Formal Formalities

the night officially began as I arrived a half hour late to the pre-dance picture taking. the pre-dance event brings evokes both love and hate for me. kidding. how cliche is that? love and hate are both carry too much weight to be used to describe something as trivial as pre dance picture taking.

what I want to know is who started this whole group photo op thing? I mean, in every high school movie the dance scene involves a boy picking up a girl from her house and the parents taking a few awkward posed photos. But when did this small event turn into an 100 person undertaking with appetizers and the occasional bottle of wine to share among the parents? no longer is it just the pic or two with the date, but each dance album quickly becomes a mini yearbook.
"y and g pic!"
"chamber pic"
"that one time we had a sleepover pic"

and of course the dreaded group photo where every parents stands in a jumbled sense of a line and attempts to take a picture of 50 kids with a digital camera.... these pictures are by far the funniest, each person is staring directly at their camera and not any one elses...

and don't even get me started on no matter where you are, that you are always somehow stuck in a lawn. seriously, yesterday I was worried I would have to call a crane to dislodge my stick heel from the patch of grass I had sunken so deeply into. It's like when you stand in shallow water at the beach and let layers of wet sand cover your feet until you are so far sunk in that it takes more effort than you would like to admit to actually see your feet again. Just like that, but in six inch heels.

after every camera has run out of battery (before the event even starts), the bus arrives. Sleek, black, and... too small?
after "listening" to the rules of the party bus, and a trip down the red carpet (nice touch), we all finally board the bus. but there is not enough room.

couples sit on laps (this promoted a lot of lap dancing that I frankly considered to be a bit "too soon"), and the stripper pole becomes more of a support pole, and our esteemed and trendy party bus reminds me more of a subway than a luxury form of transportation. At one point I even called a moment of silence for Rosa Parks. I'm sure dear Rosa is turning in her grave at the suggestion that prentenious teens having to endure a standing ride to city walk in a party bus is even slightly comparative to the racist bus seating of historical montgomery, but hey, what's life without a little offensive humor?

the group arrives at Buca. We are led up three flights of stairs (thank god I had my inhaler. but really. between the half mile trek from parking lot to resturaunt coupled with the soreness I felt from the previous day of heels, I was grateful to make it up those stairs without severe cardiac arrest. anyone in my group knows EXACTLY what i'm referring to). the meal is good, only one major trip of girls to the bathroom... haha I know boys, WHAT ARE WE ALL DOING IN THERE TOGETHER. If we told you, we'd have to kill you...
the meal ends, and the real adventure begins.

amazing race season 27: to the dance.

it only took a few minutes for us to all realize that the last people on the bus would become the rosa parks of the group and be seatless. I began a dead sprint in my heels, I would not recieve the ultimate shaft of having to stand. Couples raced hand in hand through the massive throngs of people at city walk. At one point, I'm pretty sure I assalted a seven foot russian male, but not even a massive forgiener could stop me. Sweat dripped from my forehead... I was falling behind, but only because other competitors had ripped off their heels. Heels came off. I had to win... I made it. I was in the parking lot first... but wait, where was the bus. WHERE WAS THE BUS?!??!?! it was a race without a definitive finish line. SERIOUSLY WHERE WAS THE BUS??!?!?!?!?!??! FJLDAJFA.

oh wait, it hadn't been called. the group waited anxiously, the most strategic couples kept a look out and only falsey engaged in conversation to distract opponets. Every. Man. For. Himself. BUS! spotted. Heels were back on, but I was unstoppable. I'd just like to once again tell everyone that I was the first female on the bus with heels. Just saying. I'm not weirdly overly competitive or anything. Don't worry about it.

Arrive at the dance.
Tall men with thick accents tell us to seperate into two lines, one side will be men, one side will be women. (oh my god. did no one else feel creepy Halocaust vibes?). We made it into the dance.
picture time.
nailed it. so glad at this point we are all so far beyond taking a normal dance photo and many of us bring props. Let me tell you, inhaler=clutch.

to the dance floor.
on and off the stage within the first five minutes. well played comrades, well played.
instantly so sweaty. besides possibly a suana or a summer day in vegas, there are no other places in the world that evoke such severe perspiration.
I often want to yell "I'm melting... I'm melting" but then I would have to equate myself to the wicked witch of the west... and it's just too soon for that kind of self mockery.

did anyone else feel awkward with the amount of dubstep that was played?
sorry everyone was sober.

after a few epic rounds of "mixing the cake", "texting while driving", the "lawn mower" and of course the popularized "q-tip, throw it away" moves (you all know exactly who you are) the dance was over.

we wait for our bus to come pick us up. the admin watch my group and I like hawks. I wished they would have breathlized us instead of glaring, every single one of us would have come up 0.00. take that admin. TAKE THAT. seriously, it was almost comical. I felt as though certain administrators expected us all to yell IM DRUNK or start vomiting on the streets of hollywood. it's funny, I could have listed off 50 drunk kids at the dance last night, but the admin is so concerned with who they deem to be trouble makers that most of the drunkards escape without so much as a second look because of one isolated incident at homecoming..... "I can't go to winter formal" classic.

next posed the problem of what to do after. It always strikes me as funny, no matter what dance, there are NEVER any "after parties". Rumors about a few parties start sometime at the dance and by the time it's over, texts fly between party buses and limos about these alleged parties. who starts these rumors? whoever you are, throw something yourself and stop spinning lies. I bet you started the station fire too, spawn of lucifer.

we arrive back at square one. the party bus pulls away and we sit like bums on a curb. people type furiously into their smart phones, each person trying to get in touch with their connections. still... nothing...

one bold friend finally steps up.
"you know what guys, I'm gonna have a kickback. we can go to my house."

cheers erupt.
tops are thrown carelessly into the air.
victory dances ensue.
some (aka me) pick up the heroic hostess and shake them.
its christmas and new years combined.
IT'S AN AFTER PARTY.

the rest of the night cumulates in reconnecting with that one old friend (tangent: I love how when people get together, you always find that one person who you don't normally hang out with and they become your instant buddy for the night... seriously, you know its true and then you always have that "one" night with them that you laugh about for the next two years. ) , dance highlights (or just complaining about the dj) , more dancing, and of course, MORE PICTURES.

eventually the drivers get tired, someone pukes, and its time for everyone to head home.

rumor has it that this morning works bagels were sold out at goldstiens. nicely done LCHS. nicely done.