Over half a year ago, I was forced to go to prom. The enemies were my girlfriend and mother. A good bit of money I didn't want to take from my parents was used and of course the girlfriend had to find an expensive dress that she is never going to wear again. After getting dressed, I understood why tuxedos are called monkey suits...that thing did not sit well on me, restricted movement too awkwardly. The prom picture (ridiculously overpriced), now on my dresser, was a waste, considering the photographer didn't get us a chance to get ready. Now the only picture I have of my girlfriend dressed up so prettily is one where she's frowning, trying to get into position.

I could and did predict how the prom proper would turn out. You see, I hate dancing. I see no point to it and hate the way it feels. Not to mention that the dances those students used were accurately described as "sex on the dance floor." At one point--at least that I could see--one man's date laid down on the floor and he got on top of her and looked like he was having a seizure. The crowd cheered. So from the start, I knew I wouldn't dance because I just hate it. Apparently, by repeatedly telling my girlfriend and mom that I wouldn't be dancing, they translated it to "He wants to dance, but needs a push to release all of that energy." So the prom was inevitable. After a few hours of sitting/standing around and talking with a glass of some kind of drink in hand, we left. To this day, my girlfriend wishes it would have turned out better, and blames it on me. It was partly my fault, but we could have had a much better time if she had just listened to me. We could have stayed home like we normally do and enjoyed a nice meal followed by some quiet time together.
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Speaking of school functions, what's up with pep rallies? We had these every year, on the days (usually Friday) of school football games. In the morning, after the first of our four classes, the student body was forced--yes, there was no skipping it. Doing so got you detention if you were caught--into the gym. The first-year Freshmen were shoved into the back of the gym, atop the stairs and bleachers. The Sophomores and Juniors were separated along the bleachers, one to either side. The seniors had to stand on the floor, closest to the stage. We then spent the next hour or so getting our eardrums blown out by the screaming mass of an upwards of two thousand students while the band played their instruments to the same two songs every time, saluted the flags as they were brought in, and waited impatiently while the cheerleaders flipped and we (or at least I did) hoped one would fall and be moderately hurt. Not because I wanted to see her hurt, but because it would be somewhat interesting.

The football players would file in and sit on stage like we were supposed to...what? Admire them? Why the hell did they get chairs when the rest of us seniors had to sit on the hard, dirty floor? The principal--who I never once met, or even knew his damned name--would say some bullshit that meant the football team was what the school was all about (or at least the entire function seemed to say it) and had each of the sections cheer and make as much noise as possible. Whoever he deemed the "most spirited" won absolutely nothing and we were sent on our way for a few minutes break that was over by the time the classes managed to fit outside the two doors. It didn't make it easier that the school's snack shop was not ten feet from the gym's exit doors.

After the break we would continue with our school day, except each class was shortened by about fifteen/twenty minutes, ended later than usual (lunch was over half an hour late...oh, how we first-world students starved. Ugh, my stomach hurt after those thirty minutes of not eating on time.).
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So this entire blog is just a rant and is, similar to the pep rallies and the prom of my high school career, pointless.