Inspired by the really horrible dress Wendy Watson wears in the Middleman’s Titanic episode, I decided I wanted to write about my prom here. (I went to prom, can you believe it? You can’t, can you. I understand.)

“Just a quick post,” I thought, clearly high off my neighbor’s paint fumes. “A couple of pictures, some anecdotes, and we’ll be all set! It’ll be fun.”

Then I realized I had no prom pictures within a 300-mile radius. No problem! Hit up a friend!

The friend had no pictures. Then the friend mentioned two or three things about our prom, none of which I remembered.

So what was a short post is going to turn into a journey, as I try to piece together what the hell happened at my high school prom and how someone who doesn’t drink could have blacked out on so much stuff.

(No joke, I’m not even sure we had a limo; all I remember is that I didn’t drive, because I remember looking out a passenger window of some kind after 40 minutes of driving and thinking, “This person is going to pull over into the woods and murder us all.” For this reason, I’m really hoping that it was a limo driver and not, say, one of my friends’ parents.)

So! The journey of a prom, about ten years later. There will be intermittent posts about this until I can actually get my hands on photographs and remember what the hell went on.

First of all, I made my dress, which meant I missed out on buying prom magazines, which are more interesting than I could ever have imagined, judging by the ladypose in this ad:

Now, the ad is for a dress, but, uh, you could have fooled me.

P.S. Though I suspect I’ll have a post where I do nothing but ask this, I’m asking it now and will do so every time I post about prom: what about YOU? Did you go? Did you spill pig’s blood on Carrie? Did you, like one of the kids in my class, go to Paris instead? (Damn you, smart kid!)

ETA: If you did not attend an American prom, but some other sort of fancy dance evening for which people dress up and act like assholes, you should still answer this question!