It’s prom season again (well, and wedding season, too, but I don’t know anyone getting married this year), which got me thinking about my own prom experiences.

My junior year of high school, prom was a very big deal. About half of my friends were seniors, so we got a limo together and ate at a Japanese restaurant. My dress was basically a big, sparkly, blue ballgown. My hair was blonde with baby bangs, and I wore a tiara. I had no intent on looking like Cinder-frickin’-ella, but that’s exactly what I looked like. My high school boyfriend wore a tux that buttoned at the collar instead of having a tie, and it was ugly. Prom was pretty sweet.

Senior year, however, was a totally different story. I was going out with the same guy (we dated from freshman year until after senior year), and I didn’t think he could afford to go to prom again, so I didn’t ask him. Did I mention I also had the hots for my best guy friend (well, the one that wasn’t gay)? He had told everyone that if he was going to prom, it would be with me.

Two weeks before the prom (or maybe just a week) I found out that he had started dating someone and just didn’t tell me we weren’t going anymore. I had to find out from a friend. Needless to say, I went up to the guy and kicked him in the shin. My boyfriend still couldn’t go, my other best friend was going with some chick he didn’t even like as much as he liked me, and I didn’t really know any other guys who wanted to go with me. So, at the last minute, I asked a female friend from the theatre I did plays at. She borrowed a dress from the costume shop and wore that and Chucks to the prom.

Perhaps taking a girl to the prom wasn’t the smartest idea seeing as the entire school already thought I was a lesbian? I never quite understood the logic that since my best friend was gay, I must be, too. Of course the rumor continued to perpetuate after prom night, but I still wore rainbow toe socks to school. Suck on THAT.

My “date” and I went to an “anti-prom” party a friend was hosting, where I got white cat hair all over my black dress and some kid I barely knew said my hair was “Braveheart-esque.” I had random little braids in my hair. I was not pleased.

All my friends who were attending the prom headed out, but I had to wait on my dad to pick us up. He got there maybe thirty minutes after everyone had left, so I was anxious to get out of there.

And then we got lost. And drove around for two hours. When I got there, there were only thirty minutes left of my senior prom. And it was raining. They were out of disposable cameras (yep, I’m old) and were no longer taking portraits, so my friend stole someone’s disposable camera off of a table. All of my friends had already left.

The best part of the whole stupid night was when we went to iHOP and ate pancakes.

My “date” and I lost touch, the guy I liked moved away for college and I realized he was a jerk, the guy I dated for four years and I broke up about eight months later, and the only way I keep in touch with anyone from that school is through the Internet and occasionally seeing people at shows. I hope to one day round up all my current (amazing) friends, most of whom had bad high school/prom/life experiences, and have a prom at the place we always hang out. And it won’t matter who was prom queen or best dressed or what songs played or who didn’t ask you because, in the end, prom is just another tradition that so much emphasis is placed on, but that has no bearing on one’s life in the long run.

Which is pretty much the definition of high school in a nutshell, anyway.