Amber L. Carter's Blog, page 46
December 27, 2012
The most amazing online profile picture in the entire existence of the universe.
It's the white leather jacket...the way it's open, like he's too casual to be bothered to zip it up but not too casual to go without popping the collar...and the way he's standing, like, "Oh, just having my morning cup of joe and by the way have you seen my abs?"
And the background...THE BACKGROUND...
Who of you out there can superimpose a picture of me onto a background of constellations like this? Because I feel like my life is just not going to be complete until I have one. HOW CAN I APTLY BRAND MYSELF, EVERYBODY, UNTIL I HAVE A PICTURE OF ME THAT LOOKS LIKE I'M A WHITE UNICORN THAT TOOK HUMAN FORM AFTER I FELL OUT OF OUTER SPACE AND INTO THE FRONT OF YOUR CAMERA?
Huh?!
HOW.
It's like my whole life has been building to this moment. Everything I've done, I've done only for this...
December 26, 2012
Red Wing Wednesday: The Love of a Lifetime (But Not For Me) Prom
Firehouse, also known as one of the worst bands in the entire history of the world.If you've ever been to my hometown of Red Wing, MN, then you know that the heart of the pretty river city is a beautiful historical district. I could write a whole book about the historical buildings and landmarks - St. James Hotel, Sheldon Theatre, the archeological findings of the original Hamline University, etc - but the true center of the town to me, when I was growing up, is what I call Church Row.In the middle of town, there is (or was) two one-way streets separated by a huge strip of park in the middle. Kind of like a mini-version of Central Park (in fact...was it called Central Park? I can't remember). Flanking the park was the original high school (Central High School, which you might say was later fittingly turned into a jail, but so many of us who went there had such great affection for those old halls that all we did when we moved to the new state-of-the-art school that opened my junior was moan and complain about how it wasn't as cool as the old high school) and, to my recollection, all of the original churches of Red Wing, of which there were a lot.
To put this in perspective - there were at least three Lutheran ELCA churches, and all three were within a three to four block radius from each other: First Lutheran, United Lutheran, and (my home church), St. Paul's Lutheran.
(There was also a Missouri Synod Lutheran church across the park, but they tried to ban sex education and spoke out against accepting homosexuals when I was in high school, so we're not going talk about them)
And these weren't just quaint little churches, either - now that I've been around the church block a couple of times, I've gotta say...Red Wing Lutheran churches had it going on. The churches were big and beautiful, membership was large and invested, and, during my high school days, they all featured a totally awesome and plugged-in youth ministry program of their own.
This is where a large part of my social life in high school comes in.
(More about this sizzling social life after the jump!)
St. Paul Lutheran had Lisa, who was not only awesome, but was also the pinnacle influence of my life up to that time...United Lutheran had Juj, whom I also liked (but who didn't really like me, if we're being honest), and First Lutheran had a married team, Eric and Sarah, who were also totally super awesome and cool. And these guys all liked each other, so they got together and organized tri-church youth events once a month...games, lock-ins, volunteer projects, etc.
For a girl who was both super into boys and God, these mixers were pretty much the biggest night of the month for me. Because not only were the boys at this mixer somewhat sort-of into youth group, but sometimes...they were even from other schools. A.k.a., untapped gold.
Craig Schwartau happened to be one of those boys.
I first met Craig at one of these tri-youth-group mixers the fall of my sophomore year. I had never seen him before, and so again, being the boy-crazy girl that I was, I pounced on him like a tiger sighting fresh meat. I threw come-hither glances from across the church basement during small group...I laughed vivaciously with my friends so he would think "Wow, that's a girl who knows how to have a great time!"...I smoothly manuevered my way across from him during prayer circle (so when he was finished praying to God, the first thing he would see would be me, of course)...and I tried my best to perform well at all the mixer games like "I've Never" or "If You Have ___ On". (If you would like directions as to how to play these games so that you may delight your guests at your next party, feel free to send me your requests via e-mail.)
However, even with all that, the mixer still ended without my having so much as a conversation with Craig.
Not all was lost, however...even before the days of Google, I was still pretty stealth when it came to collecting intel on the boys I liked. I tapped my sources - asking the trifecta of youth directors innocent questions about him ("So, how long has Craig known Jesus Christ as his personal lord and savior? Do you know if he shares this love of baby Jesus with any girlfriends?"), checking him out in the phone book, casually perusing his family's photo in the church directory, and some other stalkerish-like tactics that I will not reveal here, as they are too dangerous for the amateur stalker to attempt without the proper training or practice.
From my info, I discovered that Craig was from Goodhue; a farmer boy who was considered a nerd in his blink-and-you'll-miss-it-town because, unlike his fellow compadres (that's Spanish for "kids he goes to school with"), he chose to get great grades instead of ditch class to drink beer and chew tobacco in the school parking lot (not that I'm knocking those alternate choices. In fact, you will learn more about these sparkling diamonds that are now a part of my personal boyfriend collection in the next coming weeks). In the crucial-okay-not-really social ladder of youth group, however, he was a Christian who went to church regularly and was well liked by everyone.
Over the next few months, Craig attended a few more mixers that I just happened to be at (after I had harassed his youth director to make sure he would be there), and I actually got up the nerve to start talking to him. The more I talked to Craig, the more I liked him...he had a deep voice, an easy laugh, and a nerdy sense of humor; he wore glasses and a dusty blue baseball cap (to this day, there's still something about that "I'm smart, but I'm also sporty" combo that just gets me), and he thought Garth Brooks was the greatest man who ever lived (next to Jesus and his dad, of course). He also often wore the kind of hooded sweatshirts that made you just want to go up to him and hug him for a really long time. He was like the perfect nerdy country boy - good morals, smart, nice, sweet, funny, and normal.
Craig also passed all of my tests.
See, because I was in high school and therefore stupid, I had these little "tests" that I mentally put a guy through in order to suss out if I really liked him or was just bored. Here are some examples of those tests -
1. If he called me on the phone and my favorite show was on, would I want to talk to him or would I blow him off?
2. If he did the whole "romantic dinner" thing, would I think it was cheesy or romantic?
3. If he publicly humiliated himself in front of me, would I cringe in embarrassment or laugh at how cute he was?
4. Can I picture him in a tuxedo? (because obviously there are many occasions in high school that call for tuxedos)
5. If he went in for the kiss, would I be excited, or would I be nervous in a non-good way?
So yeah, deep stuff. But, this is the kind of stuff you lean on when you're 16 and a loyal reader of Teen and Seventeen magazines (Sassy had already folded by that time, so the girls of my generation were left with those. So feel free to blame all of my shallow high school stumbling on Jane Pratt. I do!). And yet...the tests never failed. If a guy I liked couldn't pass all of my little tests, I kinda knew I was killing time and didn't really like him that much. When they did pass all of them - and any other ones I could make up off the top of my head - I knew I/he was in trouble.
During my months-long infatuation with Craig, I also became better friends with Julie, a junior and a fellow cheerleader. Julie was a girl who was happy! all! the! time!, and she had that kind of cute petiteness that us tall girls envy because we know that guys just love standing next to girls like that because they feel all tall and strong and such (while standing next to us tall girls makes them feel like weak jerks). Julie and I weren't great friends - we had what you might call "different temperaments"- but she was nice and fun, and since that year she had started to become a bigger part of the youth group gang, it gave me a chance to get to know her better.
Tri-youth-group mixers slowly started to progress to weekend nights at Julie's house. Julie's parents had this absolutely beautiful place out in the country, and parties there were our church versions of keggers - instead of beer, pot, and cigs, we had pizza, pop, and Doritios. Instead of drinking games, we played games outside like Sardines or Flashlight Tag (no Kiss Or Kill, though...youth groupers apparently weren't into makeouts slyly disguised as games. I still was, though). Instead of making out, we tried to score seat next to the person we liked while watching movies in Julie's awesome living room.
I know these nights sound like 5-yr-old birthday parties, but seriously, at the time, we thought we were as cool than the kids on 90210 (cooler, even, because we played it straight by saying no to drugs, sex before marriage, and abusive boyfriends who double-teamed as awful musicians). And when Craig showed up...watch out.
One Friday night I was getting ready to go out with my friend Amy when Julie called (editor's note: I will add exclamation points to Julie's comments to further demonstrate her personality).
"Hey Amber! Are you coming over tonight?!"
"No, I don't think so...I'm supposed to hang out with Amy tonight."
"Oh! Well, I think you should come over!"
"Um...why?"
"Because I just talked to Craig! And he asked if you were going to be here tonight!!"
"I'll be over in half a hour!"
(and yes, I totally ditched out on plans with my friend Amy, who acted like it wasn't a big deal but was totally mad and later that little episode forever cemented the lesson that friends come before crushes, always).
But! That night Craig offered to drive me home, and from there we were going out. I was ecstatic - I had liked Craig for months, and now, finally, we were going out. You could have told me that my whole family had died, and I would have said "Yeah, but I'm going out with Craig Schwartau!!"
For our dates, Craig and I mostly just went to Julie's, or sometimes we double-dated with Julie.
Julie had a boyfriend, Nathan, who was a freshman. Some of us thought it was weird that Julie was going out with a freshman when she was a junior, but then we remembered that her last boyfriend was a creepy stalker who used to come to basketball games and sit in the front row so he could watch Julie bounce up and down while she cheered...so we figured it was a trade up. I liked Nathan, and hanging out with him, Julie, and Craig was always a fun time. The only time it wasn't so fun was when Julie and Nathan would suck face while Craig and I sat there, staring at our shoes or - wait for the magic! - holding hands.
When I started going out with Craig, I still hadn't kissed anyone. I had had chances before, but let's just say that those guys didn't pass all of my tests. I really, really wanted my first kiss to be with Craig. He was the first guy I had seriously liked, and I went to bed at night wondering what it would be like when he kissed me...would it be in a cornfield? In his red Geo Prism? Would it be during a Garth Brooks song ("Whoaah, the red strokes! Passions uncaged!") that happened to be playing at a romantic dinner during which he was wearing a tuxedo? The possibilities were endless.
One night, after Craig and I had been going out for about a month, Julie asked me over for a little two-person slumberparty at her house (this story could take a really radical left turn right here. But, sadly for some of you, it doesn't). We spent most of the night camped out in front of a series of romcoms while we stuffed our faces with Doritos and gossiped about our fellow cheerleaders. After about the second movie, Julie confessed that she had something she wanted to asked me. In one big breath, she told me that prom was coming up, that she really wanted to go, but Nathan's parents wouldn't let him take her because of their age difference, and would it be all right if she asked Craig to prom? Being the nice friend/non-possessive girlfriend I was, I enthusiastically replied that her asking Craig to prom was totally fine with me, and that I hoped he said yes so she wouldn't have to miss out on her prom.
A week later, it was set. Craig and Julie were going to prom together, and Julie gushed endlessly about how happy she was that Craig was going with her and wouldn't they have so much fun because even though she couldn't go with Nathan at least she knew she would get to go to prom and have fun with Craig because they were such good friends and Craig was like the best guy eve and I was like the best friend ever for letting her take my boyfriend to the prom and she was so thankful to have a friend like me!!!! I would just nod and smile, and think about how Craig was going to look in his tux...and if he was going to come over to my house afterward, throw rocks at my window to get me to come down, and kiss me in my backyard, because that was the one thing that would totally make all this prom crap worth it.
The night of prom came. The theme for that year's prom was "Love of a Lifetime" by Firehouse, which should have been my first warning that things were not going to turn out well. I met up with Julie's boyfriend Nathan in the school auditorium, and we sat in the front together so we could get a good view of Craig and Julie for Grand March. Soon enough, they walked down the stage, arm-in-arm, and I remember Nathan saying something about how beautiful Julie looked, but I was too immersed in my fantasy of Craig in a tux at our future wedding. Then they walked off the stage and dipped behind the curtain to enter the dance area portion of the prom, and I remember thinking "They're still arm-in-arm. Huh.", but I brushed it off. After the Grand March was over, Nathan and I briefly chatted about going backstage to say hi to Julie and Craig, but we figured that would be too weird and possessive-like, so we said goodbye and then left to go out with our respective friends.
Craig called me the next day (alas, no kiss in my backyard the night before) and told me about how much fun he had. I listened politely, thinking to myself that I really didn't care. On Monday, Julie gushed the same "We had SO MUCH FUN!!!!" story to me, and I, again, smiled, nodded, and wondered to myself when she would finally stop talking about it.
The funny/sucky thing was, they just kept talking about how much fun they had had together. For, like, two weeks.
Then one night, Craig called. The conversation went something like this...
"Uh, Amber, I have something that I need to talk to you about...I think you're really nice and everything...but I just think we should be friends, you know?...I still like you, it's just that you're a really great friend and I don't want to lose that."
I forced myself to sound happy and cheerful on the phone with him, agreeing that friends would be great, blah blah blah, but as soon as he hung up, I was a sobbing mess.
And here's where the story gets kind of blurry -
In my original recollection of this chain of events, I remember Julie coming up to me at some point - I don't know if it was that next week or months later - and apologizing about Craig and asking me to please don't be mad at her about him liking her. And I remember relenting because she had the decency to not gush again about how much fun she had had with MY boyfriend that one time when she took MY boyfriend to prom because she couldn't take HER OWN boyfriend to prom, and I had the decency to pretend that I was fine, of course we could still be friends (I seemed to be making a lot of these particular agreements at this point in time), hooray for friendship, etc.
But. Not hooray. Not hooray in the least. I remember thinking (in total, blind, white-hot anger) that I had been nice enough to let her take my boyfriend - the first boy I had ever really liked - to prom, and now not only had she gotten to dance with Craig while he was in a tuxedo, but now she was going to get to kiss him (probably in a cornfield, too!), and listen to Garth Brooks songs with him while she rode around with him in his red Geo Prism. If prom didn't get better the next two years, I remember thinking to myself, I was gonna pull a "Carrie." For real.
(You may sense a hint of foreboding in that last statement...)
But the thing I can't remember is the timeline of events. In my personal recollection, Craig had mentioned something to either me or someone else right after he broke up with me about how much fun he and Julie had had at prom, which made him like her and thus made him feel like the only fair thing was to break up with me. And I had somehow put it together in my memory that this all happened immediately - Craig broke up with me and then Julie broke up with Nate, but after talking to Craig about it on Facebook a few weeks ago, I learned that apparently this stuff took place over the course of a few months.
But accurate break-up timeline aside, what I do remember with perfect clarity is that it took me a long time to get over Craig. The whole rest of sophomore year and that entire summer after, in fact. I listened to a lot of country songs (mostly Martina McBride), cried my little 16 year old heart out, and let go of the whole Craig-kissing-me-in-cornfield fantasy. I accepted that just because he was the first guy who passed all my tests, it didn't mean he had to be the last. I even got over him enough to later and with full honesty be able to call him a real friend.
But it still took a while before I could listen to certain Garth Brooks songs without them leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
Craig and Julie, for their part, continued talking-in-tongues throughout high school and into college. They are now married and have two kids, which seems cool except that it prevents them from watching The Bachelor Pad because according to Julie (I'm friends with Craig and Julie on Facebook now) it's not family-friendly, so it can't be that cool.
When I tell this story to others, most think it's a really fun story and that I should take pride in the fact that I had a small hand in "opening the prom gates" to Craig and Julie's lifetime of romance...and yeah, I guess. At the time it felt like a really shitty thing on all sides...but how many times can you say that a break-up was meant to be because it led to their wife/husband?
I can, actually. I can say that about at least three of my former boyfriends. I now call this phenomenon, "Being the Trainer Bra of Girlfriends".
But at least I don't have to ever say that my first date with someone was to a prom where a Firehouse song was the theme.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
For more thoughts on how I feel about bands like Firehouse, follow me up on Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest if you're crafty.
CJ Camp's Very Handsome Family.
CJ, one of the funniest Twitter/Facebook people I know, posted this as his Christmas card this year.This is why I love social networks, you guys. Can we even REMEMBER a world where doing and posting and sharing stuff like this wasn't possible?
Do we even WANT to remember?
I don't.
PS - It's CJ's birthday! Go wish 'im a happy one.
For more amazing stuff that my online friends make that I later post on my blog and take credit for, follow me on Twitter, Facebook, and Pinterest.
December 25, 2012
Scenes From a Carter Christmas, 2012 (Part 2)
"D'you suppose they're all lesbians?" - Grandma, after Ellen invited two audience members down to play Guesstures with her and Heidi Klum.
Scenes From a Carter Christmas, 2012
Yesterday my mom pulled out this coloring book I had made when I was in the 2nd grade.
The best part of this coloring book, my mom said, was the page I made about my step family.
Which was obviously super adorable of me to do! Except that my parents have always been married.
"Divorce was popular when I was in the 2nd grade! All of my friends' parents were getting one!" I defended.
"We probably should have gotten you some counseling when you were little," my mom said, more to herself than anyone else.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
The best part of this coloring book, my mom said, was the page I made about my step family.
Which was obviously super adorable of me to do! Except that my parents have always been married.
"Divorce was popular when I was in the 2nd grade! All of my friends' parents were getting one!" I defended.
"We probably should have gotten you some counseling when you were little," my mom said, more to herself than anyone else.
Merry Christmas, everyone!
December 22, 2012
Two Months Later, Part 5
Brad and Willen with a water monster known as the musky.After I got back from L.A., I was lucky enough to spend some time with the Bauschy crew before I headed up north. This was especially fortuitous since it was during my niece-by-proxy Mae's birthday: I love that sassy little girl to pieces, and I was SO glad I got to spend some extended time with her. She grows up way too fast (I like to say that she's a 17-year-old in a 3-year-old's body. That girl is whip-smart, headstrong and s-a-s-s-y...which are also the top three reasons why I love her so much). I spent most of those days (and nights) working at macht speed on launching plans for new projects and tying up loose ends for existing ones. One day Matt walked in, shook his head, and said, "Everytime I see you, you're sitting in the exact same spot, typing on your laptop." Working helped keep that niggling anxiety - about what I was going to do and how - at bay, but it didn't exactly make me super fun to be around. Finally, Chels and Karah dragged me out to happy hour at Cafe Maude the night before I left as a sort of last hurrah. It was that same kind of that thing I'm used to feeling before a big trip or move - I was sad to leave my friends and the familiar faces and places, but I was also a little anxious to just get on with it. So it was up to the hinterlands for me again. Getting to my parents house felt like exhaling a long-held breath...I had some space to myself, I could relax a little bit, I was in familiar surroundings but was also making a new start. And ironically, it was also there and during that time that everything fell into place, all at once...
Plans with Brad became finalized, and I signed on as - as Brad likes to call it - the Off-Water Specialist for Musky Country Outfitters and the Brand Manager for Primo Tail (among other assorted related roles). As ironic it is to me that the two brands I've helped manage and promote (cycling and fly fishing) are two of the biggest areas that I previously had little to no interest or involvement in (to the point where I had attitude about it/them...which I now believe can actually leads to more success: things get a lot more creative and focused on the big picture when you're branding something from the outside in), it's been a blast thus far to get to know this huge community of fly fisherman that are so into Brad and the stuff he's doing with MCO and Primo Tail. I've also discovered that this particular online community of outdoorsmen are not all that different from the community I got to know while doing social media for Groucho Sports Supply. Generally, recreational cyclists and fly fisherman are pretty laid back folk...but when they like something, they really really like it.
I also picked up a couple of other local clients as well, and suddenly, without even trying to, I had this really spectacular web of clients that were all spearheading local and fascinating small businesses, and whom all had the potential of being in symbiotic relationships with each other. Which offered tons of radical possibilities for cross-promotional opportunities, which is something I really, really dig. Cool people making cool stuff...it's hard to get any better than that, when it comes to the day-to-day stuff.
The best part, though, of all of this is that it really cemented my motivation to focus on and create my own gigs. Here's the thing I learned about break-ups, amongst other things - they can be really, really fucking motivating...it's kind of like a tidal wave. Now that one area of your life has been drastically changed, it can propel you to take a look at the other areas of your life that could use a change, too. Writing about my experience and sharing my methods and lessons with others...that was it, you know? It was so cathartic, and it became the answer to the question I had been asking myself: What's the message? What's this stuff worth? And how do I make it worth it not just for me, but for someone else? So I'm working on some stuff. The book was finally finished during this time, too, and sent off to my publishing team, and I also started working on rebranding/revisioning Cyber Dating Sidekick as Very Damn Important (it's going to be fun...a lot of work is still ahead, but it's going to be fun). And the blog...
There was a very particular thing that came out of all of this that I don't know if I shared...I think I might have talked about it when I wrote about vision books, but it was one of those moments when you just finally tell yourself the truth. And the truth is...I love this blog. Over the years, I've used the blog as a vehicle towards other things - do a great job with your blog and then you get another job! Write a great post and you land another client! that kind of storyline - which, in actuality, didn't really make me all that happy.And the truth-telling moment that happened during the creation of my new vision book was...I want everything else to lead back to blogging. I want to do things that will give me more time to blog and write...not blog and write so I can do more things. Because this is what I really love...writing silly posts about nothing at all and then blog series about everything at once. And this, writing and blogging, is My Jam - the thing that, no matter what anyone else thinks or likes, it's gonna get me out on the middle of the dance floor, breaking it to the beat like nobody's business in ten seconds flat. It's the thing I'll do all day and night, without a second thought, without needing any guarantee that anyone will like it or that anything will come from it. I'd do it in the dark, just to do it. It's the thing that fills me with energy when I'm lacking and the thing that calms me down when I'm out of sorts.
So it's kind of a new era in the Amber Colored universe. And thank god for it.
And, to go with my new perspective...I got some new surroundings. I moved into the Penthouse of the Pavilion at the end of October with my friend and biz partner Adam. Some of you might have heard me mention it on Twitter and Facebook, so here's the full deets on the new digs -
It's the third floor of the building on Main Street known as the Pavilion. The Pavilion building is an old historical building with three stories - the first story holds the Wine Cave & Diablo Den (which Adam owns), the second floor holds the Pavilion shop and wine bar (some of you may know it from the fantastic eatery and live music it used to feature on the weekends) which Molly (Otis) Stoddard used to own but just sold to Itasca Leatherworks, and on the third floor you have the Penthouse. The Penthouse space is ridiculous. Ri-dic-ulous. Molly has a very distinctive and creative eye when it comes to interior design, and all the interior beauty of the place is courtesy of her. The space features two fireplaces (one in the living room and one in the kitchen), two bedrooms, a huuuuuuuuge two-room bathroom with jacuzzi and shower, a greenroom, a two-story deck (you kind of have to see it to get it), high ceilings, and a kitchen that overlooks Main Street.
The main reason that Adam and I are living here - besides lady luck deciding to be a hell of a swell girl - is that we're converting half of the place into a coworking/collaborative space, with a soft launch slated for April. We're pretty freaking excited about this new venture - it will both fill a wide and gaping need for the area as well as provide us with an avenue to gather and support the rather-undercover-and-mostly-undiscovered talent pool that Hayward holds. And even though we have a lot of work ahead of us, it's the kind of work that we can't wait to do.
What you see when you walk in. My room is behind the French-and-sliding doors on the left.
The hallway. Along the way from the living room to the kitchen you'll find a walk-in closet, the bathroom, laundry room, Adam's room, and finally the kitchen. The hallway also serves as a majorly fun slip-and-slide when you're wearing woolen socks.
Jacuuuzz!!
Guess which room this is! C'mon! Guess!
New discoveries: a fireplace in the kitchen is pretty much the best thing ever.
The greenroom. It has skylights!
Greenroom, leading out to the deck.
The view of the deck from the greenroom. The deck has two levels. It's crazy.So now I'm here. In Hayward. Again. And it's good, you know? I feel like all of these different times, when I kept feeling sucked back into this place...it was for a reason. And something big and huge and great came out of all of those times, so I gotta believe that it's going to be the same this time, too. There's big plans in the works. I've got a lot of work to do, but the work is good and the goals are great.And so it's two months later, and life just keeps getting better. Sometimes...that's all you can ask for, you know?
To keep updated on the future plans and haps, you can add yourself to the email list and RSS feed - located to the right -and/or follow me on Twitter, Facebook, and my new favorite social network, Pinterest.
December 21, 2012
Unintentionally Hilarious: Kevin's "Message In a Bottle" to prom...
December 20, 2012
Worth It.
I work with and write a lot about the precepts of forgiveness..the letting go of the things that drag us down. The bitter, the angry, the vengeful. Because it doesn't serve us. And I am all about the stuff that truly does.
So sometimes when it comes to posting certain things, I worry that the messages will get mixed up.
But I love this so much, and it kind of works into the personal motto I created for myself a few months ago. There's something about this that makes it easy to let go, you know? And return back to the self-worth that we all deserve to possess.
Because we are worth it. All of us are. And fuck (and forgive) those who don't get that.
Want more brutal honesty? Follow along on Twitter or Facebook...or Pinterest, if you're more of a "visual" type person.
December 19, 2012
Red Wing Wednesday: (The Re-telling of) Geekatron Prom
Imagine, if you will, a girl...a girl who has finally thrown off her braces, her big ol' thick glasses,and has finally learned that big-barreled curling irons are the key to taming her 'fro. She still has some baby fat, is now a cheerleader as well a Knowledge Bowl athlete ("The sport of the mind!"), and while she hasn't quite yet learned the trick of maneuvering her obnoxiousness into socially acceptable behavior, she's slowly passing out of El Geeko status.
It was around February of my freshman year that Wade "The Wall" Dewall asked me to prom. I had been hanging out on the porch of my youth group house (some kids only got a room for their youth group. We got a whole house. St. Paul Lutheran rules, everybody) with the other driving-license-deprived kids while we waited for our moms to pick us up, and I had struck up a conversation with Wade about prom.
You see, in Red Wing, the murmurs of prom began in February when the Prom Committee announced that it would begin to meet to plan that year's prom. Even though prom usually wasn't until the end of April, us Red Wing Wingers liked to be prepared for events such as this.
I had asked Wade if he had gone to prom as a junior, and he had replied that no, he hadn't, which had kind of made me sad. Wade was a Really Nice Guy. The kind of Really Nice Guy who got pushed around by guys sometimes and got ignored by girls all the time. The kids in our youth group were really, really tight, and we all liked Wade, not in small part because he was the kind of guy who deserved to be well-liked, but instead felt like he had to try really hard to get people to do that. He was kind of like the Cowardly Lion that way...this big football player (hence his nickname "The Wall") that you just kind of wanted to protect, you know?
I asked him if he planned on going to his Senior Prom, upon which he told me that he didn't have a girlfriend and therefore, probably not. We continued to make small talk for a while, and just as my mom pulled up, Wade blurted out "So do you wanna go to the prom with me?"
I was already walking towards my mom's car when I realized what he had said. I thought for a moment, turned around, and asked, not-so-subtly, "Just as friends?"
"Yeah, just as friends,"
"Okay, yeah...that'd be fun."
The next few weeks, as word got out, I found myself fending off questions about prom and Wade. My youth director, Lisa, first told me how sweet she thought it was that I was going with him, sharing that after I had gotten into my mom's car the night he had asked me, Wade had jumped off the porch and excitedly said "There's no way I'm missing my Senior Prom!" But then she followed that up by asking me if I was sure that Wade knew we were going just as friends, which kind of worried me. You would think that laying down the line about going just as friends before accepting a date to the prom would squash any doubts as to my intentions, but alas, the subject just kept coming up..
I liked Wade. As a friend. And I wasn't going to prom because I felt sorry for him... I was going to prom with him because he was my friend and I didn't want him to miss out on what was still to my eyes (just wait. This changes in the next few years) a pinnacle of the high school experience. And also... I was actually kind of excited to go to prom as a freshman. Prom is something that, as a girl, you fantasize about in elementary and middle school when you watch prom episodes of 90210 or see your older brothers and sisters go to it. It's like a dress rehearsal for being a bride...just like how most girls have their whole fantasy about what their wedding will be like, so too it is for what their prom will be like.
Until you actually go and realize how dumb it all is. But more on that later...
"People talk about the girls who go to prom as freshman, Amber," my friend, Sarah, a ridiculously gorgeous and smart junior, divulged when I told her that Wade had asked me to prom. Sarah was friends with my older brother, Kris, who was also a junior and was funny, athletic, popular and - according to other people - hot. I had already learned to brush off most of the girls who pretended to be nice to me to in order to impress my brother - wouldn't work, I wanted to tell them...he doesn't even like me, so he's definitely not going to like you for being friends with me... - but Sarah was different. She actually seemed to like me just for me (though I wasn't quite sure why).
"Yeah, but...I'm not going with a Senior as a date. I'm going as friends."
"Yeah, I guess that's different."
"And I'm hardly the girl that people would talk about like that. I haven't even had a real boyfriend yet."
"Yeah, but you're a cheerleader," she teased. "So same diff."
As Sarah tried to warn me, I did learn that going to prom as a freshman has its downfalls. For social reasons, going to prom with someone just as friends when you're a freshman is almost worse than being the kind of girl who'd gladly break in a hotel bed at Treasure Island Casino (legend has it that the majority of Red Wing Wingers who lost their virginity in high school most likely lost it at Treasure Island Casino & Resorts - a popular prom after-party destination - so if you spend the night there, most likely you're sleeping on the same bed that a disillusioned 17-year-old girl slept on after she had the worst and quickest sex of her life). Secondly, you're not really on the up-and-up when it comes to those subtle prom traditions that you wouldn't know about unless you had already observed prom or had past-prom-goers to advise you. It kind of made me feel like I was back at my first day of middle school all over again: What if I get a gown and everyone else is rocking cocktail dresses? What if I wear my hair up and everyone thinks it looks stupid? And what's all this shiz about matching the boutonniere and the corsage to my dress?!
It was freaking stressful, you guys (as stressful as something can be when you're 15). Nothing would have been more humiltating to me than to have all the uppperclassman laugh and throw mocking glances at me for looking stupid or doing something dumb at their prom. Because really, that's what it was - it was their prom, not mine, and so I kind of felt like I was an imposter...so I just wanted to be an imposter who blended in as much as she could.
But somehow I managed to get the basics covered - a simple black cocktail dress, heels, sparkly accessories (I still have the earrings, necklace, and barrettes, actually), and a hair/makeup prom appointment set at my regular salon.
It was the consultation for the my hair/makeup prom appointment that set the whole thing off.
It's a good rule of thumb to have a consultation a few weeks before prom with the stylist who will be doing the hair/makeup for your prom. This is to work out any flaws, kinks, or problems otherwise with your vision of how you want to look on prom night. I had scoured as many magazines I could get my grubby little hands on in search of just the look I wanted to achieve, and when I finally found it, I brought a picture of it to my consulation. I was going for subtle but glamorous...Veronica Lake-like hair, red lips, that type of thing.
To me, being specific and clear about what you want is good. So I made sure that my stylist knew exactly what I wanted; I even asked her if she was sure she could make my hair and makeup match exactly to the picture I had brought in, because if she couldn't, I told her, I would find something else to do with my hair/makeup. She stated that yes, she could do exactly what I was asking for, and it would be perfect.
As the day of prom got closer, I started getting more excited. Wade had informed me that he had taken care of the corsage, tickets, dinner plans, afterparty, etc, and that all I had to do was be ready at 4:00 p.m. that day. I had also helped the Prom Committee Advisor, Mrs. Orr (who was also my Knowledge Bowl advisor, in case you care) pick out the song list for the DJ to play at the dance, so I knew that at the very least I would get to show off my moves (I spent most of my middle school years practicing dance moves by myself in my room. Those were lonely years...but they paid off by ensuring that I can now win friends and admirers with some super slick and sweet moves anytime a song by C+C Music Factory comes on).
The day of prom arrived. I had my whole day planned with activities designed to make me into a beautiful, sophisticated prom-goer; ate some Cheerios and toast, watched some MTV, flipped through the newest Teen Magazine, practiced a cheerleading dance routine to a song by Ace of Base...and around noon, changed out of my pajamas and slipped into a flannel shirt and jeans in time for my hair and make-up appointment.
I had just sat down, my trusty picture in hand, when my stylist said "You do know that your hair isn't going to look exactly like that, right?" My mind starting swimming with fear...What? I thought, I asked her if she could do my hair just like this, and she said yes! Oh god...
I had reason to worry. When I left the salon I kept my head down and I darted from one dark corner to another, just in case any fellow high school classmate happened to be around. My hair, instead of being the smooth, wavy page-boy I had desired, now looked like a bad Dolly Parton wig (brunette, of course). My makeup was not "subtle but glamorous"...in fact, the first thing I thought when I saw her finished product was Oh no...I look like I belong in the Broadway production of "Cats"...
As I gratefully slipped into the passenger side of her car, my mom, ever-the-subtle-one, asked, "Did you want to look like that?"
Um, if I was planning on turning tricks for the rest of the night, yes, I wanted to reply. But for prom? No.
Yeah...that was about the point when I started crying.
When I got home, I washed my face, brushed my gigantic "It's a Smokey Mountain Christmas" hair down, and set about doing it all over again.
I had just zipped up my dress when Wade arrived. I walked down the stairs, trying to cultivate that slow descending-down-the-staircase walk you see in the movies...and realized that it's really hard to do while wearing heels, because I tripped down the last two steps. Wade then tried to pin my corsage onto my dress without inadvertently copping a feel at the same time, which is a really fun thing to experience in front of your parents. My mom took a few pictures, and we were off.
First stop - Wade's house for pictures. We posed for about an hour, because his mom and sister couldn't stop crying at the sight of Wade in a tux and "with a girl" (which, honestly, made the whole thing kind of worth it). Then we had to go to the local More-4, a grocery store that Wade worked at, where we had to pose for a polariod picture that, at last check in the year 2005, was actually still hanging on the staffroom billboard (we went to prom in 1994, just for the record).
Then it was time for us to dine at a Klassy establishment known as "Weinerstein's" in Miesville. If you've ever been there, you would understand our fellow diners amusement at the fact that a prom-going couple chose that particular restaurant for their prom dinner of choice. In fairness, Wade probably had as little clue about prom activities as I did, so I tried to think of all the good points of the place - beer steins as water glasses, flashing beer signs as decor, the excellent fried shrimp and fries basket, and of course, the lovely napkins depicting beer wenches with ample bosoms. I did feel better about this a few years later when I heard that a fellow classmate, Laurel, had gone to Hardee's with her prom date...but then her date got arrested at prom for statutory rape - being that he was 35 and she was 17 - so maybe I didn't feel that much better.
At Grand March, Wade and I walked out hand-in-hand in front of the audience in the auditorium. My family has preserved this particular walk in their video archives, which depictes me tripping and Wade suddenly changing his mind about whether we should walk the full length of the red carpet or if we should turn back and go the way we came.
That video shall continue to provide entertainment and amusement for my family for generations to come.
When it was time for the dance, Wade informed me that he was not a dancer. And at least he was honest and could admit this...but not only was Wade not the type to break it down on the dance floor to the beat, he was highly unskilled in the art of slow dancing. Some of you may remember reading about my nightmarish experiences in middle school concerning slow dances...the fact that I couldn't even get a good slow dance at prom with y date did not give me much hope for my slow dancing future.
However, Jake, my sophomore friend whom everyone suspected would come out of the closet after he graduated (he did) was present at prom, and his date was also not a dancer. Wade encouraged me to dance with Jake, saying that he just wanted to sit and talk to his buddies, so Jake and I proceeded to have a dance off for the rest of prom. Dancing with Jake was the best part of the evening: He was one of those people whom, even you two are the only ones out on the dancefloor, he makes it seem fun and totally awesome instead of awkward and weird. We made up our own version of swing-dancing, and he totally got my whole "I'm a chick in a ZZ Top video" mock-dancing. We also thoroughly enjoyed purposely bumping into the upperclassmen who were in the middle of performing throat examinations on their dates during slow dances.
Speaking of tongues, let us now go to the prom after-party...
I think it was my junior year when Red Wing parents got lame and decided to have Prom After-Parties at the YMCA to cut down on the possibilites of drunken sex-fests that otherwise known as prom after-parties. Freshman year, however, these drunken sex-fests were a thing. And it just so happened that Wade had been invited to bring me to one.
While I expected, in my 90210 mind, to have to push through throngs of people while loud bass music played on the stereo and people made out in hallways or drank until the keg ran dry, this was not what the after-party was like. At all. Instead, imagine a senior boy's (I can't remember his name for you Red Wing High readers...I think it starts with J, though? He was a senior, a drummer in the high school band, pretty cute, shaved head, and at the end of the year he had dumped his long-time blond and petite girlfriend and prom date in favor of this fellow senior girl Angie whom I used to live next door to and didn't like. And my last memory of them was that they had gotten those matching graffiti t-shirts that said each other's names on them and wore them to school, which cemented the fact that Angie was lame - because it was obviously her idea - and he was lame for going out with her) basment, complete with a pool table, TV, and various couches. Everyone else in attendance are senior couples, so pretty much the main activity was pool games and boob grabs, while I, dorky freshman who hasn't even french-kissed a boy yet, blushes and tries to study the velvet paintings on the wall. The liquor is flowing, but again, I am a freshman who also signed a sportsmanship code of honor, so while everyone is adding to their collection of empty beer or liquor bottles, I'm sipping my Shasta and trying really hard not to say anything completely lame or tip over anything like a gun cabinet or a lamp, since that's the type of stuff I usually ended up doing when I was nervous.
Then imagine various couples spread out on the couches (there were like, six couches down there. Why so many couches, senior boy's family?). Some of the couples were respectful enough to cover their groping with a blanket, some of the couples were not quite as demure. To complete the scene, imagine Wade and I sitting on one of these couches, watching the groping in stunned silence. At one point, I think Wade might have tried to kiss me...he turned to say something to me and leaned in a little bit, but I felt so uncomfortable and awkward with the whole scenario that I kind of just jumped up really quick and sat on the other side of the couch. Smooth? No. Effective? Yes.
However, not as effective as I wanted it to be. Wade tried to be subtle with the common, "You know, there's a room over there that we could hang out in and be alone." Umm, hi, I'm 15 and have never kissed a guy. Going into a room with senior, even one who is supposed to be just a friend (but apparently wasn't taking the hint?)? Not going to happen, even if it's only to prevent Sarah's prophecy from coming true.
I had never been so thankful to have a curfew in all of my life.
So to sum up, freshman prom was kind of the suck. I don't really know what my expectations of it were...I think at the very least, I wanted to feel a little bit more sophisticated for having gone. But I didn't. I did learn for future reference that girls were supposed to buy a garter to go along with their dress that they could then give to their date at the end of night (which their date could then put on the rearview mirror of their car because what cooler thing to do in high school, right? Drive a car AND stare at a piece of bunchy fabric that's been around a girl's thigh and possibly closer to her "precious flower" than they would ever get). I also gained some other positive learning experiences, such as:
So that was a positive learning experience, along with the other knowledge I had gained along the prom way (find a trustworthy stylist for your hair and makeup. Make sure your prom dinner is not a German-themed restaurant. Rehearse your Grand March stroll. Inform your date on proper slow dance form. Pick your after-party carefully. Wear a Chasity belt.)...but not enough to make it worth it when, a few weeks later, Wade had his buddy do the middle school thing and called me on the phone to ask what I thought of Wade...
Wade, for his part, later went on to marry what I heard was a very cute and sweet girl, and they had a couple of really cute kids. Which made me happy - Wade was totally the kind of guy from high school who came into his own after he had put a few years distance from those hallowed halls of mediocre public education.
For my part...ever the optimist, I hoped and hoped that my freshman prom experience would somehow pay off in the next few years...that all the knowledge I gained would be put to good use by going to prom with someone I did actually want to kiss.
Did it happen?
Nope! But there's some good stories that I gained instead, which I can now use to entertain you fine people by posting them on the blog.
So in a way, I guess you could say that I'm married to this blog, and that these stories are all my children...
Which you might think is really fucking depressing.
It kind of is.
It was around February of my freshman year that Wade "The Wall" Dewall asked me to prom. I had been hanging out on the porch of my youth group house (some kids only got a room for their youth group. We got a whole house. St. Paul Lutheran rules, everybody) with the other driving-license-deprived kids while we waited for our moms to pick us up, and I had struck up a conversation with Wade about prom.
You see, in Red Wing, the murmurs of prom began in February when the Prom Committee announced that it would begin to meet to plan that year's prom. Even though prom usually wasn't until the end of April, us Red Wing Wingers liked to be prepared for events such as this.
I had asked Wade if he had gone to prom as a junior, and he had replied that no, he hadn't, which had kind of made me sad. Wade was a Really Nice Guy. The kind of Really Nice Guy who got pushed around by guys sometimes and got ignored by girls all the time. The kids in our youth group were really, really tight, and we all liked Wade, not in small part because he was the kind of guy who deserved to be well-liked, but instead felt like he had to try really hard to get people to do that. He was kind of like the Cowardly Lion that way...this big football player (hence his nickname "The Wall") that you just kind of wanted to protect, you know?
I asked him if he planned on going to his Senior Prom, upon which he told me that he didn't have a girlfriend and therefore, probably not. We continued to make small talk for a while, and just as my mom pulled up, Wade blurted out "So do you wanna go to the prom with me?"
I was already walking towards my mom's car when I realized what he had said. I thought for a moment, turned around, and asked, not-so-subtly, "Just as friends?"
"Yeah, just as friends,"
"Okay, yeah...that'd be fun."
The next few weeks, as word got out, I found myself fending off questions about prom and Wade. My youth director, Lisa, first told me how sweet she thought it was that I was going with him, sharing that after I had gotten into my mom's car the night he had asked me, Wade had jumped off the porch and excitedly said "There's no way I'm missing my Senior Prom!" But then she followed that up by asking me if I was sure that Wade knew we were going just as friends, which kind of worried me. You would think that laying down the line about going just as friends before accepting a date to the prom would squash any doubts as to my intentions, but alas, the subject just kept coming up..
I liked Wade. As a friend. And I wasn't going to prom because I felt sorry for him... I was going to prom with him because he was my friend and I didn't want him to miss out on what was still to my eyes (just wait. This changes in the next few years) a pinnacle of the high school experience. And also... I was actually kind of excited to go to prom as a freshman. Prom is something that, as a girl, you fantasize about in elementary and middle school when you watch prom episodes of 90210 or see your older brothers and sisters go to it. It's like a dress rehearsal for being a bride...just like how most girls have their whole fantasy about what their wedding will be like, so too it is for what their prom will be like.
Until you actually go and realize how dumb it all is. But more on that later...
"People talk about the girls who go to prom as freshman, Amber," my friend, Sarah, a ridiculously gorgeous and smart junior, divulged when I told her that Wade had asked me to prom. Sarah was friends with my older brother, Kris, who was also a junior and was funny, athletic, popular and - according to other people - hot. I had already learned to brush off most of the girls who pretended to be nice to me to in order to impress my brother - wouldn't work, I wanted to tell them...he doesn't even like me, so he's definitely not going to like you for being friends with me... - but Sarah was different. She actually seemed to like me just for me (though I wasn't quite sure why).
"Yeah, but...I'm not going with a Senior as a date. I'm going as friends."
"Yeah, I guess that's different."
"And I'm hardly the girl that people would talk about like that. I haven't even had a real boyfriend yet."
"Yeah, but you're a cheerleader," she teased. "So same diff."
As Sarah tried to warn me, I did learn that going to prom as a freshman has its downfalls. For social reasons, going to prom with someone just as friends when you're a freshman is almost worse than being the kind of girl who'd gladly break in a hotel bed at Treasure Island Casino (legend has it that the majority of Red Wing Wingers who lost their virginity in high school most likely lost it at Treasure Island Casino & Resorts - a popular prom after-party destination - so if you spend the night there, most likely you're sleeping on the same bed that a disillusioned 17-year-old girl slept on after she had the worst and quickest sex of her life). Secondly, you're not really on the up-and-up when it comes to those subtle prom traditions that you wouldn't know about unless you had already observed prom or had past-prom-goers to advise you. It kind of made me feel like I was back at my first day of middle school all over again: What if I get a gown and everyone else is rocking cocktail dresses? What if I wear my hair up and everyone thinks it looks stupid? And what's all this shiz about matching the boutonniere and the corsage to my dress?!
It was freaking stressful, you guys (as stressful as something can be when you're 15). Nothing would have been more humiltating to me than to have all the uppperclassman laugh and throw mocking glances at me for looking stupid or doing something dumb at their prom. Because really, that's what it was - it was their prom, not mine, and so I kind of felt like I was an imposter...so I just wanted to be an imposter who blended in as much as she could.
But somehow I managed to get the basics covered - a simple black cocktail dress, heels, sparkly accessories (I still have the earrings, necklace, and barrettes, actually), and a hair/makeup prom appointment set at my regular salon.
It was the consultation for the my hair/makeup prom appointment that set the whole thing off.
It's a good rule of thumb to have a consultation a few weeks before prom with the stylist who will be doing the hair/makeup for your prom. This is to work out any flaws, kinks, or problems otherwise with your vision of how you want to look on prom night. I had scoured as many magazines I could get my grubby little hands on in search of just the look I wanted to achieve, and when I finally found it, I brought a picture of it to my consulation. I was going for subtle but glamorous...Veronica Lake-like hair, red lips, that type of thing.
To me, being specific and clear about what you want is good. So I made sure that my stylist knew exactly what I wanted; I even asked her if she was sure she could make my hair and makeup match exactly to the picture I had brought in, because if she couldn't, I told her, I would find something else to do with my hair/makeup. She stated that yes, she could do exactly what I was asking for, and it would be perfect.
As the day of prom got closer, I started getting more excited. Wade had informed me that he had taken care of the corsage, tickets, dinner plans, afterparty, etc, and that all I had to do was be ready at 4:00 p.m. that day. I had also helped the Prom Committee Advisor, Mrs. Orr (who was also my Knowledge Bowl advisor, in case you care) pick out the song list for the DJ to play at the dance, so I knew that at the very least I would get to show off my moves (I spent most of my middle school years practicing dance moves by myself in my room. Those were lonely years...but they paid off by ensuring that I can now win friends and admirers with some super slick and sweet moves anytime a song by C+C Music Factory comes on).
The day of prom arrived. I had my whole day planned with activities designed to make me into a beautiful, sophisticated prom-goer; ate some Cheerios and toast, watched some MTV, flipped through the newest Teen Magazine, practiced a cheerleading dance routine to a song by Ace of Base...and around noon, changed out of my pajamas and slipped into a flannel shirt and jeans in time for my hair and make-up appointment.
I had just sat down, my trusty picture in hand, when my stylist said "You do know that your hair isn't going to look exactly like that, right?" My mind starting swimming with fear...What? I thought, I asked her if she could do my hair just like this, and she said yes! Oh god...
I had reason to worry. When I left the salon I kept my head down and I darted from one dark corner to another, just in case any fellow high school classmate happened to be around. My hair, instead of being the smooth, wavy page-boy I had desired, now looked like a bad Dolly Parton wig (brunette, of course). My makeup was not "subtle but glamorous"...in fact, the first thing I thought when I saw her finished product was Oh no...I look like I belong in the Broadway production of "Cats"...
As I gratefully slipped into the passenger side of her car, my mom, ever-the-subtle-one, asked, "Did you want to look like that?"
Um, if I was planning on turning tricks for the rest of the night, yes, I wanted to reply. But for prom? No.
Yeah...that was about the point when I started crying.
When I got home, I washed my face, brushed my gigantic "It's a Smokey Mountain Christmas" hair down, and set about doing it all over again.
I had just zipped up my dress when Wade arrived. I walked down the stairs, trying to cultivate that slow descending-down-the-staircase walk you see in the movies...and realized that it's really hard to do while wearing heels, because I tripped down the last two steps. Wade then tried to pin my corsage onto my dress without inadvertently copping a feel at the same time, which is a really fun thing to experience in front of your parents. My mom took a few pictures, and we were off.
First stop - Wade's house for pictures. We posed for about an hour, because his mom and sister couldn't stop crying at the sight of Wade in a tux and "with a girl" (which, honestly, made the whole thing kind of worth it). Then we had to go to the local More-4, a grocery store that Wade worked at, where we had to pose for a polariod picture that, at last check in the year 2005, was actually still hanging on the staffroom billboard (we went to prom in 1994, just for the record).
Then it was time for us to dine at a Klassy establishment known as "Weinerstein's" in Miesville. If you've ever been there, you would understand our fellow diners amusement at the fact that a prom-going couple chose that particular restaurant for their prom dinner of choice. In fairness, Wade probably had as little clue about prom activities as I did, so I tried to think of all the good points of the place - beer steins as water glasses, flashing beer signs as decor, the excellent fried shrimp and fries basket, and of course, the lovely napkins depicting beer wenches with ample bosoms. I did feel better about this a few years later when I heard that a fellow classmate, Laurel, had gone to Hardee's with her prom date...but then her date got arrested at prom for statutory rape - being that he was 35 and she was 17 - so maybe I didn't feel that much better.
At Grand March, Wade and I walked out hand-in-hand in front of the audience in the auditorium. My family has preserved this particular walk in their video archives, which depictes me tripping and Wade suddenly changing his mind about whether we should walk the full length of the red carpet or if we should turn back and go the way we came.
That video shall continue to provide entertainment and amusement for my family for generations to come.
When it was time for the dance, Wade informed me that he was not a dancer. And at least he was honest and could admit this...but not only was Wade not the type to break it down on the dance floor to the beat, he was highly unskilled in the art of slow dancing. Some of you may remember reading about my nightmarish experiences in middle school concerning slow dances...the fact that I couldn't even get a good slow dance at prom with y date did not give me much hope for my slow dancing future.
However, Jake, my sophomore friend whom everyone suspected would come out of the closet after he graduated (he did) was present at prom, and his date was also not a dancer. Wade encouraged me to dance with Jake, saying that he just wanted to sit and talk to his buddies, so Jake and I proceeded to have a dance off for the rest of prom. Dancing with Jake was the best part of the evening: He was one of those people whom, even you two are the only ones out on the dancefloor, he makes it seem fun and totally awesome instead of awkward and weird. We made up our own version of swing-dancing, and he totally got my whole "I'm a chick in a ZZ Top video" mock-dancing. We also thoroughly enjoyed purposely bumping into the upperclassmen who were in the middle of performing throat examinations on their dates during slow dances.
Speaking of tongues, let us now go to the prom after-party...
I think it was my junior year when Red Wing parents got lame and decided to have Prom After-Parties at the YMCA to cut down on the possibilites of drunken sex-fests that otherwise known as prom after-parties. Freshman year, however, these drunken sex-fests were a thing. And it just so happened that Wade had been invited to bring me to one.
While I expected, in my 90210 mind, to have to push through throngs of people while loud bass music played on the stereo and people made out in hallways or drank until the keg ran dry, this was not what the after-party was like. At all. Instead, imagine a senior boy's (I can't remember his name for you Red Wing High readers...I think it starts with J, though? He was a senior, a drummer in the high school band, pretty cute, shaved head, and at the end of the year he had dumped his long-time blond and petite girlfriend and prom date in favor of this fellow senior girl Angie whom I used to live next door to and didn't like. And my last memory of them was that they had gotten those matching graffiti t-shirts that said each other's names on them and wore them to school, which cemented the fact that Angie was lame - because it was obviously her idea - and he was lame for going out with her) basment, complete with a pool table, TV, and various couches. Everyone else in attendance are senior couples, so pretty much the main activity was pool games and boob grabs, while I, dorky freshman who hasn't even french-kissed a boy yet, blushes and tries to study the velvet paintings on the wall. The liquor is flowing, but again, I am a freshman who also signed a sportsmanship code of honor, so while everyone is adding to their collection of empty beer or liquor bottles, I'm sipping my Shasta and trying really hard not to say anything completely lame or tip over anything like a gun cabinet or a lamp, since that's the type of stuff I usually ended up doing when I was nervous.
Then imagine various couples spread out on the couches (there were like, six couches down there. Why so many couches, senior boy's family?). Some of the couples were respectful enough to cover their groping with a blanket, some of the couples were not quite as demure. To complete the scene, imagine Wade and I sitting on one of these couches, watching the groping in stunned silence. At one point, I think Wade might have tried to kiss me...he turned to say something to me and leaned in a little bit, but I felt so uncomfortable and awkward with the whole scenario that I kind of just jumped up really quick and sat on the other side of the couch. Smooth? No. Effective? Yes.
However, not as effective as I wanted it to be. Wade tried to be subtle with the common, "You know, there's a room over there that we could hang out in and be alone." Umm, hi, I'm 15 and have never kissed a guy. Going into a room with senior, even one who is supposed to be just a friend (but apparently wasn't taking the hint?)? Not going to happen, even if it's only to prevent Sarah's prophecy from coming true.
I had never been so thankful to have a curfew in all of my life.
So to sum up, freshman prom was kind of the suck. I don't really know what my expectations of it were...I think at the very least, I wanted to feel a little bit more sophisticated for having gone. But I didn't. I did learn for future reference that girls were supposed to buy a garter to go along with their dress that they could then give to their date at the end of night (which their date could then put on the rearview mirror of their car because what cooler thing to do in high school, right? Drive a car AND stare at a piece of bunchy fabric that's been around a girl's thigh and possibly closer to her "precious flower" than they would ever get). I also gained some other positive learning experiences, such as:
So that was a positive learning experience, along with the other knowledge I had gained along the prom way (find a trustworthy stylist for your hair and makeup. Make sure your prom dinner is not a German-themed restaurant. Rehearse your Grand March stroll. Inform your date on proper slow dance form. Pick your after-party carefully. Wear a Chasity belt.)...but not enough to make it worth it when, a few weeks later, Wade had his buddy do the middle school thing and called me on the phone to ask what I thought of Wade...
Wade, for his part, later went on to marry what I heard was a very cute and sweet girl, and they had a couple of really cute kids. Which made me happy - Wade was totally the kind of guy from high school who came into his own after he had put a few years distance from those hallowed halls of mediocre public education.
For my part...ever the optimist, I hoped and hoped that my freshman prom experience would somehow pay off in the next few years...that all the knowledge I gained would be put to good use by going to prom with someone I did actually want to kiss.
Did it happen?
Nope! But there's some good stories that I gained instead, which I can now use to entertain you fine people by posting them on the blog.
So in a way, I guess you could say that I'm married to this blog, and that these stories are all my children...
Which you might think is really fucking depressing.
It kind of is.
December 18, 2012
Everybody always says they want their wedding be like "a big party."
via rossandkel.typepad.comWhen I get married, I'm going to tell people that I want my wedding to be like a sad funeral. That way, no one can be disappointed.
