Prom 1990

OK, so my friend Julie posted her prom photo on her blog (click on the title, and you will see what I mean; by the way, GREAT HAIR Julie! You really knew what you were doing with that curling iron! I paid someone for my Cher hair, and had to come home and flatten it out before prom because I looked like a fucking valley-girl, which would be okay, I guess, if we'd lived in the valley), and I figured since I took down all the pictures from my now-defunct Yahoo! blog, I could maybe get away with re-posting my own prom photo. Also, maybe I never told the (mostly boring) story of my prom night. Nobody's fault, but we just weren't the type of kids to go crazy. Oh, well, maybe we were, but I think we had our own schedule for stuff like that: group activities like the prom weren't really our scene.

So here's the story. Me and Adam have known each other since Mrs. Smith's 5th grade class. He was a little punk-ass smart kid, and I was developing my slacker tendencies. I went to his birthday party, and wore this horrible outfit that I can't even bring myself to describe. His mom served sloppy joe's. I didn't know him very well.

He hadn't shot up to the height he is here (tall, man! and I'm wearing heels!). Tall is good, just in case you're wondering.

Junior high: we knew each other, were friendly, but (sorry if I'm totally remembering this wrong, Adam) but not exactly friends. We were in band together. There were other boys I couldn't talk to as easily as I could talk to him, but those were the boys that interested me at the time. It took awhile, but I eventually learned my lesson.

High school: we had a lot of friends in common. Jay, Damon, Sean, Josh, Rachel, etc. We were still in band. Total geeks (well, I guess I should just speak for myself). He lived across the street (the big street, not the little one) from me and at some point in our high school lifetime we started walking to school together. These were the days he used to listen to "The Wall" on his Walkman. I recall biking to school myself, but not sure if we did that, too. We left our hand/footprints in the freshly poured cement when they re-did the bridge by our neighborhood. At some point he made me a mix-tape.

In the 80s, giving a girl a mix-tape meant only one thing, and if you don't know what that one thing was, well, you weren't a kid in the 80s. Also, if you don't know what a mix-tape is, go read a book or something.

I loved that mix-tape.

I wish I still had it. It was decorated and written in his cool writing, and very sweet. I can remember only a couple songs (Adam, write a comment if you can remember any of the other tunes on that tape, because it would be fun to recreate a play list for the two people who read my blog):

"Best of Times," by Styx
"Got My Mind Set on You," by George Harrison

Anyway, that mix-tape kind of came at me from left field, because up to then, I was used to me liking guys who either didn't like me (or know me), or liked me but turned out to be, oh, I don't know, rapists, or drug addicts or something. Or engaged. Me and Adam had known each other forever, and I had no idea you were allowed to like someone you were actually friends with. Adam was in all the smart-kid classes (since I slept through all my AP classes in the 10th and 11th grades [or drew pictures of Sean], I figured out that I didn't want to work that hard anymore by the 12th grade), and the smart-kid classes were full of the pretty girls with pretty hair and pretty clothes, who were in sororities and had cars, and oh my fucking god, I'm sure my life was not a John Hughes movie. I just didn't have any kind of self-awareness in those days, didn't know where or if I fit in anywhere. I knew I was smart (if very lazy), and that I could sometimes make people laugh (people other than Melissa, Michelle, and Rachel - we had fun, didn't we), but I was still too awkward around boys to understand that laughter breaks all the barriers.

So one thing led to another (I don't remember the exact way it worked. We must've discussed it, but ? I don't remember) and we were a couple. Senior year was fun, because he was fun, and had good taste in music, and took me to shows (Firehose!), and to Mama Pajama (a funky little coffee-house/vintage clothing store) for the coolest open-mic nights that a couple of high school kids ever went to, and he put up with my teenage girl emotional problems, and inability to learn to drive. I think we had a lot of fun, actually.

Around this time I met up with Patrick, at my job as a page at the local library. Patrick was 22, and - I have to say it because it still kind of blows my mind, as it did then - apparently in love with me. He was also a little bit scary looking, and did I mention how old he was? I was very happy to be able to say to him, "I have a boyfriend!" The three of us were sort of friends, and Adam and Pat actually wound up playing music together (Patrick had some evil plan to befriend my boyfriend and then make his move. It took awhile, but in the end, it did kind of work).

Adam and I went on road trips (again, how I got away with this is totally beyond me), and hung out in the park, and played flute and clarinet duets (he could count better than I could), and ditched school to watch Mr. Rogers, and went to the drive-in, and the Marina, and the library parking lot, and the movies, and the arcade to play Tetris and Centipede. We went to orchestra rehearsal (the LA Jr. Phil), and were still in band together. He wore plaid pants or shorts with a different Fishbone t-shirt almost every day. He had this really soft paisley shirt from the Gap. He wore Birkenstocks and made me laugh. He never ever commented on my clothes which were probably atrocious. And we had no plans whatsoever to go to our prom.

Then his mom found out about it, and she got involved, and Adam was set because he had a tux for the orchestra, and she somehow managed to borrow this kind of ugly off-white dress for me (strapless! I had never worn strapless anything; and haven't since) from someone at her work, and the person who loaned it to me allowed me to alter it (it was too big and too small in certain key areas). I bought some cheap-ass shoes, some pantyhose, and a strapless bra. I got my hair done. I wore lipstick and the world's biggest glasses. And he picked me up in either his mom's red Datsun/Nissan or his own beige Chevy Citation with the Colorado plates and the KXLU sticker (I can't remember which car he had at this point), and we posed for all the requisite pictures (there are actually better ones than this one, but I like the reflection in the window). He bought me a very beautiful red wrist corsage with a sparkly ribbon thing and a minimum of baby's breath (I despise baby's breath), and it was actually a little bit romantic.

Our prom was absolutely nothing like anything I had imagined. There was no live band. The music sucked. It was 1990: music sucked in 1990. It was held at the LAX Hilton, a truly disgusting hotel (since remodeled and quite nice; my in-laws had their 50th wedding anniversary there). The food was awful. I felt self-conscious and unpretty and kept worrying that I had lipstick on my teeth or that I would trip in my heels. The popular kids were dancing their weird dances and acting like assholes. Afterwards, we went to an after-prom party at this kid Charlie's house. I forget where we told my mom and dad we were going. In any case, it wasn't memorable in any way, shape, or form. I don't know what Adam was expecting; I remember being tired, and falling asleep on the floor.

So anyway, nothing lasts forever, because eventually we graduated, yes, even me, with my 42 truancies in 5th period (thank you, Mr. Girls-Basketball-Coach/History-Teacher for not failing me). Adam and his folks had moved to another part of town: near the Trendy Contemporary New Age Furniture store... we still saw each other of course, but he was getting ready to head off to college, and I was making plans to, um, work at the local bookstore and take a few classes at SMC or West LA.

And then off he went to college, and that was that.

[There's a story about a trip I made to his college with Sean and his girlfriend that is rather memorable for it's sheer awful-ness, but I'm not gonna tell that story now. For one thing, it's a hundred years ago and doesn't really paint anybody in a very nice light, except maybe Sean. And for another thing, I'm telling a nice story, not a shitty one. And for another thing, it turned out that what happened had to happen and if I could make it not happen, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't. So there.)

And we're still friends, and Patrick and I went to his wedding (where Patrick uttered the most awesome words my man has ever said in my presence, which were: "Thank you for leaving Irene for me," which, by the way, he said in the receiving line after we shook hands with the new married couple), and he and his wife came to ours, and all is right in the world when you can still be friends with people like that. I grew up with Adam, and that's no small thing, knowing the people who knew you when you were young and stupid.

And thin.