You guys, do you want me to look like an idiot? I'm sitting in my free period, moaning and holding my hand to my heart. All from reading the beautiful comments you left on last night's blog. I didn't expect anyone to say anything because it was so depressing-- I didn't really expect anyone to read it, even, because it was so long. But you all prove, once again, to be far better than I will ever be. I can't even convey how much your responses meant to me. A big hug to Tessa, Jordiekins (who's a boy?! His username is so normal for a girl, so I didn't think anything of it, but it's CUTE for a boy!), megkatjo, Phyllis, Cynthia, Faith, Katie, Bigred719, Daniel, Allyson, SnakesAndWorms, valerie2776, Leah (lessthanthree), Jordan, Tom, Nicholas, Karissa (who saw Bloody Red Heart!) Randi, Ginger, Hayley, sparkletasia, Rosianna (my soulsister), Callie, Rebecca, Leesa, VicMorrowsGhost, Brad, Kim, A.J. James, Catherine, Katy J, intothesunshine, Joanne, Adrienne, Joy Isobel, Lori, Elrich89, Kaitlin, Margo (Is that your real name? If it is, YOU'RE SO LUCKY. If it's just a nod to John Green, you're still awesome), Rachel, Gavin, an anonymous reader, and Gabby, who's incredible, considering our relationship's roots. I'll end the sappy shout-outs with an enormous, all-consuming, everlasting hug for Becky, who left the most heartwrenching comment I've ever received. I love you guys.
I don't really want to write about my prom, but I figure it's a record worth having, so I'll try to get it out. Okay, so the day started with getting my hair and makeup done. I wasn't crazy about the final product of my hair, but I had no issues with it. I hated wearing that makeup, though. I didn't look anything like myself, and it was both freaky and weirdly upsetting. I tried to avoid eye contact with myself and got pumped to later step into my craaazy dress that I positively adore. Some people (mostly those who are interested in fashion or like standing out) were big fans, but most reviews were openly confused, if not negative. One of my friends' boyfriends-- a guy I'm friends with, and admire for being typically kind-- said, and I quote, "Hey, Hayley. You look... interesting." My friend, Sarah, laughed out loud when she saw it and mockingly asked if she could borrow it. Another good friend told me, flat out, that she didn't like it, but liked me anyway. Despite how I'm making it sound, my feelings were in no way hurt over all that. I think it's kind of funny.
In line for Promenade, I told my date all the things I said yesterday about our English. He told me I was making a big deal over nothing. Then, like a sitcom, on cue walks in our English teacher from last year, who promptly takes to hugging me passionately and saying how much she loves and misses me. Talk about contrast!
Dinner was okay. I was mostly left to chaperone the boys at my table to make sure they didn't make fun of my flamboyant (yes, obnoxious to the extreme, but in my eyes, lovable) friend, at one point throwing a roll at one of their heads. They both lost serious respect points with me for that. Adding to his tally of lost respect, one of them (the boy who earlier said I looked interesting) and his girlfriend proceeded to moodily grope and eye-roll in each other's laps all night. Give me a break! I can't believe I was grateful that the music started playing and dinner was over.
I spent the majority of the dance portion positioned awkwardly in front of my date, cringing and swaying slightly to the beat of frightening rap music, while my peers literally held a lapdance competition on my right. I swear, the human race is devolving. They're so animalistic and overtly sexual, even in front of our assistant principal! The goal of a dress is to cover those body parts! The goal of music is to be heard, not thudded violently through the body at an incomprehensible volume! I danced in arm's length of my date just long enough for him to kiss me excitedly and terribly, taking care to do so when as many people as possible were watching. Let me tell you-- nothing is less sexy than wearing a princess gown in the middle of a student body orgy, and no first kiss is less innocent and sweet than one given by attack to the 8 Mile soundtrack.
The last nail was pounded forcefully into the coffin, by way of strappy silver high heel, at After Prom. First, I had to sit outside in a tube top, visibly shivering, while my date looked like an idiot and smoked a cheap cigar with ultimate pride, like, Look how manly I am! I smell like Old Spice, geriatrics and cancer! When we finally went inside, a group of tired chaperones gave us the fish eye, sizing us up and down to silently determine whether we were boozing, hitting up, or sexing. For me, it was none of the above, but their glares somehow made me feel dirty regardless. For the rest of the night, until three or so when I begged my date to take me home, I listened to some sophomore boys' band sing off-key versions of whiny white boy soft rock, watched my classmates prance their cellulite around in swimsuits, and thoroughly lost a game of "I've never." On the bright side, there was a TON of food, and-- I'm NOT making this up-- there were chips and salsa catered by Chipotle. I jauntily consumed a teeny, tiny amount whilst listening to my date tell me how "People should only eat Chipotle about twice a year, because it loses its appeal." Yikes, kid. Not your best move. To punctuate that statement, he took my plate from me mid-bite, bored, and insisted that we relocate. OUCH! Anyone wanna desert Team Andrew? See what I mean now?
I walked inside as quickly as possible so I wouldn't have to experience the wrath of his mouth again, and just stood in my hallway for a minute in the pitch black, letting it soak in. On the bright side, I will never, ever, ever, ever have to do that again. On the smudgy side, I had eyeliner ingrained in my skin and was practically too exhausted to make it upstairs. I did, and fell asleep without so much as washing my face besides a few quick swipes of a washcloth. I awoke the next day at noon. My sister made me waffles.
And that, kids, was the so-advertised "night of my dreams" that High School Musical 3 and Seventeen Magazine love to talk about.
Chipotle burritos this year: 15
Days left of high school: 15
Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3