Pick a Little, Talk a Little

I took my wonderful friend Jeni to Prom last night. It was definitely an… experience, to say the least.

We started off the day with coffee, shopping, and hair. While she was getting her Gwen Stefani curls done, I rushed around Longmont, pulling the last bits and pieces of the puzzle together. Camera? Check. Dress? Check. Earrings? Boot Flask? Gin? Check. Check. Check.
I slid the knot of my powder blue tie into place, as Jeni slipped into her spring-style dress. Teeth check? Perfect. Hair? Flawless.

As we drove over to a friend of Jeni’s house, we sucked down matching cigarettes, and managed to leave matching ash marks on our matching outfits. Shrugging it off, we floored the gas, and laughed the rest of the way.

When we arrived, it was absolute chaos. There was a poperazzi of people waiting with cameras and adoring faces, just dying to shoot their loads rolls of film. After 25 minutes of happy faces, serious faces, Hollywood poses and silly faces, I shoved the handle of gin next to the bottle of rum, zipped up my bag, and we were on our way to dinner at PF Changs.

We arrived ten minutes late, and we were well on our way to being drunk. Prom Date Ken, complete with surfer hair and boot flask I spent the entirety of dinner discretely pouring alcohol into our drinks, and slamming them one by one. By the time our plates were being cleared, I managed to hit on our waiter, wink at a bus boy, accidentally molest Jeni’s Mormon school mate, and call these rude fat girls [who were giving MY date dirty looks] “-round, shiny, fat chicks, who shouldn’t be eating out in public, they should be at home crying, and eating nothing. I mean how desperate can their dates be? Everytime they have sex; a new crevasse, a new experience!”

PROM was FUCKED.
We looked hot. We danced hard, we played hard, and we were fierce. Considering what little time I had to pull my look together, we did an amazing job, if I say so myself. People I used to go to school with, were glaring and staring. The teachers were outraged, the girls were pissed that my date was so gorgeous. After five minutes, we were like, let’s go.

So we went to Jeni’s “boyfriend’s” house.
I drank more and passed out. It was the most glamorous ending to a night I could have imagined.

It’s funny that I continue to go to these functions. They’re all exactly the same. Dumb guys who can’t tell they head from their asshole, and bitchy girls that squeeze into little dresses, who call everyone else a whore, even though they don’t even realize their big old titty’s hangin’ out.

It always unfortunately ends the same, as well. At the end of the night, I’m holding a bottle in one hand, and a drunken girl in the other. Being the gentleman that I am, I tuck ‘em in, take a last swing, and hope that I pass out before the realization that I’m completely alone at the end of a seemingly “romantic” night.

It’s interesting how people take it so seriously. The dress, the dinner, the pictures. It’s just a dance. And at the end of the night, everyone’s alone.

Sunrise, Sunrise, It's like morning in your eyes.
Matty B.