strange musings of a distracted spunk

1. I started this blog.
2. I got published. Twice.
3. I kicked a boy out of bed.
4. I tried changing the world.
5. I hugged a cactus in Arizona.
6. I went to Seattle and Vancouver.
7. I stepped in two oceans and one sea.
8. I quit one job and got let go from another.
9. I found joy again in taking a pen to the page.
10. I didn’t have any emergency trips to the hospital!
11. I took a dance class with Taye Diggs, who clapped me on the shoulder.
12. I walked away from the one person who often made me feel the most secure.
13. I met some amazing people, yet I always end up on the opposite coast.
14. I moved cross-country by myself, to a place I had never been.
15. I road tripped from San Diego to San Francisco.
16. I had a bike go all transformers on me.
17. I found a softer, more reserved me.
18. I learned I have awful travel luck.
19. I went to Thailand and Japan.
20. I realized my own strength.
21. I lived the same day twice.
22. I moved. Five times.
23. I fell in love.

Here’s to year 24; may it be as enlightening and exciting as 23.

Dear Thailand,

Thank you for monsooning the night I left. Three hours of rain. Two hours in a cab, rushing to the airport in horrible traffic. If you regularly experience rainy season, shouldn’t your people know how to drive by now when it pours? I still have no idea how you made my bag bleed onto the brand new white dress that I’ve only worn once. That’s mighty powerful rain, yo. _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Dear Japan Air Lines,

Thank you kindly for giving me my own row again upon leaving Bangkok. Stretching out with a blanket and three pillows makes economy feel like first class, but less crowded cause everyone is in first class! Silly first classers.
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Dear Japan,

You are funny. I visit one of your temples during my eleven hour layover on Friday and offer to take pictures for a group of Chinese tourists. In exchange, they offer to take a picture of me in front of the temple. What I didn’t expect was for two of the little Chinese ladies to bum-rush me and hijack my photo. Apparently I am your new tourist attraction.
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Dear International Date Line,

Thank you for letting me have two Fridays in a 48 hour period. It was kind of fun leaving Bangkok at midnight, arriving in Tokyo at 7 AM, leaving at 6 PM, arriving in San Francisco at 11 AM, and leaving at 11 PM. I felt a little like Bill Murray in “Groundhog’s Day.” But my Friday was better.
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Dear McGee,

Your new puppy is schmuppy and adorable. I would like to take her home with me, but J might beat me up if I did. Thank you for seeing Sex and the City with me, of all the things we could have done during my twelve hour layover in San Francisco on Friday. I will miss you terribly.
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Dear Jack of All Trades,

Thank you for popping over on Saturday and helping my stepdad move the Ikea dresser he built after my mom and I bought it that morning. (I really think I pick the weirdest things to do after getting off a plane - movies? Ikea?) I’m still sorry for being a zombie and mostly staring at you and my family when you talked to me. However, I’m still amused that my mom had to kick you out after I passed out at 8:30. Next time, I will be slightly less zombie-fied. Slightly.
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Dear cats,

Stop rolling around in my shoe closet. I don’t know what I stepped in, but most assuredly, it was not catnip. Stay out of the damn closet!
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Dear 2006 Honda Accord that my sister forgot how to keep clean,

I’m glad we drove to Princeton yesterday. It was super fun being able to just sit on a bench and casually call out hey to one of my close friends, before she realized who I was and gave me lots of hugs. That’s the best kind of welcome home a girl can get. Here’s hoping we get to surprise more people together.
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Dear the U.S. Economy,

Stop sucking. And find me a job. Capische? Capische.
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Dear jet lag,

How do you feel about lagging somewhere else?

Sincerely,

DS

I could write about the tan line on my left wrist, of the shadow of my silver and turquoise watch now imprinted on my skin.

I could write about the mosquito bites tracing a trail along the side of my right leg, verbose in its catalog of places I’ve traveled.

I could talk about the elephant’s ear flicking off my left shoe and causing me to jump in my seat, and the boy who tore lemongrass from the ground for me to smell.

Or I could write about wading into the Andaman sea, the water and sand working its way over me, leaving sand and water on my shirt, shorts, everywhere.

I will leave tomorrow, with my right leg and left thumb scraping wounds of a motorbike accident in which I almost got run over by four cars. I will say goodbye to monkeys walking on phone wires and girls in burquas sitting sidesaddle and texting. Somehow, Thailand is a place where technology and tradition meet somewhat incongruously. Seven tier waterfalls with swimming pools so clear, you can see the fish swimming near the surface. Incidentally, these same fish are more than happy to nip at you once you jump in. Green rivers humming with mosquitoes, trees leafy, mindful of the sun, the kind of sun that you go out for ten minutes and come back with a fierce burn. Tuk-tuks chugging along the crowded streets of Bangkok, clamoring for a passenger, lights flashing as though there should be a whistling tune sung along. Have I ever seen such a place?

This is Asia. Or Southeast Asia as Thailand would be quick to correct. Where whitening cream can be found in every 7-11 on every corner. Where ladyboys are quick to interpret for me when a cashier cannot understand my simple request. Where cabs are neon, signs are neon, and the sky is choked and polluted, a clogged artery left untouched. Yet the sunsets here are dazzling, simply because of all the gases in the air. This is where you cannot enter a building without being pushed or harangued or crowded. There’s no concept of personal space here, and indeed, my bubble has been violated many times over. This is where my white white skin and my red hair make me the unintended subject of many stares. When did I become what other people want to be?

I don’t know yet that I will come back. The beaches of Thailand, so much of it altered from the 2004 tsunami seems pristine, as though this is how the world was one thousand years ago, and this is how it will be for a thousand more. The silence on an island, so unlike the deafening crush of this overwhelming city calls my attention, of infinity pools and islands far out at sea. Mangrove trees and houseboats, wild animals everywhere. Who knew they had cows in Thailand?

I never thought I could feel so overwhelmed in a city; I’m from New York damnit! But this city, this area is a whole world in and of itself. The jungle, the bridge over the river Kwai, the elephants and tigers we pet and sat with, the dead gecko lizard in the floor of our hotel room last night; this is not New York. The super malls and the plush movie theater seats with recliners and blankets and pillows, the sexpats and their Thai prostitutes, the glass and the steel, the gold and the Buddhas, and my god, the stray cats and dogs everywhere! I’ve never seen a place where everything fits so perfectly, and clashes so discordantly. I feel as though every time I walk down the street, I am history and future at once, present gone out the window.

This is Thailand. And this is my farewell.

So here’s the deal.

We leave for Krabi tomorrow night. We stay on an island for four days (rain shower, bathtub, massages, gym, free wi-fi, a pool that goes into the ocean, etc.) We also will be snorkeling, windsurfing (if the water isn’t too choppy), and other water-based activity, as well as hiking and laying out on beautiful white beaches.

The issue is my skin. Regardless of how much suntan lotion I put on, inevitably, I get burnt somehow - usually in patches. Most recently, I ended up with a stripe from my collarbone to the center of my left breast. How? No idea. I’m also one of those fairest of the fair kinda girls; I’m basically what the Thai folk aspire to with their whitening lotions (think tanning lotions in reverse.)

Today, I’m sporting an awesome collar - front and back - of a sunburn that I got when exploring the ruins of the old capital of Thailand, Ayuthaya, even though I put on tons of SPF 50 suntan lotion (twice!) before we got there. There’s no way I can avoid the sun, but how can I keep from getting burnt to a crisp while snorkeling?

Thailand suggests buying swim clothes, such as board shorts and a surfer shirt but that’s called spending money I don’t have. If I absolutely have to, I will, but I’d MUCH prefer other options. That’s where you all come in. Help!

-I am a good wingman. For gay men. I met several Americans, Englishmen, and Canadians, and chatted them up, dragging Thailand into the conversation when I could

-We went to a bar where it was all teak wood, lounge-type furniture, a small little carriage seat in the middle of the lounge, stone horses hanging from the ceiling, ponds, steps, palm trees, etc. It was so inherently Asian, yet I cant quite put my finger on what made it so Asian. I was just super excited.

-On Sunday night we went to a gay bar named DJ, which is supposedly one of the hottest gay bars in all of Asia. We got there in time for the ladyboy show. Basically, the Thai culture is super accepting of transvestites and even have multiple terms for them; we recognize them as transsexuals, but they call them transsexuals or kathoey. I’m told the latter is more of a derogatory term, but the premise is that some Thai believe that being a kathoey is the result of transgressions in past lives. Anyhow, the ladyboy show featured thai men who had had hormone therapy, breast implants, and perhaps other surgeries done to play up their female side. Thailand has the best gender reassignment doctors in the world. Pea in a Pod pointed out how fascinating it is that a country we Westerners consider to be less…civilized…has more progressive views on gender and sexuality than we do back west.

-Another thing that was so utterly interesting to me was the abundance of older white men with these younger gorgeous Thai men. Thailand has a huge sexpat culture, where it’s easy to get your needs met because anything goes. We would call these situations sugar daddies back east, but here, the emphasis is placed on the boys who are called “Money Boys.” The premise is they agree to accompany the older, and not necessarily attractive white men because the men buy them everything and give them money. It was interesting for me to watch - because when I wasn’t playing wingman, I was watching the crowd.

-Straight girls have no place in a gay club. I got pushed, shoved, and sat on. Twice. Apparently, my vagina makes me invisible. It took me a full five minutes to just get out of the club because everyone kept pushing me out of their way.

-Thai society decrees that every male be a monk at some point in his life, though it can be for as short as a week. Thailand dated a guy who had just finished a three month service in the monkhood. For some reason, it strikes me as slightly ironic, as I typically assume monks to be celibate and heterosexual.

-The gay scene here is HUGE. Granted, Thailand lives near one of the biggest red light districts in the city, where they have live sex shows (which I am also debating seeing), gay clubs, ping pong shows, and more. However, pornography is illegal here. Am I the only one who finds this slightly twisted?

-One thing that keeps overwhelming me is the sheer amount of people. Yes, I grew up in New York. Yes, I’m no stranger to crowded subways. But this is basically like Times Square overload. I often get swept up in a mass crowd of people, on the subway, walking, etc. Sometimes, I find myself almost running to get away from the crowd. We went to this mall called MBK, which is seven floors. And huge. It’s bigger than any mall I’ve ever seen in the U.S., more crowded, and slightly more terrifying. After about an hour there, I began to feel tired and cranky just because there was SO MUCH STUFF and SO MANY PEOPLE. Not to mention, I couldn’t try on any of the clothes because they are meant for tiny, petite Thai girls, and well, let’s face it. I have boobs. And I am not tiny and petite. Asia is giving me a fat complex.

-The temples? Are…amazing. I was more a fan of Wat Arun and Wat Phra Kaew than Wat Pho, though the Reclining Buddha inside was massively huge and impressive. The thing that gets me is I like learning the history behind these things when I’m at these sites. Because it’s easier to match up a story to something that was done, rather than try to remember everything you’ve read or seen beforehand. Even still, just the sheer magnificence of it is stunning. A few pictures!

And finally. Thailand has been seeing more of me than he’s seen since we were babies in the same crib (we grew up together.) He neglected to mention that we would be climbing steep steep stairs at Wat Arun. So I wore a sundress because it’s so ridiculously hot here. Sundress + steep stairs + wind = booty flashing DS. It would have been mildly funny, had it not been for the night before.

See, I had come home early from the club because I was getting a bit claustrophobic with all those people touching me accidentally, pushing me, or sitting on my lap. (Straight girls - invisible. I’m telling you.) I wanted to tell GDB about my experience, so we started talking over webcam. I had just taken a shower, so I hadn’t bothered getting dressed yet since Thailand wouldn’t be home for at least another hour. GDB typically doesn’t wear clothes either. We were talking about Thailand thus far and my experience at the gay club, and I was super hyper, when all of a sudden Thailand staggers in, completely drunk. I’m sitting on his bed naked, GDB is on my screen, visibly naked from the waist up, and Thailand announces how drunk he is. I immediately start trying to cover myself up, GDB is trying not to laugh, and Thailand doesn’t say anything for thirty seconds. Then he says, “Oh. You’re naked. And talking to GDB. And I’m drunk. I’m going to go into the other room.”

I tore a hole in my shorts trying to get them on before running out into the other room. Thailand apologizes for walking in on me naked, and adds, “It took me a few seconds to realize you were naked because I was too busy staring at GDB’s pecs of steel. Also. You have rather large breasts.” I’m not sure who laughed harder, me, Thailand, or GDB.

Two days before we hit up the Thai beaches! (Oh, I am SO excited.)

Ta-da! I am here! And it is…hot. And muggy. And occasionally drippy. Thailand (whom I am visiting and traveling with) said, “The best way to describe it is as if someone took a wet towel and smacked you with it. Repeatedly.” Basically, I just want to take my clothes off all the time. After another fabulous evening, first with my AmeriCorps friends, then with McGee and her man J, I took off for the airport on Thursday morning. 12 hours later, I was in Tokyo. Another 9 hours later (2 hour layover), I was in Bangkok. My observations thus far:

-Watching English movies with subtitles throws me off. Namely, because I’m used to watching films with English subtitles. I kept reading the Japanese subtitles before remembering I don’t read Japanese. It’s amazing how many times I repeated this action before it finally sunk in.

-There was some sort of noodle dish served on the plane. I didn’t pay much attention to what I was eating and the next thing I knew, I was trying not to choke on the wasabi I accidentally ingested. Apple juice is not a good wasabi reliever.

-By the time we got off the plane in Tokyo, I really had to pee. So I went to the restroom. And found a white thing surrounding a hole in the ground. There was slight heart attack-age. But then I found a regular toilet and didn’t have to figure out how to pee over a hole in the ground without splashing everywhere, and balancing a backpack on my back simultaneously. Incidentally, it’s called a Japanese toilet. I much admire Japanese women everywhere who can balance and pee neatly at the same time.

-JAL allows you to keep tabs on where you’re at by providing an in-flight map. It was strange to realize we were flying over the International Date Line. It was zig-zaggy, so I kept waiting for an announcement or some sort of “Whoo! We have just entered tomorrow!” kinda thing, but it never happened. So I waited. And waited. And waited. And eventually, when there was no zig-zag line at the center of the screen, I figured we had entered tomorrow. There was no celebration.

-My method of killing time was to basically say, “And this is how long it took to get to Israel. And…this is how long it took to get to Spain! And…London! Now New York! Now Chicago from San Francisco! Now LA from Oakland!.” This was actually very effective in making me feel better about time.

-Also, JAL? You’re awesome. Putting me in my own row so I could stretch out across all three seats which was actually just the perfect amount of space for all 5′7ish of me was a brilliant idea.

-”Was that your debit card in Thailand this morning?” Always notify the bank when you’re leaving the country.

-I think I may have sprained my big toe on my left foot, and rolled my ankle. This is going to make walking fun.

-Going to the gym less than twelve hours after landing is not always the smartest idea. Often leaves one wanting to throw up and die from sudden jet-lag attack that occurs when your body realizes that you’re on the opposite side of the world and night is day and day is night. However, watching small Thai men bounce around and yell, “Everybody say hey!” with a huge smile on his face during a Body Jam class is infectious. There’s a reason Thailand is called the Land of Smiles.

-Bangkok is a neon city. The cabs are pink, purple, orange and yellow cabs, and when we went to the food court in the mall that the gym Thailand belongs to was in, everything was brightly colored. At that point, I was feeling so sick, it just made me dizzy with how overwhelming it was. He told me to go home before I passed out on a pink display.

-Spirit houses! Everywhere! I keep stopping to look at them and admire the intricacies, while Thailand is like, “Oh. Right. You’ve never seen these before.” *stops and fiddles with his thumbs while I ooh and aah.*

-Speaking of which, it’s…insane how well he’s adapted to being in Bangkok. I wouldn’t have expected a gay Jewish boy from New Jersey to be so acclimated to the area, but he knows exactly where and what he’s doing. It’s kind of admirable, and also strange knowing that someone I grew up with is so…well adjusted to a country so foreign to ours. When we’re in cabs and he gives directions in Thai, it blows me away.

-The tuk-tuks are not meant for tall people. Nor is the subway. I kept hitting my head on the strap you hold to maintain your balance. Those things are slightly painful.

-”Want to go to a ping pong show?” “I love ping pong!” “Um…it’s not the American ping pong.” “What is it?” “Girls shooting things out of their vaginas.”

And that’s a wrap for today. Coming soon on the Thai Adventures of DS and Thailand - Ladyboy shows, the “gayborhood,” three Buddhist temples on a Buddhist holiday, boat rides on the river, Thai beaches, elephant rides, tigers, and more! I still haven’t decided if I want to go to a ping pong show.

I never realized how green the Pacific Northwest was. Though Princess Pointful corrected me and said that we are technically in the Pacific Southwest currently as we are in the southwestern portion of Canada. Hello, Vancouver. Green? Trees? Ah-choo!

So a basic recap of my Northwestern/Southwestern journeys:

-Once again, United Airlines wins. Apparently this time, they forgot they needed a pilot to fly the plane. This apparently didn’t occur to them until AFTER we boarded the plane. And I was so excited that we might actually leave on time for a change. Hour delay? Hello, my old friend.

-I’m still five years old at heart. The Seattle Science Museum was probably my favorite part of the Seattle experience. How often do you get to walk around in a butterfly conservatory? Or test your flexibility skills? (By the way, at twenty three years of age, my flexibility range was 23.0. The normal average for people my age was 12. I am awesome.) Or take a picture inside a dinosaur footprint? Check, check, and check.

-I can do a kickstand on 1 & 3, a snare on 2 & 4, but not with a top hat on 1, 2, 3, and 4. It’s sort of like trying to rub your tummy and pat your head at the same time. I have a new respect for drummers, seeing as I can only do two of the three at any given point. (Experience Music Project; good for releasing your inner rock star.)

-Just because you can take a golden capsule to the top does not make you Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory, Space Needle. In fact, you need to take a few lessons from the John Hancock Observatory in Chicago or any one of the tourist destinations in New York. Clearly labeled markings on what one is looking at is helpful. Not a computer screen with exclamation points a la Super Mario Brothers and a big octopus. (Apparently, the Giant Pacific Octopus lives off the shores of Seattle. Good to know.)

-The Underground Tour? Totally worth it. Where else do you learn about drunkards falling off the street and into a ditch somewhere between 5-30 feet below? Or the fact that 87% of Seattle’s revenue in the late 1800’s/early 1900s was accounted for by the high percentage of “seamstresses” in Seattle, where nary a sewing machine was in sight. Occupational hazard? Syphilis.

-A harrowing experience at the Seattle Bus Depot was fun for no one. Forty minutes just to get my ticket because the computers and a printer was down. Travel luck, you strike again! However, we did befriend a native Vancouverian on the bus ride home. It appears he was eavesdropping on our conversation and found us particularly entertaining. Which we are. But still. Between him and PP, a four hour bus ride went by impressively quickly. He even accompanied us through customs and on the train and bus ride home. Wearing a kilt!

-Vancouver has sea buses. As in…a boat. That’s a form of public transportation. It’s a bus! But it’s a boat! But it’s a bus! Ah!

-Also, there’s a suspension bridge. 230 feet above a rushing river kinda suspension bridge. Like the ones you used to see in a playground that would bounce when you walked on it. There was always the asshole (usually me) who would jump on it and make it swing and cause you to lose your balance. I stifled that impulse, but I did run the last fifteen or so feet of the bridge back, just cause I could. In addition, there are treetop adventures. Even MORE suspension bridges in the trees. Basically, if you’ve ever loved playing in a treehouse, this is totally the place to go.

-American Gladiators. ‘Nuff said. I’m pretty sure this is one of those things that you can only do while in another country, like the “It’s okay to cheat because it’s another country” kinda philosophy.

-Vancouver has a police museum! I didn’t really know what to expect, just that it’d be something different and completely unique to Vancouver. When I travel, I like to find places that you won’t find anywhere else. So we went. And we figured it’d be just about an hour at the most. After two hours, nunchuks, Ninja throwing stars, an autopsy room, a morgue, and crazy interesting exhibits, we finally staggered our way out from Vancouver’s police history. They are the only police force that I have ever heard of that have Harley Davidsons as part of their motor vehicles. Red ones, at that. Go Vancouver.

-Totem poles scare me. If I were a pioneer and I came across a totem pole of a demon-like figure eating a human, I’d run right back in the direction from which I came. However. Totem poles with stories aren’t as scary. Unfortunately, the Museum of Anthropology doesn’t share the stories of most of its totem poles, which makes it difficult to really absorb as much of the history as one possibly could. However, it does have one super cool exhibit of a Raven saving humankind in a clamade of cedar, with natural light shining down on it. It’s pretty groovy.

One thing that both Seattle and Vancouver have that are unusual is the abundance of mountains and water. It’s absolutely stunning and gorgeous, especially when in contrast to all the greenery. Flying into Sea-Tac Airport was like no flight I had ever taken before. Additionally, both have a style of architecture that is completely different from the neo-classic, brick, and steel architecture I’m used to from the East coast. There is so little European influence here, it’s refreshing.

With that said, I’m jumping back into the states where I eagerly await naughty text messages for all of sixteen hours before I get on my sixth plane in three weeks and make my way to a completely different climate. Hot and steamy. Hello Thailand.

I went all the way to Vancouver, Canada to get hooked on American Gladiators.

No, really! While Princess Pointful made a yummy dinner, her boyfriend and I debated what to watch on TV. “The Big Bang Theory?” I said.

“Nah.”

“Dancing With the Stars?”

*dirty look*

“Ugh, Punchline is on.”

“What’s that about?”

“Sally Field and Tom Hanks.”

“Oh god no. I can’t stand Sally Field. Let’s watch American Gladiators!”

I gave him a look. “Seriously?”

“It’s good. You’ll like it. They’re crazy.”

Twenty minutes later, I was yelling at the television like a mad woman. “Watch out for Helga! Why is it so difficult for them to swim the entire length of the pool? Do the breaststroke, it’s faster! What are you doing?! He’s going to crush you! What’s the Wolf? Oh. That’s the Wolf. Ewwww.”

American Gladiators was one of those shows that was cool to watch on Saturday early afternoons, after Saved By the Bell because those people were crazy and scary, and also, it was the impetus for Guts on Nickelodeon. When it went off the air all those years ago, I never thought much of it, even when it returned. But now that I’m in Canada? I actually turned down an opportunity to go out with some of Princess Pointful’s friends because I wanted to watch Major Pain try to get past freaking Helga. (Incidentally, Helga looks like a two hundred and five pound version of a girl I went to high school with.) I was so involved with the show, I couldn’t even keep up with the conversation, because there was a former Para-Olympics medalist with one leg trying to succeed on the Eliminator. (On a side note, hand pedals? What demon conjured up that torture trap?)

As I got more involved with American Gladiators and the plight of one John Siciliano who only has the one leg, so did the others in the living room. And as we watched him try to keep his balance on a tightrope, or run down a spinning barrel, or climb up arm first on a teeter-totter rather than run up, it began to feel a bit like you couldn’t look away. But as he persevered, I realized, had I been him, I would have been pissed to know people were aww’ing every time I succeeded at doing something I had initially set out to do.

The guy who did win, after three minutes and twenty seconds did a great job, but he was ignored in favor of the human interest story of the guy who was disabled and still playing the game. The crowd began chanting, “Go John, go!” and you could see the looks on people’s faces as though they wanted to see him succeed but every time his prosthetic leg went wayward, they’d grimace. Hell, even I grimaced, because I wanted to see this guy kick Gladiator ass.

The camera stayed focused on John, zooming in to show his awkward gait because much of his weight had to be stored on one leg, regardless of the black prosthesis attached to him. It began to feel like an exploitation of his disability, rather than a genuine portrait of giving a guy a fair shot. At the end of it all, while people cheered, I was frustrated. I saw parallels in how people played up the inspirational aspects of his activity to how people have suggested I am an inspiration. I don’t think most people set out to be an inspiration. In my case, I lost my ears and did what I had to do. I don’t find anything about that inspirational.

I doubt John feels differently; in an interview at the end, he said, “If you want to do something, get up and do it.” There’s nothing heroic or poignant about that. Nike’s been riding on the “Just Do It” slogan for as long as I can remember. It’s not about setting an example. It’s about achieving goals. Why are we so eager to confuse the two when it involves someone making do with the hand they’ve been dealt? When sympathy and encouragement often walk the same line of a disability, it’s harder to be thought of as an inspiration for just living our lives.

And to think. All this came from watching American Gladiators in Canada. Not bad, eh?

She brushed her hair back with a wave of insecurity. Her pink dress kept riding down, exposing a black bra. I wondered who the black strapless bra was for, underneath her informal prom dress, on a night where she was one of two dateless girls at a table full of couples.

Would I have ever dared show up at prom without a date? I recall breaking up with my high school boyfriend multiple times before prom, and even going so far as asking a friend if he’d accompany me in the case that the breakup stuck this time. The breakup didn’t, the boyfriend didn’t, and senior prom was a bit of a bust. Even the catering hall’s power thought so, as it went out halfway through our dinner.

The undeclared photographer of her table, she kept looking around, watching, waiting to see who was talking about her. I asked Princess Pointful, “Were you this insecure in high school?” Without so much as a pause, she said, “Yes.” It surprised me, to know that someone who is so aware of who she is now, was maybe almost too aware of who she was then. Though it seems that’s the nature of high school.

A girl in a lime green dress sat alone with her lime-green vested date, and frowned most of her way through dinner. He tried to make her laugh, but she was too busy watching the two tables of high-school prom goers that surrounded us. We watched her, wondering if she had just had a falling out with one of the other girls at one of those tables. Wasn’t that all high school was? Uninvitations, blocked memories, girls putting each other down. I once had a bully take my can of soda and drink the entire thing in one gulp. At least it wasn’t my lunch. I don’t care to remember much else about high school.

At yet another table behind us, more dresses slipped down, showing black bras, nude bras, and bare backs. These kids had credit cards, cell phones, their dresses skimmed their thighs and reached just below their non-existent cleavage. Princess and I talked about how we didn’t get credit cards till college, how puberty hit us at different points. For me, it was after I went to college that my chest exploded with first C-cups, and now D.

One has to wonder, what’s in store for these girls? Their prom, so different from mine, involved going out to dinner first and to a dance later. Would they go home with their dates, fingers fumbling beneath corseted backs, safety pins, and laces, underwear sliding off, pants unzipping? Or would they shuffle out of barely heeled shoes, shimmy out of low-swinging dress, plug in a USB cable and upload pictures of their table laughing and drinking non-alcoholic Mojito Breezes, wishing there was someone to slide the corsage off their wrist?

I have pictures from my own proms, junior and senior, where I took silly pictures with my then-boyfriend, as though it would be the time of my life. It wasn’t then, it wasn’t now. I don’t even know where those pictures are anymore; for all I know, they may have been thrown out during one of my many moves.

I wanted to tell the girl in the lime green dress to stop fretting. It’s just one night. Let your date make you laugh, smile a bit, whatever’s got you down is going to be all over in a matter of weeks. I wanted to tell the girl in the pink dress, stop looking around; don’t wear your insecurity on your sleeve. You’re already stronger than I was at seventeen, showing up dateless when I had a roster of guys recruited in case my boyfriend and I broke up again. I admire you. But I can’t, when you don’t even admire yourself.

How do you tell a seventeen year old girl the things you’ve learned when you’re not much older than she?