14:43 - May 26, 2002
prom
Nine hours of pure promly goodness might be just a tad too much promly goodness for me, personally, but I liked it all the same. There's a certain charm in having hair pulled back firmly enough to induce aneurysm (were that to be how aneurysms are induced), shoes that pinch and wobble, and a dress that cost more than my weekly paycheck (worn for two or three hours only). 'Certain charm' meaning 'hell on earth', but somehow in a good way. In my modest platforms, I stood 6'5". Three inches more is enough to let you bang your head on doorframes constantly, always in the exact same place as you cracked your head on a bouldering rock not five days ago. In short..

Good/Bad Prom Rundown:

Good
Shrimp cocktail, caesar salad, limo containing carrot juice, my comfy dress, the blues band playing outside, karaoke, seeing Karolina, Simon and Susan's voices, Mike's zoot suit, Dan's seventies shirt, coffee cake, Nikki coming into Erik's house in the middle of the night with no warning, anti-seasickness gum, creme brulee, Mary and Dan's dancing, the girls saying fuck in the bathroom, the 'sex level', Camille's sweater, and Erik's entire family.

Bad
The giant neon-lit American flag at Navy Pier, along with the huge one posted on our limo, our limo driver's incompetency, cold weather, wind, seasickness, rigatoni, couples making out and/or being lovey dovey every second or the night, my wraparound skirt which will not stay closed, Javier, dance music, my lack of a jacket, my pinchy shoes, 'where's Lisa?', missing the sunrise, Cam, Mike and Dan having to leave early, Amelia and Livio kicking me in the head, and loud smoochy noises all night.

That said, and seeing how they're about equal in length, I've got a point to make about my 'god damn fucking negativity', Camille, and by the by, nice use of cursing in 3/4 of your total words. I admire your skill, and I'm not quite sure if I'm being facetious or not. Anyway, I like to make a point by way of ranting. My cynical nature demands it; my stomping along the sidewalk yelling like a madwoman about incompetency and inconsistency and my feet hurting. (Incidentally, remember talking about how I would have been had I been raised by only my father? Case in point...). It's therapeutic to put the bad things into words, not to mention fun. Imagine the word combinations! Do my feet feel as if they've got a burning rod pressing into them, or a perforated metal saw? Does my stomach feel like it's rolling, or spinning? Is the limo driver an underqualifed lazy incompetent greedy typical product of our capitalist society, or is he a bloody fucking bastard?

The good things I like to absorb silently. I'm not the type to rant about something that's already exactly the way I want it. ('Hot Damn! This shrimp cocktail is fucking amazing!' 'Mike, your zoot suit rocks this ballroom!) Actually, I guess I do that to a degree. But at the points when I'm really on a roll, it's usually negative. At least it's funny, sometimes, right? It's better than whining, yes? That's my humour. Like a politically oriented stand up comic. Everything that's wrong with America today, injustice injustice etc. I would have made an excellent hippie. ('Take a shower? What? Okay, listen up, if you think I'm going to strip naked and stand under a meager trickling spout of what is essentially acid rain, spewing all over my harmonious soul, poisoning it with toxins, you better go mind your own fucking business. Dirt is nature's cleanser, man! Why don't you go drink some environment-destroying hairspray and then shit it out the other end?')

Mike, I'm always surprised when people refer to me as shy. To myself, I'm the loud cynical overbearing one that makes stupid jokes that nobody laughs at unless they're in writing or it's Camille (she always laughs) and occasionally loses consciousness in inappropriate places. I have never seen myself as shy. Apparently, though, I'm wrong, because everyone I ask says 'Oh yeah.. you're definitely shy.' Several people came up to me on the boat and said they were shocked to hear me sing since they'd never even heard me talk. There's some sort of discrepancy here, though, and I'm probably the wrong one. I know I've got a soft voice, but... maybe I live a whole life in my head where I talk and people respond that isn't real. I wish I had better perspective on myself, which is impossible. Is that a curse or a blessing?

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