Quote:
Originally posted by Hank Chinaski
true story:
Senior year, for prom night...
So anyway, I know girls can be cruel. Sticks and stones I say.
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Hank baby, I feel up your pain. THE PROM. Oh shit! FWIW, fyi, I have a confession that I’m sure most of the hot babes who PM me all day ain’t gonna believe, but as they say in the funnies, sad but true, or believe it or not, or something…..
Anyhoo, true story: I was a looser in high school.
Well, not like totally, but I did manage to make it to Senior Prom without dipping my tallywacker, iykwim. Sometimes in the dead of night, alone in my office, surfing porn on the net, the sound of Mario in his cubicle grindin’ away, I think perhaps, that my lack of sophistication as a sexual Don Juan in my highschool days was not such a bad thing, as (1) it prepared me for a life of sporadic yet infrequent sexual encounters with others who are not on my payroll; and (2) it gave me the irrevocable opportunity to develop lots of great platonic friendships, all of which had fully lapsed by the time I was 27.
Yeah, HS, good times.
Now, for all the non-believers, who previously just assumed I was boyishly good looking and that such good fate was the premise for my egomania, laugh long and hard now. At me. Like the rest of them, because I am telling y’all this so you understand my rejection issue and why I am so sensitive to being placed on y’alls ignore lists.
Anyhoo, back to the prom story. Mine was like an excruciatingly stale shit sandwich. Without condiments. Basic plot:
*I didn't have anyone to go with whom I had a chance of scoring with
*I got a mercy set-up blind date with my second-cousin’s stepsister by marriage, who turned out to be HOT!
*I didn’t get laid but came close, no pun intended.
On that last note, actually the night went pretty well. HOT date on my arm and all. We ended up that THE after-party and after the party it was supposed to be a Motel 6 lobby
. Anyhoo, I wanted to be straight up, so at about 3 AM, I told her a bunch of us had reserved a block of rooms at the Motel 6 and since things were going so well, well, would she like to go to the after-after party. My tummy was doing somersaults and the booze had me on the verge of a pass out. This was my first time, other than 1-900 phone sex, that I had full out asked a girl for her the keys to her punani. She paused, looked me dead in the eye and said “sure”. I am sure that I have never felt such an extreme rush of adreline before or since in my life.
Anyway, long story short, we got to the room and I had a panic attack that resulted in 3 hours of sobbing and a two day hospitalization, i.e. no sex.
Of course, all of this is fresh in mind because last week I happened to be visiting my homeland and went out for dinner, solo, at the local greek diner, the Blue Colony or the Red Colony or something, and I heard my name and there standing next to my table was my Prom Date. I didn’t recognize her, but she jogged my memory, “We went to the Prom together”…. Er…uh…oh...yes, the Prom. The sixth worst day of my life. Yes, fantastic. Great to see you. Of course she has only gotten better looking. And bustier.
We chatted for a few minutes before the convo ran out of steam. On the plus side no panic attack.
The Prom. Yes. Why does society cram these prepackaged faux ritualizations down our psychological throat? Why bilmore, why?
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