had just opened months earlier.
If anyone is into Broadway, that particular cast included names such as Brian Stokes Mitchell, Audra McDonald, and even a young Lea Michelle.
It was an amazing show.
The reveal of the car was kind of crazy.
But that’s not the show I’m here to talk about.
I’m here to talk about Jekyll & Hyde.
Now, again, for Broadway Nerds, Jekyll & Hyde is kind of… notorious.
An early instance of a long line of beleaguered Frank Wildhorn musicals that always seemed to find some way to cast his wife, Linda Eder, as a lead character.
But, I’m FIFTEEN.
I was READY for that kind of show.
So, we got to Sunday Night.
And we had our dinner at the fancy restaurant, with the expectation that all the kids find their way to the theater shortly afterwards.
Kids.
KIDS.
ACTUAL HIGH SCHOOLERS who my dad was like, “Yeah, just walk on over to the theater when you are done.”
Unfortunately, teenagers have a habit of not behaving.
And my friend group was full of teenagers who wouldn’t behave.
Led by a kid named Kurgen and his best friend Flobie (these are all nicknames by the way. Everyone had one back then), it was about six of us. And I was the only girl.
I was always the only girl.
And Flobie, as it turned out, had NO interest in going straight to the theater.
He wanted to explore.
So we, um, explored
I don’t remember WHAT we explored, just that we did, and suddenly it was about 30 minutes to showtime and we are NOT at the theater.
Red Shoes was like “Uh, guys…”
And suddenly, we were panicking.
Except..
I was there in what amounted to silk, shoulder pads, and spiked heels.
With a keen, innate sense of direction.
I looked at the group of us and say, “Ok. Follow me.”
And I don’t know if it was what I was wearing, or the tone of my voice, but nobody questioned it.
We started walking.
I took the lead, walking us in a direct line to the theater… which happened to take us through SEVERAL lobbies and drop-off circles of SWANKY downtown Manhattan locations.
And, as it turned out, NOBODY stopped us.
It was as we walked out of our fourth “we should not be here” location that Twicken asked, “How are we not getting stopped???”
I replied, “It’s the dress, keep walking.”
And we did.
And somehow, within 10 minutes, we were at the theater.
5 minutes after that, we were in our seats.
Plenty of time to see the show.
And, what do you know, it was great. I *loved* it.
For the first act.
During intermission, I went to the merch stand with my friends, who all found the merch fascinating. There were a couple of items in particular that they loved and bought.
I left with the soundtrack. Physical media my beloved. Still have that, btw.
But then, Act 2 started.
And soon after the lights went down, my nose started running.
Now, it was DARK, and the Act 2 opening was a song called “Murder Murder” about Hyde going on a nighttime killing spree. There wasn’t much light on the stage to go by.
So all I knew was my nose was suddenly running and wouldn’t stop.
I kept wiping my nose. Over and over, hoping it would quit.
It didn’t.
And it was about 2 minutes later when I realized something was WRONG.
Sure enough, at a point when the lights on the stage came on in a technicolor display, I realized.
My hand was smeared with “darkness”
My nose wasn’t running.
It was BLEEDING.
Quickly, I got up and hurried from the row, up the aisle, and down the stairs to the cocktail lounge.
Because even at 15, I realized.
The cocktail lounge was the place I was most likely to find adults after the second act had already begun.
And, sure enough, as I got to the bottom of the stairs, a whole bunch of adults were there.
There was a brief moment of them registering a TEENAGER in a place teenagers were forbidden, where one said, “Hey, you can’t be—”
Before everyone froze.
And again, I can only imagine their shock as they see this kid, in a gorgeous blue dress, now smeared with blood, the blood all over my face and hands.
And the next second, they all BOLTED into action.
Two of the workers rushed to my side to guide me to a chair
One hurried behind the bar to grab a rag.
And another hurried to get someone higher up who will know what to do.
Within moments, there were half a dozen theater workers surrounding me, trying to help, while another two were going over what the procedure is for a BIOHAZARD situation.
They got a bag of ice to try and constrict the blood vessels in my face and slow the bleeding.
They were constantly swapping out rags to try and keep the blood from getting everywhere.
It took a good 10 minutes to stop the bleeding.
And as it finally stopped, the one worker asked, “Are you OK?
All I could do was smile weakly and reply, “Yeah. But I thought Hyde was supposed to be the only one with blood on their hands in this show.”
It got a nervous chuckle, and the theater manager took me to a back room to clean up.
I ended up missing the first 20 minutes or so of the second act, but was given one final clean rag to take to my seat in case it happened again.
Luckily, the rest of the show went off without a hitch.
But…
The dress.
When the show was over, the lights came back on, and I reunited with my parents, they knew.
I knew.
Everyone knew.
That dress would never be worn again.
It was heartbreaking.
But it was what it was.
I have had so much stuff in my life ruined with blood.
Between the nosebleeds, careless usage of knives, extreme period bleeding, and my recent battles with Hidradenitis Suppurativa, I long ago learned that nothing in my life was safe from being soaked with blood.
We literally just had a set of sheets get ruined last week.
It really is what it is.
But, in this case, the casualty was my beautiful blue dress. The intricate beadwork and silk meant that it was too delicate for the amount and type of cleaning required to remove the stains.
And, like so much else in my life, it was put in a plastic bag, sealed up, and went in the trash.
But, it will never be forgotten.
Because for one night… I felt like a princess.
I will never get married. Almost certainly.
They talk about how that is supposed to be every little girl’s “princess dream”.
No.
Mine has already been fulfilled.
The night that I stormed my way across Manhattan in a $300 dollar dress and 3-inch heels, looking like I owned every single building I entered, with a ragtag group of band nerds in tow, and nobody, not a single guard or doorman, got in my way.
They say that the way to be intimidating and look like a queen is to stand up straight, put your shoulders back, think “Murder”, and never stop moving forward.
That night?
I did the murder strut.
And ended it covered in blood.
But honestly? All things considered?