The 80s Prom

I grabbed the tip of several strands of hair. I just couldn't seem to get my hair big enough. It was a simple equation: comb at the top+dragged to the root= volume of a goddess. My hair was at least five inches off the top of my head--it would have to suffice.

 I painted my nails black tonight. Garnished my lips with lipstick named Voluptuous Red; how fitting.  

We entered the party: black ties laced the room. Prom dresses, tuxes, platform heels, and dress shoes. I looked down at my DCs and 80s dress. Rubbing my lips together one last time; checking if I need to reapply we bust into the room.  My friend in front of me with hot red lips, very rosy cheeks, and hair big enough to fit into Texas. 

Were we going to the Prom? No. Let's be honest. We're WAY too old and mature for such events. We were going to a mutual friend's birthday party. The music? Coldplay. On any other occasion this would have been acceptable but tonight was a night for Maroon 5 to sing about the moves like Jagger. 

In our corner we turned it up. Danced; well, tried to. We all looked like white girls with our hands in the air. We made complete fools of ourselves. People stared. What were they to do with the wreckless girls in the corner? What did they end up doing? Nothing. 

Then, a slow-motion moment. It's in this moment I realized something. I loved how I felt right at that moment. For a moment, I was allowed to escape and be someone from the era of Pat Benatar and Bonnie Raitt. Mothers everywhere would have been proud of my hair height and the length of my tone deaf notes attempting to sing along.  I could be someone that had no fears, and no regrets except deflating hair. 

What was I experiencing? Let me explain. I experienced a total eclipse of the heart. Amidst the rational stares of classily dressed men and women, I found love in a hopeless place. Rationality reared it's ugly head and the sweet release of endorphins brought the corners of red lips turned down to the opposing, yet pleasant expression of joy. 

How to end this: I have an overwhelming love for dresses made for 12-yr-olds, old music, red lipstick, black nail polish and slow-motions moments of happiness. 

My Friend, the Cash Register

The semester is progressing further and further--farther and farther? Meh. (I'm listening to John Mayer aka I could care less what proper grammar is necessary.) My life consists of the following: music, work, church, work, a tiny bit of homework, and did I mention work? Sounds really tedious right? Right. However, I've found joy and company in my reflection. Why is this? Let me explain:


My best friends are so busy if I ever have that prestigious opportunity to see them, they're sleeping. I've found good conversation a rarity. I mean, I barely have acquaintances, of which I lovingly refer to as "good company." What happened to being cool? Remember when I was younger--as in a few semesters ago--when people would plan their lives around me? This can't be happening to me of all people. It's all about me and I'm way too much of an extrovert to be alone for an extended period of time (usually about two days). The thought of trying to become an introvert makes me feel queasy. 


Immature? I gently refer to the name of these symptoms as Loser-a-phobia. So what do I do to compensate? I talk to myself--everywhere. No, I'm not really that psycho. However, today I found myself with a lot of spare time and two things happened to me that I'd like to share with my cyber-based messaging system full of hypothetical enthusiasts: 


1. I went to the efficient self-check out stand at our homely local grocer. As the cashier watched my transaction, without my knowledge, I listened to the instructions of the personified computer system. 
         "Welcome! Please enter cash or select payment type."
I was thrilled! Someone was talking to me. And not only this, she had such a friendly voice. Quickly looking around before I answered, I simultaneously reached into my hippy bag for my wallet. As I was completed the transaction I answered her. 

       "Okay I only have a few quick questions. Answer them 

         and I'll flip my plastic for you:

         1. Will my husband be able to handle my extremities? 

         2. Do I have friends?

         3. If the answer is no to the prior questions, who's the fairest

             maiden in all of Rexburg?" 

Her response?

  "Item has been removed from bagging area. Please ask an associate for assistance."

I muttered under my breath several expletives as the cashier walked over cautiously. 
      "Do you need help, ma'am?"

      "More than you know..." I muttered. 

After questioning my response to no avail, she swiped her card and I began the process all over again. And to think the only thing I wanted from this stupid machine was a little advice! Defeated, I walked out with my eyes sweeping the walkway in front of me. The sunshine hit my face. 'I'm losing my mind,' I chuckled. 


2. I got into my car. 'Oh, car. How I loveth thee. Will you be my friend?' 

No response. 

Turns out inanimate objects tend to have a better understanding of my sense of humor than people do. 


I laughed at the awkwardness of my logic and drove away drinking my diet coke. 

Gene Kelly in a Dentist Chair

The scene started out with Gene. Beautiful Gene Kelly. Why was I not blessed to be born in that era? He was singing as I was reclined, watching him in his suave ways. Yes, he was projected on the ceiling. You'd think a girl couldn't be happier.

What Gene didn't know is I was laying in a dentist's chair that was rather uncomfortable. I was nervous and excited. Yeah, you've met those people that actually like the dentist? I'm one of them. Weird, right? Nevertheless, I was distracted by his buttery voice and 100watt smile. Bliss. 


Then it happened. The next thing I realize I had some lady's hands in my mouth while she persisted on asking me questions when, clearly, it was impossible to make any sense out of what I was attempting to say. 


'Mmmhmmm," she'd say. Or "No kidding!" If she could understand me at this point I'd like to see her have a conversation with Chewy from Star Wars. Yes. That just happened. You're welcome. 


At any rate, Gene still strummed on my cute little heart-strings. My mouth was being torn apart by this bilingual-ist yet, I was grateful. No cavities. No toothaches. I passed. 


On the drive home, I felt my jaw, ouch. Like, my life is like, so like hard and stuff. O-M-G. 
-__- Puh-leaze. I imagined a life in which I'd shovel plaque out of someone's mouth. A life listening to children gag, throw up, cry. And the looming thought of everyone loathing your career which directly corresponds with your personality and therefore leads to your lack in forming any sort of normal friendship.


And suddenly: 
my life was luxurious. Thank you, Gene Kelly and tired dental assistent.