Deer Dairy...
There comes a time in every young girl's life when she realizes she's going to have to get dressed up in a frilly dress and eat in front of other people. For me, that time was the Prom. We actually had two proms, since I stayed in school for grade 13. So the first one shouldn't have been a big deal. But you'd never know that from my diary...
April 5, 1988 (age: 18 - writing: small, illegible, slanted to the right)
Oh my god, the prom is only a month and a half away!!! Big deal. Do you know how sad it's going to be? It's going to be sooo bad. I want to go stag, but nobody wants me to. You'd think I was upsetting the Great Chain of Being by the way people react to it. I mean, really. It's 1988 for cryin out loud. I've done the date thing and frankly, I'm not impressed. I think it would be cruel and unusual punishment to make a guy go with me to a prom. If the music's good (and it had better be) I'll be dancing the whole time and he'd probably want to dance with me and he'd probably be a rhythmless dorky-lookin white guy [etc. ad infinitum] The Prom is for boyfriends and girlfriends to set a date to have the big ba-boom. That is all.
Whew! Methinks the girl doth protest too much. Well, I mean, sure it is a stupid tradition, but of course I wanted to go. Although, I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, so I really didn't see why there was such a big deal about procuring a date. There was no one I was secretly hoping to go with and so there was no chance of a Pretty In Pink-type ending in store for me, either. But not wanting to go with a boy was good practice for my aloof, oh-so-independent too-cool-for-anything persona that I was trying out at the time.
April 28, 1988
John [name changed to protect the innocent] and I are going to the Prom. Don't ask me how, it's too long. He's not a loser and I will have no trouble keeping his hands off me. It is going to be okay, as long as there is no documented photographic proof that I was there. John and I aren't really the prom types.
Well, it's a girl's perogative to change her mind, I guess. I'm not sure why I was so concerned about keeping people's hands off of me, I must have had intimacy issues. Hm. Oh, and yes, there was photographic evidence of me at the prom. I even smiled. Go figure! However, I didn't get around to writing about how it went until the next year, though.
(I tended to write in my diary very intermittantly. *cough*)
March 17, 1989 (age: 19, writing: horrific, pretty much what it is now)
So, anyways, about the Prom thing. Well, it wasn't like any horrow show or nothing. It was sad 'n stuff, but it wasn't the worst night I've had. I didn't get drunk or the big Ba-Boom*, as I so eloquently put it. Not like I would have, though, as John is a flamer, pouff, fag, etc. I ended up wearing a black dress that was short and lacy and pretty. What was even better, though was I starved myself to look nice and thin and some other girl had the same dress on and it looked really bad on her. I know that sounds horrible. It is horrible, actually. But then again, she probably got drunk and the big Ba-boom.
*I can't be sure, but I think this is a euphamism used to refer to sexual intercourse.
Oh well. As it turned out I actually had a good time. It was not, however, the Time of My Life(tm) as advertised, but it wasn't bad. It was a good idea to go with a platonic friend, especially a gay one. The best part: he could dance really well, something I was obviously concerned about. Plus, whenever there was a lag in the conversation we could talk about John Waters movies.
As for the rest, I have no excuse for the cattiness in this entry except to say that I was 18 at the time I thought it. However, if I were you I'd blame Big Fashion, too. Making me think I had to starve myself, sheesh. I only weighed about 12 lbs at the time, no wonder I was so damn bitchy. I probably just needed a sandwich.
Tomorrow: The Terrible Twenties
April 5, 1988 (age: 18 - writing: small, illegible, slanted to the right)
Oh my god, the prom is only a month and a half away!!! Big deal. Do you know how sad it's going to be? It's going to be sooo bad. I want to go stag, but nobody wants me to. You'd think I was upsetting the Great Chain of Being by the way people react to it. I mean, really. It's 1988 for cryin out loud. I've done the date thing and frankly, I'm not impressed. I think it would be cruel and unusual punishment to make a guy go with me to a prom. If the music's good (and it had better be) I'll be dancing the whole time and he'd probably want to dance with me and he'd probably be a rhythmless dorky-lookin white guy [etc. ad infinitum] The Prom is for boyfriends and girlfriends to set a date to have the big ba-boom. That is all.
Whew! Methinks the girl doth protest too much. Well, I mean, sure it is a stupid tradition, but of course I wanted to go. Although, I didn't have a boyfriend at the time, so I really didn't see why there was such a big deal about procuring a date. There was no one I was secretly hoping to go with and so there was no chance of a Pretty In Pink-type ending in store for me, either. But not wanting to go with a boy was good practice for my aloof, oh-so-independent too-cool-for-anything persona that I was trying out at the time.
April 28, 1988
John [name changed to protect the innocent] and I are going to the Prom. Don't ask me how, it's too long. He's not a loser and I will have no trouble keeping his hands off me. It is going to be okay, as long as there is no documented photographic proof that I was there. John and I aren't really the prom types.
Well, it's a girl's perogative to change her mind, I guess. I'm not sure why I was so concerned about keeping people's hands off of me, I must have had intimacy issues. Hm. Oh, and yes, there was photographic evidence of me at the prom. I even smiled. Go figure! However, I didn't get around to writing about how it went until the next year, though.
(I tended to write in my diary very intermittantly. *cough*)
March 17, 1989 (age: 19, writing: horrific, pretty much what it is now)
So, anyways, about the Prom thing. Well, it wasn't like any horrow show or nothing. It was sad 'n stuff, but it wasn't the worst night I've had. I didn't get drunk or the big Ba-Boom*, as I so eloquently put it. Not like I would have, though, as John is a flamer, pouff, fag, etc. I ended up wearing a black dress that was short and lacy and pretty. What was even better, though was I starved myself to look nice and thin and some other girl had the same dress on and it looked really bad on her. I know that sounds horrible. It is horrible, actually. But then again, she probably got drunk and the big Ba-boom.
*I can't be sure, but I think this is a euphamism used to refer to sexual intercourse.
Oh well. As it turned out I actually had a good time. It was not, however, the Time of My Life(tm) as advertised, but it wasn't bad. It was a good idea to go with a platonic friend, especially a gay one. The best part: he could dance really well, something I was obviously concerned about. Plus, whenever there was a lag in the conversation we could talk about John Waters movies.
As for the rest, I have no excuse for the cattiness in this entry except to say that I was 18 at the time I thought it. However, if I were you I'd blame Big Fashion, too. Making me think I had to starve myself, sheesh. I only weighed about 12 lbs at the time, no wonder I was so damn bitchy. I probably just needed a sandwich.
Tomorrow: The Terrible Twenties
posted by Alanis at
7:45 AM
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