I was already decked out in my prom gear -- a black gown I'd worn to a sorority formal in college, jimmy-rigged by my mom and accessorized by pink and white Adidas shell-top sneakers -- and as I was paying for my beer the check-out girl at the gas station said something in a vaguely Asian-sounding language that the security guard translated for me as, "She looks pretty."
And hey, maybe I should've asked the sweet Asian gas station attendant lady if SHE wanted to be my date to the prom, since after all the hemming and hawing and voting and gnashing of teeth I did manage to get stood up to the FAKE PROM.
I asked another nominee to come with me, but alas, it was too late. Plans had been made. This was real. I was going to the fake prom alone. At least in high school I managed to find someone dumb enough to be talked into buying me a corsage and dancing a few songs with me. Although, I suppose it's fair to say in high school I wouldn't have had the kahones to go by myself. Plus, with my DJ-ing duties I really needed to concentrate on making sure the Spice Girls and Boyz II Men played nice in the queue, so any date I could've brought would've been neglected, anyway.
We did manage to take some fabulous pictures, and as much as I want to prove that by posting them here, my dear friend Lindsey has wickedly procrastinated on this front. In the meantime, I will call her out for said procrastination publicly and give you this photo of me singing "Total Eclipse of the Heart" into my beer bottle, courtesy of Andrea's iPhone.
As I left the party around 12:30, when things had all but dissipated, I said to the few prom-goers that were left: "Not unlike my actual prom experience, I will not, in fact, be getting any tonight."
cheers,
elizabeth
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