The Prom Post

 

If your social media timeline is anything like mine, you have been flooded with pics of family members and the children of friends going to the prom. These pics have made me nostalgic and a little sad, as everything does these days. I tell you, I think I have cried more this month than I have my whole life. I'm either in perimenopause or depressed, a conversation for another time. 

Anyway, my senior prom was shrouded in drama. My friends didn't want to go so I had to go with some other classmates, my date pulled out of the deal, my dress had to be tailored, I had drama with Lisha (which would later kickstart our friendship), and my big grown up night out ended in me and my friends falling asleep before midnight in a fancy hotel. What a night! 

I hated high school. I didn't have a lot of friends. However, for some reason, I was super stoked to go to my prom. I think I really wanted to get in a limo and wear a cute dress. But when I got to the prom at the Fox Theater, I just kind of swayed awkwardly and talked to folks. I was too shy to dance. 

Of late, I have thought a lot about what a me today would tell a younger me. Old Me would show up to my prom in the ratty old summer dress I am wearing as a night gown and scream at Young Me to dance. I'd tell her in a little over ten years our mom and grandma would be dead. DANCE! College would leave us in boatloads of debt. DANCE! Depression, loss, anxiety. DANCE! Knowing Young Me, I would have still wallflowered it, but Old Me would take the opportunity to shine. I see myself breakdancing, back flipping, and moonwalking while Young Me sulks in the corner. I always ease out of this fantasy with a smile on my face. It feels good to dance again. 

Seniora Flake and Shake

Since my friendship began with Seniora Flake and Shake when I was 19, I have been totally confused about where we really stood. Maybe I am needy. Maybe I am extra. But I like to know where I stand with all the people in my life, not just males I'm romantically interested in and to be honest, since the beginning, my friendship with Seniora Flake and Shake has been an It's Complicated situation.
Even as college sophomores, she had a way of taking me on and off the shelf when she needed someone to confide in. And I guess that was cool with me because I thought that she was cool and at 19, everyone in your life is shakey. Her life was a series of romantic dramas and nightmares that was juicy and dramatic to a gal like me that spent her Saturday nights in the dorm listening to old Outkast CDs. Throughout our 20s, it got worse. I would only hear from her when she needed advice or a secret kept. And that transitioned to me not hearing from her for months at a time, only to get a call randomly as if no time had passed. I never called her on it because I was happy to hear that she was alive. Seniora liked to party.
Three years ago things really got bad. I got a new phone and sent out a Facebook group message requesting all my friends' numbers. She left the group. I then sent her a private message, and she did not respond. Months later, I got her number from a mutual friend as to text her and ask for her email address to send her an invite to my birthday party. She responded with an attitude so I gave her some space and kept her invite to herself. She had gone from shakey and flakey to completely absent. Although she had always been touch and go, she could be a good friend at times. She donated money to my project of trying to stay in my apartment after I lost my job. That's a good friend, right?
The icing on the cake was when I messaged her after my mom died and her whole attitude was that of a woman that couldn't be bothered. I was shocked, seeing that she's a shrink!
That was a year ago. Last week, she hit me up on Facebook to give me tickets to a play she can't make it to. No cost. She just thought I'd like it.
If I had her number, I would call her and ask simply and gently WHAT THE HELL ARE WE? I mean, we can't be friends, can we? Were we ever? I found myself meditating yesterday about where the ball dropped with us and, I dare say, that there was never a ball to begin with. I'm no longer 19. I need stability in all my relationships. I need reasoning. I need to be able to talk things out when they go south. But there is also a time when you have to realize you have been friend dumped and move on. I'm not sure how to feel. I will let you know after the play.

Something Ghetto

My younger brother Cass is in college. He is going into his sophomore year, and as of right now, my family is dealing with the usual right before school financial aid dramas.
Drama of the week? His financial aid counselor decided to go on a vacation at a time when the rest of the aid counselors were busy...doing their jobs! Anyway, she returned to the office this week, a week before school starts, tanned and ready to go. However, because she has been gone so long, all the work-study slots are filled, and my brother will not be receiving it as part of his aid package...AGAIN!
So as a solution to this, my mother decided to call the office with a major my-son-shouldn't-have-to-pay-ish attitude. Tanned Counselor didn't appreciate her tone and hung up...possibly. And I say possibly because it is very likely in our house that the call dropped.
Either way, it doesn't matter. Mommy is mad, and wants to "see" her when we drive my brother back. Just a little something ghetto I decided to share.