Friday, September 19, 2003

So our school dance ended two hours ago. It's so ironic that girls who are hos (okay, fine: 'dressed in whore costumes') are so reserved when it comes to dancing in public. They stand almost completely still, like choir babies for the Laurence Welk Show (I'm assuming no one is familiar with this guy. I didn't have cable for awhile, and that was the only show on Sunday, other than Hammer Time ... which I loathed, if only for the sole reason that his parachute pants were poorly animated: "More sparkle! More stripes! Goddamn it, why aren't they puffy enough?!")

However, it may also be because I danced like a drunken stripper in comparison. Wait, no. A drunken stripper who neglected to ask for tips. Darn.

Ah, and the public displays of affection. I doubt it was actually "affection" because people weren't exactly "sober":

"Girl, don't think 'cuz you makin' out with pretty boy there, you can hide your lack of dancing abilities."

Oh man, and the people who got drunk before the dance. Don't they know alcohol stinks up their breath? They honestly smelled as if homeless people hid in their mouths and threw a party that included drinking homemade moonshine from a paper bag.

Other than that, I enjoyed it. But I don't think I got my 8 dollars worth because I came back deaf and more swollen than Joan Rivers after her last tummy tuck. However, that may be my fault ... or the DJ who seemed to have a turned-up-to-11 bass fetish.

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