Will You Go To The Prom With Me?

Inhale deeply. Tell me what you smell? Try to sniff past the smell of fresh cut grass and blooming flowers. If you have allergies go ahead and sneeze a few times, but then I want you to concentrate. Close your eyes and focus. Zero in on the corsages, the taffeta, the tiaras and the limousines. Feel the excitement and last minute date scramble. Taste the punch and the hours-de-ourves. Hear the thumping music just before the DJ announces the last slow dance. Now open your eyes and see the balloons, the dance floor, the young people glammed up in tuxedos and formal dresses, and gaze at the sparkling decorations. Have a seat and take in your surroundings... You're at the prom.

The Prom is always the climax of a teen drama. Everything in a teen movie happens at the prom. The unsuspecting girl is named Prom Queen. That high school crush finally makes the transition from fantasy to reality. Virginities are lost. Rivalries cemented. You name it... it can happen at the prom... in Hollywood.

In reality prom is just like any other dance. There are couples slow dancing. There are girls dancing in groups. The decorations and dresses all resemble the same decorations and dresses of the past generations. There are flowers pinned to jackets and strapped around wrists, and at the end of the night your life is still the same as it was at the beginning of the night (with the exception of your feet throbbing and aching from the shoes and the dancing). Chances are, Prom is just another event to remember years down the road where nothing significant happened.

I went to Prom my junior and senior years in high school. I went dateless both years (that shouldn't be surprising since I'm perpetually single and I seem to have more fun that way). My school had Post Prom (which was the school's way of keeping the teens from drinking and having sex). Since I was a goodie two shoes in HS, I spent the entire night after prom in the high school gym playing games and getting attendance prizes. I had fun. I went to prom and I had fun.

A friend of mine (one that I graduated with ten years ago) was asked to Prom this year (seriously). The guy who asked her is 18 years old and, evidently, infatuated with her. While he's not exactly jail bait, I think he'd be better off asking a girl his own age. If you think about it... the last time my friend went to prom, this kid was in the second grade. He was just learning his cursive letters. His biggest academic hurdle was distinguishing his r's from his n's. I told her if she were meant to go to prom with him, she should have done it back then... it would have been cuter than a 27 year old showing up wearing a dress and a corsage. Of course, she declined his flattering offer.

It's got me thinking, though. I want to go to Prom again. Like I said, I had fun at the first two, but I want to go to another one. But I'd like to go to an adult prom. I want a prom with booze. I want to go to prom without the awkward feeling that accompanies adolescence. I want a prom without the chaperons. I want to get all dressed up in a formal dress, get my hair teased, combed, curled and pinned into place secured with an entire bottle of hairspray. I want to dance, and dance, and dance, and then dance some more. I think I still want to go dateless. When I went stag I managed to dance with all the other girls' dates. That's a trend I'll keep from the first time around.

I guess we already have adult versions of Prom. Weddings tend to get us to dress up and dance. I guess the bride and groom are comparable to the king and queen, but the major differences are the dresses. At a wedding the bride is guaranteed to have the best dress in the room. At prom, all the girls are wearing something fabulous. All the girls are well put together. All the guys are wearing tuxedos... not just a select few like you'd have at a wedding. Everybody's dressed to the nines and look their best. You can't really get that at a wedding. There's always some redneck cousin wearing jeans, thereby ruining any sort of dress code in place.

The more affluent adults find themselves at elite parties which would be more comparable to The Prom. Dress codes at certain events, fundraisers, extravaganzas can mimic that of a prom. I suppose if you're rich you can show up to an event like this in a chaffered vehicle. For the economically blessed and the social elite, the invitations to these galas are always coming in. They may even be jaded to this lifestyle and don't find it as glamorous shiny as I would.

Why can't we "salt of the earth" peeps get a big dance? I realize it costs a lot of money to do a big event like that. With the cost of admission, the dress or the tux, the limo, etc the grand total is a hefty one. Because of that, my dream of the adult prom will probably never see fruition. I turn 29 this year... and I'm thinking for my 30th I want something fancy. I want to get all dressed up and I want everybody else to get dressed up, too. The theme? Will be The Prom. It's decided so don't try to talk me out of it.

You're Going To Miss Me

To know me is to know I am blunt. To be my friend means having a thick skin and the capacity to hear what you need to hear versus what you want to hear. I'm not afraid to throw down the douche card, and let you know when you're doing something you shouldn't be doing. When you've crossed the line, and ask my opinion... be prepared to receive it. Don't worry... you're more than welcome to do the same with me when I come to you for advice.

Gossip and talking behind people's backs is not only allowed, but it's expected. Especially when you live in a small town. But, when you live in a town who's entire population wouldn't fill a large theater, you best believe that the shit you're talking is going to make its way back to the person you're talking shit about. And, if it's about me, then you better be prepared for a confrontation. It will be inevitable, and I pray, for your sake, that when it happens I'm not in a horribly pissed off mood. Because my words can be venomous, and I rarely take them back.

Yes, this happened recently. A person. A friend of mine. An old colleague and sharer of good times. He recently decided to tell me I was a bad friend because I make him feel like shit about himself. Yes, I am guilty of this.

Why? You may ask yourself... Why would I do this? Because my friend turned into an addict before my eyes. He let substance take over his life and run wild with it. He's college educated and smart as whip. He's nice, polite, open minded and is a good listener... when he's sober. When his world revolves around substance abuse, he's mean. He words can cut like a knife and he laughs while you console yourself with the thought that he doesn't really mean it. His smart little brain turns into an organ dedicated only to the drug. It works out plans to get drugs; how to get money for the drugs; where to get transportation to the drugs; who to lie to about the drugs; which lies to use; and defense mechanisms for when he gets caught. He sleeps, eats, works and lives for the drugs.

The consequences? Well, none of them are working so far. Many times I thought he'd hit rock bottom, but it turned out he figured out a way to dig himself even deeper. He's been called out at work. He's stolen from people who love him. He's even been arrested. Even with a looming court date and drug test up ahead... he continues his destructive patterns.

And, through out all of it... I've been his friend. I was one of the only people who told him he was getting himself in too deep. I was the only one who put my foot down and refused to be an enabler for him. This caused a lot of fighting between us, but every time he got mad at me, I told him I was doing this because I care about him. If I didn't care, I would just go ahead and let him destroy his life. He seemed to at least understand my logic.

When I found out he fell off the wagon recently, I threatened to put his ass on blast. I threatened to tell everybody he knows... every small town bar he walks in everybody will know his problem and be advised not to help him out in obtaining drugs. His parents would be clued in. And I would tell the virtual world of social networking, too. I wasn't kidding. He promised it was just a relapse and he'd stop.

Well, I don't know if he stopped. My best guess would be no. I'm sure I'll find out when one of his enablers reads this and they confirm what I truly believe... he's worse off than he's ever been before. Only his enablers really know what's going on.

I, however, have cut off all ties with him. You see... when he accused me of being a bad friend for making him feel like shit about himself...it was during an argument in which I confronted him on publicly saying mean things about me. My refusal to accept his drug use ticked him off and spurred him into trying to make me look like an idiot. He laid the final straw on the camel's back. When confronted, he tried turning the tables to make it look like I am the one who is doing this to him... like I am the cause and because I don't condone his actions, I'm a bad person and only contributing to his bad habit. It's classic deflection and diversion. I told him I wouldn't apologize for telling him what nobody else has the guts to say to him. He told me it is what it is... and I said "Yeah. I'm somebody who's cared about you and tried so hard to be a compass for you, and you've turned out to be just a careless asshole. Well... I'm not friends with careless assholes." And I, thereby, ended what little friendship we had left.

It's unfortunate, really. I hate when friendships end, and I often try really hard to keep them going even long after it's clear they're done. I've managed to keep several long term friendships in my life, and I've also managed to grow and be a better friend than I ever have been before. I help support my friends in their business ventures. I will stay at a friend's house after they've been operated on to help them recover. When a friend is experiencing grief I'm there for them with an open ear and open arms. And, when a friend of mine is on the brink of ruining everything they have going for them, I'm there to yank and tug on them in an effort to bring them back to the life they're leaving behind. I will fight for, defend venomously, and stand up for the relationships in my life... until that person proves they're not worthy of my fabulous friendship. Until they show me that they wouldn't have the same respect for me with the cards are down and the chips are stacked against me. And then... well... I have no choice but to walk away and throw a lit match onto the frail bridge that's left in the wake.

5 Signs You Might Be Behaving Like a Child

1. You present no valid argument, yet you insist you are right.

I could sit here all day and say "yes huh!" for every time you say, "nu-uh!" and get absolutely nowhere with you. You seem to have some sort of messed up logic to which you can't back up with any actual knowledge. Yes, you have a right to your own opinion. Yes, you can, technically, state that opinion every time you feel it's your god given right to do so. But having an opinion doesn't make you special. Also, it sure as hell doesn't give you the right to jam it down my throat with a "I don't give a shit what you have to say about this" attitude. Here's how I interpret your 5 year old style of debate: "I'm a jackhole because I don't know how an actual debate or a legitimate argument between two different minded adults is handled." Also, when somebody opposes your opinion, they are not personally attacking you. They aren't telling you to shut up. They are simply doing the same thing you are doing, which is expressing a thought. Please don't jump the gun and assume they are against YOU and not just your idea. Also... don't throw the first amendment at them. Really? Come on now. Your rights aren't being infringed upon at Applebees. Calm the fuck down. Come back when you learn what civility and open mindedness are.

2. You whine when you don't get your way.

When you find yourself using the bargaining tool of a high pitched, "But I really, really want it," you may as well put yourself in time-out, because nobody wants to deal with that. Face it, sweetheart, compromise is a part of functional life. People who won't bend end up breaking. You don't always get to call the shots. You don't get to control every situation. And throwing a temper tantrum until everybody else gives in is a 2 year old move. You need to learn how to accept the fact that plans change and other people's wants and needs get factored in as well. You have to drift with the tide, the ebb and flow. You get nowhere by standing on the shore and commanding the ocean to obey. Literally... go with the flow.

3. Your budget revolves around paying a subscription to an online role playing game.

I get it... we all have our vices. If you're not a smoker or a drinker, then you may be a gamer. Gaming is cool (in some circles if you're younger than 25). However, if you can't afford your car insurance because you need to level up this month, then maybe you should ask that 13 year old that you're battling with online if his mom has a spare bedroom you can rent for cheap. Seriously, put down the game controller and pay your damn bills already. Also, go outside and watch REAL activities.

4. You get mad when people won't laugh at your jokes.

Face it. You're not funny. Adults will give the obligatory laugh to the same knock-knock joke they've heard a million times... if a child is telling it. When an adult tells old jokes, or just plain not funny jokes, the proper response is an eye roll. Trust me on this. I've done amateur stand up comedy, and if your joke bombs, it's brutal. It takes a mighty blow to your ego when you're standing there and you hear crickets. But that's life. The only way to move on is think of something new and practice your delivery. If it turns out that you're just not a funny person... then leave the joke telling to those who can hack it. And don't get all pissy about it. Just realize that not telling jokes will actually go in your FAVOR.

5. ALL of your significant other's friends hate you.

To be honest, you might not realize this one. Because, where you have no tact, they might. Out of respect for your wife/husband/boyfriend/girlfriend's feelings they just might be holding back how much true hatred they have for you. But if you meet ANY or ALL of the criteria above, trust me... they hate you. They can't stand being around you. They only show up to parties because your partner is there and when you decide to open your mouth, they would rather you shut it. But don't rest on the fact that they hold back. Don't make that your excuse for you bawdy behavior... because they won't bite their tongues forever. One of these days they will say, "To hell with this asshole" and they will fill your ears with a heavy dose of truth which your fragile little ego won't know how to handle. And, because you're a child, you will throw a fit and pout until somebody comforts you. When nobody does... maybe you'll grow up just a little bit.

Sleep Stealing Thoughts

I know in my head that you are not the person I'm supposed to be with. I knew this, for a fact, over two years ago. I came to you with a scared intuition and fear of a very big "what if" and you showed me that you cannot roll with the punches. It turned out I was wrong, but, because of your reaction, I knew in my heart I couldn't end up with you.

So, tell me, why did it take so long for that to really sink in? Because, there are times, when I still forget about that and I only remember what it was like being right next to you. I get lost in that memory because, for a period of time, that was my favorite place to be in the entire world. You created these conflicting emotions within me, and my confused heart just walked right into a maze which seemed to take the longest damn time to find my way out of.

Sometimes, I wish I'd never agreed to that first date. You were so nervous. It was cute. I can remember that white shirt with the silver pinstripe and how it enhanced your already handsome features. You wore your glasses because I mentioned how I love a man in glasses. And when you kissed me later in the night it felt like a click inside my head. How could a girl not fall in love with such a lovely beginning? If it hadn't been so perfect, I might have stood a chance.

I'm over you. I've written about it; I've vented about it; I've thought and thought and thought about it. I've even dreamt about it. Every time I think it through I know it turned out the way it should. And, though this blog might suggest otherwise, I actually don't think about you too often.

It just seems like my life is randomly punctuated with these little flashes of time in which my thoughts are completely consumed by you. Sometimes I'll meet somebody who looks a lot like you and a thought is triggered. I'll be talking with a girlfriend and she'll be going through something I can relate to, because I went through it with you. I guess this is natural... we all carry around memories of our exes... the ones that got away.

I wish I didn't think about you at all, though. I've moved on, and I actually did a great job of it. When I found out about your current love I felt genuinely happy for you. I've not let the fact that you found somebody else before I did shatter me or break me. Because, to be honest, I'm glad you have it in you. Obviously your relationship with her has something ours lacked. She provides something for you I couldn't. And that's okay. Like I said before, it's best that it turned out this way... especially for you. I can't say it enough... I'm happy that you're happy.

That being said... I wish there were a magic pill I could take where my memory of you would be gone. I was blissfully ignorant before I met you. I had nobody to really compare anything significant to. You made a pretty big impact on me. I'm trying to figure out what positive things to take from it, but leftover lingering pain sidetracks me sometimes.

I hate that there are nights when I still lay awake and think about you. I hate that there are times when something reminds me of you and I get lost in the thought or the memory it invokes. I hate remembering how it felt to be with you. I hate that I lost you, but, even worse, I hate that I never had you.

She has you now. Jealousy is an evil monster, but we wouldn't have been happy in the long run. Maybe I'll find somebody again, but maybe I won't. Part of me is okay with that revelation, but there's another part of me that doesn't want to give up hope. I, am, however all out of hope for us. It's plain to see there's nothing left of whatever it was we had. It wasn't nothing. It was something. Now, though, it just is what it is.

I know that I will find more than you. I know that you are not my great love story. You just happen to be the first guy who knew how to make me feel wanted, special, and lovely. Maybe now it's time to make myself feel wanted, special and lovely. Perhaps it's time I found myself.

But at the same time, I think this is part of finding myself. I have to face these emotions and the fact that they will always be within me. I guess my positive take-away is that through you I discovered more of me. I guess you had to be this roadblock I had to work my way through in order to understand more about my own heart and my own love. Perhaps... I owe you a thank you.

It's funny to me... I started this blog with questions in my heart... and somehow I managed to answer them by the time I finished it.

Free Writing

I've sat in front of this screen for the last few days. I've started typing. I erased whatever I started. I would sit and think. Literally, I would sit and think for long periods of time about how I wanted to say what I have to say. Every time I came up with nothing. So, I stopped for the day.

Alas, today I'm back and I am taking a different approach. It's not that I don't have something to say; it's that I don't know how to spin it. You see there are a million ways to tell the same story. It's like a snowflake, or a spiderweb. Each one is different, and delicate, and carefully put together. But they're all the same... they all have the same destination. A snowflake melts and a spiderweb is destroyed. And this web, this particular blog, isn't spinning so well for me.

So, I've decided to free write. What's free writing? It's writing without thought. When I realized that I was spending way too much thought on this one particular blog which I can't seem to find the right words for, I decided I was simply spending too much time thinking.

This is has always been the case. Grandpa once told me my mouth couldn't keep up with my thoughts and thats why I talk so fast... and so much. He also claimed my constant jabbering gave him the hives. I don't know about the hives, but he's right about my thoughts. They race around in my head at a million miles a minute. I suppose Grandpa is right, maybe that's why I talk fast... I'm trying to keep up.

I know one thing is for sure. I cannot type as fast as I think. I might be able to type as fast as I speak, but the turn out wouldn't be too pretty. So, when I sit down to write I sometimes can't get the thought to the page fast enough before it's floated away. Or my mind thinks ahead and I realize the thought is shit and I scrap the whole thing.

I'm surprised I haven't scrapped this yet. I'm never going to get to the point I want to make if I keep rambling away here. This is free writing, though. It's meant to get the juices flowing, or in my case stop flowing so rapidly and focus on a topic already!!

I still haven't found my direction. It's scary admitting that. I know my general direction is writing. No matter what I do in life my pen will always be my soul mate. It's too therapeutic to not do. It's too much of myself to ever let go. Writing is my mental constitutional. I have to do it.

Why don't I have a book written by now? I've been attempting it my entire adult life. I know I've been sitting down with ideas throughout my entire twenties. 29 is right around the corner. It may as well be 30. I wouldn't mind if I weren't published by now, but I would like to have something to show. I wonder what's keeping me from completing it? Are my racing thoughts at fault here?

I have so many opinions, so many stories to tell, so many things to say about how I feel and what I think about that. But I tell myself that everybody has this. Everybody has a story that will inspire you. Everybody has something important to say. It's just that a lot of people choose not to. Well I choose to speak up. I choose to say what I have to say. It's a thankless task, and perhaps also an unnecessary one. But who would I be if I weren't a person who expressed thoughts and emotions openly and honestly? I wouldn't be me, that's for sure.

I just want to find the words. I want to find the right metaphor. I want to find the right tone, the perfect expression of the thoughts smacking into one another in my brain. I obviously can't just sit down and write it. As you can see... I failed to get anywhere with this free write. But, perhaps I got enough off of my chest and out of my head so there's more space to deal with the topic I really would like to tackle.

The Village Leprechaun

More of a legend than a myth, he ventures out every St. Patrick's day. The small Germanesque town never sees him coming, but says, "Oh yeah" when it realizes it's danced with him before. Every year he puts on the same entertaining show and on March 18th people wake up with a hangover and a vague memory of the decked out Irish man who gave them good luck.

You'll know it when you see him, because his beard is green. Yes.. green. He exchanges the Santa-like white and opts for a much more noticeable emerald hue. You'll take a second look at him and think to yourself "I wonder if that's his natural color?" It isn't. It's just food coloring.

He'll have a beer in his hand, and he won't be nursing it. If it were still legal, you'd also see him with a cigarette... for this reason, he might also be your doorman. As the night goes on, the more brazen he gets. Liquid courage being his pot of gold.

Also, he dances. His arms go one way and his legs go another as he attempts an Irish Jig. The chain on his wallet is his tambourine as his hips get into it. He has no rhythm, just an odd combination of alternate fist pumping and stomping. The smile on his face will distract you from his lack of dancing talent, and you won't have any choice but to join him. Chances are you'll have the time of your life looking like an idiot, too.

Do not fear an alternative motive. He's happily married and only aims to have fun with his merry drinking and dancing. Male or female, he just wants people to dance with him and remind him that it's okay to be a little silly.

By the end of the night his feet will lead him back to his cottage. He'll take three times the necessary steps as he sways down the street singing an Irish tune. St. Patrick's day will be over, and your memory of him will fade like the color in his beard. That is, until next year when the village is reminded again that, yes... we do have a leprechaun and he's a fun time.

The Ides of March

Shakespeare famously wrote about today when he depicted Caesar. "Beware, the Ides of March," the soothsayer said. But it didn't stop Caesar from being stabbed in the back by his trusted friend. Caesar met his death and the world moved on. He became a legend. Many after him would meet a similar demise, but none as poetically.

I think about Caesar and how he must have felt in those final moments. When the wound was fresh and the blood was red on his linens. What did he see? Did he look into Brutus' eyes and search for an answer? Or did he welcome death and the peace of eternal rest?

Was Brutus cold to him in those final moments? Did he say, "You deserve this,"? Or did he say nothing? After years of loyalty, trust and friendship, did it all end swift and emotionless?

Or was Brutus kind after the blade? Did he have remorse while Caesar's life faded and his blood was spilled? Did he wonder about his own vulnerability and his own weaknesses? Or did he just feel power?

I wrestle with these thoughts every year, you see. It's really nothing to do with Shakespeare, Brutus or Caesar, but more to do with my own feelings of betrayal and my metaphorical blood from the blade. I've searched for answers in the eyes of my assailant, and he always looks the other way. He leaves me unanswered and he does so unapologetically.

Today is his birthday. Fitting, I suppose. He's another year older... but really, so am I. He helped to bring me into this world before he left me because of it. But before he brought me in, he was brought in... on the Ides of March. A doomsday in history.

I can't remember the last time I told him Happy Birthday to his face. One year I had a phone number for him, so I called him. The conversation was stunted and severely short. The weather was nice, so when I hung up the phone I sat on my deck with a book. The world continued to spin while thoughts in my head kept me from concentrating on the printed page.

I've come a long way in dealing with the emotions of betrayal, abandonment, and gut-wrenching twisting inside pain. I've done a good job with hiding it. I've conquered most of my adolescent hang-ups and fears. Now I just sit here, on this dark morning, and I will myself to think of something positive.

But all I have is Caesar. If only I were there to stop the blade. If only I could rewrite history.