It's the Time of the Season...

Let's hope you can see the picture now. Also, there's some more terrible advice over at Stark Raving Dads
today. Go, and be amazed. At our mediocrity.


MommyTime, my, like, just about all-time favorite blogging chic, wants to know your prom story.

I don't have a picture of me in my dress, but I did manage to dig up this little gem.We have no life.

Prom. Huh. I didn't go to one school dance until my junior year of HS. My Junior homecoming was my first school dance, ever, and I was the (dateless) photographer. My senior prom however.... I was crazy-stalker in L.O.V.E. with some guy from high school. I wanted him to ask me to prom *this* bad, and made that quite clear, but yeah, he thought I was a crazy stalker.

Bygones.

My BFF, whom we shall call Ditto, asked me to go in the very nonchalant way he did everything. I accepted, in the very nonchalant way I did (almost) everything.

I picked him up about 30 minutes before the gig started, and he was still in a t-shirt, playing video games. I had to help get his tie straight while his mother found his Doc's. While I was wearing THAT monstrosity. That my boobies looked so good in, you don't even know.

Anyway, he hadn't eaten yet, so we hit the Burger King Drive-Thru and then off to prom we went.

Warm and Fuzzy, no?Our prom was held in a (remarkable spacious) hallway of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, giving us a lovely view all night of <---this.

My English teacher spent the evening from the balcony heckling all the girls who dared hoist there boobies up in the middle of the dance floor. I spent most of the night waiting for Mas Younon to ask me to dance, and Ditto more than likely spent most of the night waiting for me to stop waiting for Mas Younon. Whatever.

We did our thing, hit the stupid after-prom, and then I drove him home. I was admittedly nervous, so I also offered the German foreign exchange student and some girl I can't remember the name of but I seem to associate with food stuck in braces a ride home. I dropped Ditto off first. No hanky panky, no making out, nothing.

That? I TOTALLY regret.

2 years later, a friend asked me to go with his little 10th grade brother to his prom, and that I totally did. And that? Was, like, the funniest night EVER. We danced the Time Warp. In kilts. I was WAY older and cooler than every girl there. And that little 10th grader was suddenly the coolest boy in school. And my dress was LEAGUES better. Just sayin.'

That, friends, is my very boring ass prom story. Please don't make me ever tell it again. But now that I've shared mine, you HAVE to share yours. Let MommyTime know if you do.

Updated: You all need to read this. Goddamnit, I wish this had been MY prom story. Matt, you are officially the comment of the week.
I am a little late on this one, but my prom story is pretty good. My plan was to go to the prom with my girlfriend at the High School, five minutes at the after-party, then to some hotel rooms we'd reserved with a group of friends.

On the way to pick her up I stopped at a Quick Trip for a fountain soda. As I was paying, I saw a shady guy in a fishing hat and a Union Jack T-shirt eyeing my van (I had painted it black and red like the A-Team one) suspiciously. When I questioned him about it, he handed me five hundred dollars in American express Travelers Checks and told me to follow him to the alley behind the gas station, where he peeled back the corner of an old tarp that was covering the bed of his maroon El Camino. There were 4 or five Hefty bags in it. He said the money was mine if I drove them in my van to a trailer park in Missouri and dropped them in a dumpster that had the phrase "pemmican rules" written on it in green spray paint.

Being young and stupid, I took the money. There were no cell phones back then, so I hoped my date wouldn't be too pissed...Missouri was about an hour away.

Sure enough, as I was crossing the Martin Luther King Bridge, a cop going the other way turned on his lights. I watched, horrified, in the rearview as he pulled a sharp U-turn. Damn! I jerked the van to the side, ran to the back, ripped open the bags and started dumping the contents over the guard rail. I couldn't believe what was inside. Cat heads. Perfectly preserved. Hundreds of them. Some of them seemed to look at me angrily as they fell, growing smaller and smaller until they splashed into the Mississippi, making soft plopping noises. The cop pulled up behind me, his brakes squealing. To make matters worse, a local Channel 7 news team happened to be passing by and got the whole thing on film. I was all over the evening news on prom night as "The Cat Head Kid". Needless to say, I spent the whole night in jail and missed my prom. My girlfriend left me and I was the laughing stock of the town for a while. I did manage to keep one of the heads though. It sits on a shelf in my bathroom next to my back scratcher and a bottle of Brut aftershave.

Pretty boring night, actually. Sorry for the long comment.