Saturday, May 26, 2012

Prom kind of sucks, guys.

 Around this time across the country, high school students are gearing up for prom, the annual demonstration of awkwardly posed pictures and dancing to songs no one actually enjoys. To commemorate this tradition, I am going to be sharing three different prom stories, even though I'm fairly certain the only thing less interesting than one's own prom, are the prom stories of someone else. Deal with it.
The year I was a sophomore in high school, the night of prom that spring was spent in my family room in the company of my best friend. Her brother was my sister's date, and we spent the evening imagining the pair of them being much more adorable than they actually were. A hefty chunk of the night was used to build, without question, the best blanket fort I have ever made in my entire life (which is saying something). After this was completed, we watched "Finding Neverland" inside it, and you can ask anyone, that is undoubtedly one of the absolute best movies to watch while being inside a blanket fort. The next morning we were woken up by my mom bringing us breakfast from McDonald's which is a completely terrific way to begin a day, if you just don't think about what you just ate.
This was the year I actually went to my Senior prom, and the whole experience was entirely predictable. I mean, I loved it, but really nothing happened that doesn't happen at every prom. I tried to coax not-serial-killer smiles from my boyfriend at the time (he struggled with those), I comforted my friend through hearing a song that reminded her of her ex, and I saw people I hated grind against other people I hated while me, with my posse of band friends danced awkwardly on the periphery. Totally standard. After the dance, the group of us went back to my boyfriend's house, where we all fell asleep watching "Mama Mia," a film choice I to this day do not understand.
Can we actually back up a bit and discuss how I was asked? Of course we can, this is my blog.
For some reason my high school boyfriend for whatever reason always decided to ask me important questions when I was looking my worst. He asked me to Homecoming in the fall right before an all-day marching band competition at our school, when I was in sweatpants and a t-shirt. He asked me to be his girlfriend on the bus after our marching band played a show, so I was in disgusting black overalls and that year's show shirt (which happens to look like two stick figures doing it, but I digress) and my hair was plastered to my scalp with sweat. I thought he was going to ask me to prom when he volunteered to be the announcer for one of my softball games that spring. That would have made sense, because at my school, asking someone to homecoming and prom usually involves a bit of spectacle. For example, a friend of mine asked my other friend to prom by putting it on a slide that was part of a lecture in their AP Physics class. His dad was actually the teacher of that class and it sounded hilarious and kind of awkward for everyone involved, and that was the one day I was sorry I lacked the mental capacity to be in that class. Anyway, instead of doing it over the speaker at my game, he waited a few more days and set up a cute scavenger hunt in my house that ended with him asking. And that would have been totally fine, if it hadn't happened immediately after I returned home from the most grueling softball practice I had all year. I was exhausted and sweaty and frankly not in any kind of mood for that. We ran a lot at practice. I do not like to run. He had no way of knowing this would be the case, but still.
Also, about an hour after this happened, I went to have coffee with another guy friend of mine, who tried to get me to go to prom with his friend. Because that is my life, apparently. 
To finish off our semester in London, the program I was with decided to throw us a "prom" on one of our last nights there. Unfortunately, this was planned to take place a few hours after our final projects were presented, but these went far too long over the time limit they were alotted. This caused all of us to scramble home, throw on our H&M dresses, quickly pre-game what we could, and head back, all in about forty minutes. The rest of the night consisted of taking pictures, eating a bit, drinking more, and my friend Emily showing off Greg to the entirety of our program, including our director who said he looked, "very British." The night got slowly more ridiculous, cumulating with our director singing the entire 8-minute version of "American Pie," then telling the room how she wanted to marry one of the more charming guys in our program. So another typical American prom, really.

I just realized the first story was from graduation night that year, not prom. Doesn't matter: same people, similar shinanigans, you get the picture.

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