We're the Kids in America (wo-woah)

Saturday night, the Black Cat hosted a New Wave Anti-Prom party that offered the chance for young twenty-somethings to find closure with painful highschool memories by letting everyone re-live their prom now that they're more beautiful, confident, not afraid to dance, and in fully ironic gear. It's easier to dance in public when your tongue is in your cheek and your ponytail is cocked jauntily to the side of your head. So there among the lace gloves and the crimped hair and the taffeta, in front of a giant screen showing Molly Ringwald movies and two DJs spinning The Cure and Madonna and Billy Idol, we danced our ironic little tooshies off and posed in front of the cheesy prom backdrop for pictures with our cheesy prom smiles. The whole experience got me thinking about my real prom, and to borrow a phrase from every Compare and Contrast paper, there were many similarities and a few differences:

My date for both proms was neither a ladies man, nor likely to try and take me home:
First prom date was a trumpet player who was painfully shy with girls, and besides there was no romantic interest between us. Saturday's prom date was gay. Both, however, happily stomped on my twinkly toes whilst dancing. Saturday's prom date also grabbed my ass a lot more.

There was a lot more yelling at this prom
This difference is almost certainly attributable to the fact that my friend (we'll call her "Athena") was not at my first prom. At this prom, some dumb guy in suit pants and vest (he was posing as the prom photographer) approached her and after learning she was from Austin, proceeded to explain why he hated Texas, and how there was "nothing redeeming about Texas." He even said--you won't believe it--that he doesn't see why Texas is any better than Rhode Island! Rhode Island?? I'm sorry, is that a state? I had no idea! Unfortunately for this fellow, he did not know with whom he was messing. "Athena" is a hellcat, you see, and not exactly a blushing violet. "What the hell is your problem?" we hear her yell. "Who does that? Who walks up to a stranger and starts trashing their home? That's not right. You're seriously pissing me off. I think I'm going to hit you. I'm seriously going to punch you if you don't shut your mouth." Myself and my other fellow Austinite rushed to her defense and told this guy that he and whatever poor-excuse-for-a-state that he hailed from could shove his opinions where the sun don't shine. Then he tried to get a hug. At my original prom, we all just smiled politely and tried not to have opinions.

My feet hurt
I wore the same shoes to this prom that I had worn to my original prom. Except in 11th grade the shoes were not half a size too small, and I'm fairly certain that I didn't do much dancing.

The Booze Factor
I know that a lot of kids at my original prom had already figured out that these things are more fun if you are drunk, but I wasn't one of them. Now I know better, and woohoo! Let me tell you, somebody should alert the planning committees of these Highschool shindigs. In the spirit of the theme, our drink of choice was Franzia wine, or as we like to call it, Chalet du Box. For full disclosure, I have to admit that sometimes alcohol can also have adverse affects on human behavior. It caused my date to cuckold me by grabbing at cute boys as they passed by and asking if they were gay. [They were. They all were.]

Prom King and Queen
This time, they were not the head cheerleader and the football player. This time, they were the guy sporting baby-blue tux ruffles with mohawk, and a glittery "Queen" with glam-makeup and platform shoes.

Overall, quite a bit more fun than my first prom, though a little less momentous. The aftermath was less painful the first time around, too. After dancing into the wee hours, I had to drag my semi-conscious self out of bed at 7:45 am, flop into a car, land on a beach in Delaware, and sleep on my tummy in the sand until my rump was cooked a nice healthy shade of melanoma pink.