| | Yesterday was junior prom that I, too, guiltily took
part in with dearly beloved Stephen Colbert. And as indescribable,
uncontainable, placed in the stars in the sky as it was, I have a few
words to wrap the once-in-a-lifetime event in a small, describable
bubble. And that brings us to tonight's word: Morp.
Now you wordinistas out there trying to get back at
me for correcting your use of the English language somewhere in your
lifetime may say, "Hey! That's not a word! You're suffering from
schizophrenia." Well, I'll tell you why you're always wrong, and how
I'm always not you.
In the days leading down to this glamorous event,
the celebration of camaraderie and shiny stuff, I spent a good portion
of my time setting high expectations. Oh, what a magical night this must
be, I thought, for I am putting out upwards four hundred dollars! Many
have asked me about my dress and whether I would match my date and
whether I plan to take pictures. Of course, by social laws, I would
then have to buy a new dress that would match what my date shall wear
and what he would ultimately have to buy and make sure that a deal is
struck between the two of us so that we don't have to spend so much on
pictures. Oh, and shoes! Who could forget shoes?! And mannies and
peddies and bears, oh, my! Phew! Luckily, I'm a girl, so I don't have
to buy the tickets. $250. Done.
I spent days fretting about how I should do my hair:
Do I want it up so that it doesn't get in the way when I take a picture
or do I want to keep it down so it doesn't get in the way should I
choose to freak-dance? More than once I consulted my close girl friends
for their advice. We spent hours talking about the best salons and
somehow the conversation leads to boutonnieres and corsages. We never
get anywhere. In any case, I ran into the nearest salon on Friday night
to get my hair done. $75 w/ corsages + boutonnieres. Done.
IT'S SATURDAY! THE BIG EVENT! The day I've been
working so hard for has finally arrived, and, as I sit on the couch,
figuring out which posture would make me look best when Stephen sees me
for the first time, I realized that I hadn't picked out my purse! I run
back to my room and stuff the ridiculously small bag with my iPod, cell
phone, ridiculously large wallet (Those designers should either make
smaller wallets or bigger purses!), and tissues. By the time I get back
to the couch, I found Stephen already patiently waiting. Phooey.
We go to dinner and spend a large portion of our
time idly talking and conversing, trying our hardest to avoid the
elephant in the room. APs, SATs, homework, tests, and such. Damn
Stephen for rambling on and on about his loss to Sean Penn.
Dinner ended on a sour note, but the dance floor was
SWEEEET! I didn't get to stay there for long because the social bylaws
state that you shouldn't be the first one to get to a prom, so I didn't
get there until 10 PM. Unfortunately, the party ended at 12 AM. Stephen
refused to dance out of shyness. My eyes were marred by the sight of
people freakdancing. I lost my cell phone. The DJ was insufferable with
his rap songs. I did no more there than I normally do in the cafeteria.
In the end, it was all just a big excuse to see who
can spend the most money and who can dress up the prettiest in a dress.
Considering how our dress codes are so strict that they don't permit
dresses to be worn at school, I guess it was a good way to express
one's whorishness and how well she can twist that to seem more romantic
than sluttish. Was it worth the time and money? I guess not, but will I
ever admit it? No. It was a god damn magical night, and generations
after me shall follow the trend of truthiness. They shall see what I
convinced myself to see. Emotion first, rationale follows. It's a
backwards wor(l)d there that I still don't quite understand, but, for
the sake of argument, I'm going to say that I do.
And that's the word.
EAT IT, PROM ATTENDEES!
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| | Posted 4/22/2007 6:52 PM - 28 Views - 6 eProps - 3 comments
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