A Pig's-Blood-Less Night

Homecoming was last night. It was...a bit like every other dance. That's a good thing, and I wasn't too disappointed to see that The Homecoming Dance, built up to be this momentous turning point in your high school career, is really just a bunch of stupid kids in a very weakly decorated gym, dancing to rap and ear-harming country underneath the emergency flourescent lights and laughable letter cut-outs taped to the bleachers spelling "Hollywood." I was glad that it's only a big deal if you make it one.

The only thing I was really disappointed in-- and maybe I'm being a drama queen-- but the one blotch on my otherwise perfectly enjoyable night was the fact that I couldn't even gather up the courage to say one lousy "Hey" to "Finny," AKA Spanish class boy. He didn't seem to have a date. I peeked at him over the sea of heads and got butterflies. Whatever, these weren't butterflies, these were freaking birds. I did the dorky 6th grade thing, walked past him and got my friend to tell me if he noticed, and she said he did. But he didn't do anything.

Then he left early, and I kept thinking about how I'd blown it.

We had a pen fight in class on Friday, and he started it. And he was being dreadfully flirty, or friendly at the least. Smiles and smirks and "Oh, what now, what now?" We shook hands for a truce, then I stole his pen and got him back.

And here I am, over-analyzing again. But you guys. He's got the prettiest green-gold-brown eyes.

But I did have fun. We jumped and yelled to Nirvana, tried to request White Stripes for the absent Indy, cheered for a stripping Drew, did the swaying-circle-of-sweaty-friends dance. I met the infamous Chris, but was too chicken to say, "Ohhh, so YOU'RE the two-timing fuckwad who hurt my Cupcake." I also met Little Kevin in one of the SCoSF dances, and didn't know who he was until we had all exchanged some math humor. Good times, with that math humor, good times.

2003-10-26 @ 3:12 p.m.

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