Prom, 2008

To protect those in this blog from online predators, MySpace idiots, and ghosts that originate in chain letters, all names of people and places have been altered.

It's times like this that I wish there was a blog category entitled "Time of My Freakin' Life." Because prom last night was quite possibly the most fun I ever had at a school-sanctioned event. And why is this? I can sum it up in one tiny little sentence:
I didn't freak out about it!
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, it's true, when you stress less you have more fun. If there's one thing I've learned about prom, it is this: It is nothing but a more expensive Homecoming. While we've grown up being told that "Prom will be the most magical event of your life," that's total and utter bull, not to mention demeaning towards your wedding night and honeymoon. Yes, prom is exquisite and a hell of a lot better than homecoming, if not just for the simple fact that the dance floor is bigger than the gym and the entire place isn't crawling with freshmen and sophomores. And yet, it's just a school-sanctioned social event in which adolescent human beings attend to make complete morons of themselves.
Take me for example. Throughout the night, I went up to couples dancing and asked "May I cut in?" And the guy would step aside.
And then I would freak them both out by booty dancing on the dude.
The essence of this event, I believed, was to have fun. Nothing but that. I guess having a date is cool too, but it wasn't important and honestly, I thought it just added to the stress. Everyone I knew with a date did nothing and talked about nothing how to make themselves look the best they can be.
Allow me to pause for a second and rant about that phrase. "Look the best you can be"? Wrong. What it should be is "Look the best you can afford." Keep in mind that not all of us have rich-ass families that can snap their fingers to make a freakin' sweet new limo come out of nowhere to ferry us at our will wherever we want until prom time. Not to mention some of the girls had to wear either hand-me-down prom dresses or their homecoming dress from two years ago.
Growing up without as much money as other people doesn't exactly humble you, but it does put things in a different perspective. Like I guess I can understand why you would shell out a few hundred dollars for the perfect dress and coolest limo, but it just reminds me of that one auto insurance commercial: "If you can have this (scene of something really good happening) for the same price as this (scene of something really cruddy happening), why wouldn't you?"
In the end, a limo is just a fancier mode of transportation. And seriously, ours was kind of lame. It was a bus with a bar. And it wasn't even a stocked bar! We had to provide our own drinks!
But back to the date thing: it's cool and all that you want to impress your date, but I think I had more fun by the sole fact that I didn't have one. I didn't have to worry about impressing anyone! Do you know what I wore? My chorus outfit. It fit the criteria! It was a tux shirt and tux pants! Do you know what it cost me? $25 fair share for chorus that I paid in the beginning of the year.
Not kidding.
And don't start with the whole "Well, you're a guy," bull, because if I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times, sexual equality has to go both ways. Not to mention that I know three girls who bought $20 worth of make-up and then wore a dress they've worn before. So just shush.
At any rate, the dance was a lot of fun. I danced with everyone I knew, and even danced with girls that I was introduced to that night. I came super close to hooking up with someone, but didn't. 'Cause I have principles, damn it! Heh, well, I have some principles.
Some events that stand-out in my mind?
Ryan dancing crazily on the floor with me on top of him.
Me stage diving. That was cool.
Dancing nonstop from the moment I got there to the moment the dance ended.
Dancing for about half an hour with this girl. Then for another half hour with this other girl. Then for another hour with Bobby.
Freaking Kristin out. That was a high point, not gonna lie.
Coming a millimeter close to making out with a girl I just met that night and pulling away at the last second.
Seriously, as the night drew to a close, I was in a state of disembodied content. Because the following sentence I never thought I would hear myself utter, nor type. In fact, before now, if anybody ever used this sentence to describe me, I would deny it incessantly. That sentence?
"I am an f-ing pimp."
Somewhere inside this frail nerd body is an f-ing pimp. But really, isn't there one in us all? Come on, let me show just what I'm made of.