Ahhh....the 80's....

I've been invited to the Prom.

No, you little perverts, I'm not taking some hormone amped little teenager to their prom. I'm talking about Mamma's Firts Ever Blog Prom (TM) In this part I get to regale you with the details of my pre-prom preparations.

Unfortunatley, my posts will be picture free as I lost all pictures of myself at that time when I made the move from North Dakota to Utah four years ago. I will tell you this much though. I was NOT the day-glo neon preppie girl. I WAS the safety pin through her nose, torn fish nets, bad attitude kind of girl. I was the girl that made fun of the cheerleaders, smoked pot in the back of the school, got suspended for skipping class and gave blow-jobs to my boyfriends on the first date. (Yes, I really did just admit to that.)

I went to a total of three dances in my entire high school expereince. Homecoming my Sophomore year, Prom my Junior year and Prom my Senior year. Homecoming was a good time, Junior Prom was basically something to do on a Fiday night in a town of five hundred people and well....Senior Prom, welll.....

I went to my senior prom on a dare. I was dating a guy three years younger than me and the school I was attending wouldn't allow me to bring him as a date, so his best friend said he'd take me. His best friend....the navy guy. Yeah, picture this. Me all in black, black lipstick, hair covering most of my face...him in his dress whites. It was quite the picture. He picked me up in his father's Bronco...yes, I said Bronco.

Okay, let's back this up for a minute. As part of my "pre-prom" get it togetherness, let's get some background info on Serena, shall we? From Freshman year to Junior year I went to high school in New Orleans. I hung out with what would be called the "goth" crowd today. We were the debate team kids, the drama kids, the combat boots and pot smoking kids. We all went to the preforming arts school, we all thought we were cooler than we actually were. You know us, you saw us hanging out at the edges of the football field, or sitting on the side steps of the gym...the outcasts, the weirdos, the freaks. I went to a whole school full of those kids. I felt at home. Then in the middle of my junior year, they sent me back to my mother in Wyoming of all places. I was a freak in a school full of FFA clones, it was hell. In 1988, at the beginning of my senior year, I moved in with a cousin in North Dakota, just to get away from my mother...and that's how I ended up at Williston Senior High and how I met my future ex-husband, the boyfriend with the Navy buddy...my prom date.

So.....all my friends dare me to go to this dance. Tell me I wouldn't ever think about going. So I get Cory to agree to take me. I spring for half the ticket cost (this wasn't a real date) and we're off and running. Now, anyone remember the hair from the 80's? OH MY GOD!!! What in the hell were we thinking? It was like having a fucking garden weasel attached to your forehead. I had the infamous "wall of bangs". I'm sure many of you reading this either had them, or had sisters that had them. You know, the wall of hair on the front of the head that was imprevious to wind, rain or nuclear explosion? I owned a curling iron with a sort of orange coating on it from all the Aussie Spray Gel that had been caked onto it. I'm not even sure how I managed to make it into my twenties with hair left.

I got all dressed, black dress, black pantyhose (line up the back), red five inch heels, black nails, black lipstick, black hair ( hanging in my face, parted so that only one eye showed)and the best part? You guessed it...black rose corsage! I looked like Morticia Adamms' cousin.

Cory picks me up and we get our picture taken. A lovely Polaroid that comes out looking like some fucked up Mix-n-Match picture out a children's book Tim Burton wrote. It was bizarre. By the time we got into the truck we were both laughing so hard I thought I was going to pee myself. We stop off at a friends to smoke a little before we actually go to the dance itself, because honestly, I couldn't face a room full of dancing taffeta Princesses without some chemical help. We get to the Armory and .....

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