prom-allama-ding-dong

“You know, that’s the first dance I’ve been to in a long time and there were no slow songs. When are you supposed to get close to your woman? And I mean in a loving way, not just in a I-wanna-put-my-dick-on-you way.”
-Mitch Baker

Even if I tried, I’m not sure I could have come up with a better quote to sum up Prom 2011.

And yes, you read correctly.

Prom.

Ta-da!

Mitch and I went to prom, and not just because we’re a. creepers or b. super-creepers, but because c. I was there professionally as the photographer. Which means that actually Mitch was there for reasons a. and b. Oops.


Mitch, my mom and I getting ready for THE SINGLE GREATEST NIGHT OF OUR LIVES.

We were both really excited about it. Probably too excited. But, y’all, prom as an adult (and I use the term adult loosely, for obvious reasons) isn’t that awesome. Although, to be honest, even when I was in high school I thought prom was a total drag, but that’s probably because, as you may recall, I was a loser with bad hair, and Prom 2005: Here’s to the Night was no exception.

Anyway.

Moving on.

On the ride up to McKinney, Mitch and I took turns guessing which songs the DJ would play. We figured this would be a piece of cake because we’re young, hip and fun. We listen to not only 106.1 and 93.3, but also 97.9 AND 104.5. We know what’s going on with the music of today. Or so we thought. Can I just tell y’all that we made a list of 34 songs (and the official rules of this challenge stated that for every song you picked that was played, the other person had to buy you a drink, obvi), and out of those 34 young, hip, fun songs, only six were played. SIX. I don’t even need to tell you that out of those six, only one was mine, although I guess I just did. So not only was the playlist shit, but now I owe Mitch five beers and I have, like, four dollars, so I guess we’re keepin’ it classy with Keystone.

Unbelievable.

I blame the 6/35 on the DJ, a man who can truly be described as the real OG (here meaning the Original Guido). His excessively-bronzed skin overly accentuated his electric-white teeth, both of which I would have been willingly to overlook all that if the man would have at least played Britney Spears’ Till the World Ends as opposed to, oh, I don’t know, a techno remix of Hey, Soul Sister by Train.

Ummmmmm...

What are you doing, sir?

Look at your life. Look at your choices.

By the time the night was over and we were finally able to make the hour drive home, we were so burned out on BOOOooomOOOOooom BOOM BOOMBOOM BOOM CHIKITAH CHIKITAHCHIKITAH THUNDA THUNDA THUNDA that we just couldn’t handle anything on the radio.

So we turned on 98.7 for some golden oldies, ie. music that didn’t make me feel like I was inside a woofer. Or a strobe light.

And as we drove home, listening to the ever smooth King of Motown, we bitched about kids these days and their damn music, how it’s so loud and just a lot of noise, if you ask me, and so on and so on and so on.

Then it hit me.

We’re old.

Not old-old. Just older, I guess. What I mean is we’re not eighteen anymore, and while it’s the bitter in bittersweet to recognize the loss of (some of) my youth, I gotta tell ya, the sweet part is not only the knowledge and maturity that comes with age, but the confidence that, hell, I’m better than all those young punks.

Suckers.




*A kachillion thanks to Mitchell S. Baker for being a stellar prom date. As always, I was so proud to have you by my side.

You're pretty.