Dirty Old Prom Queen

In '98 I was the prom queen and in '06 I hang out with queens. I'm a private tutor during the day and a comedian at night in ol' NYC. I just can't seem to get out of high school...can someone call the custodian? Vesuvio, I'm locked in!

Tuesday, January 03, 2006

Becoming Queen

So, I've gotten a few requests for my "prom queen story" and now, I am ready to deliver. Behold:

Yeah, so, anyway, like, I guess when I was like a (sigh) senior in high school, I was the prom queen. That's it.

Keep in mind that my school had no homecoming queen so this was the most stupendously marvelous honor that could be bestowed on anyone...ever...forever. Anywho, prom was a'coming up and I did not have a date yet. The problem with private boarding school is that the date pool is much smaller than that of a big ol' public school and many of those from whom you can choose were suspended for drinking or being in the girls' dorm after hours. Since I wasn't dating anyone at the time, I decided to take matters into my own hands and I chose the best looking guy I could find. My once and future king was a friend of mine named James. He was one of those kids who was kind of soft in the middle for his underclassmen years and then one summer just came back to school with the body of a god. Yay for me!

We opted for a really flamboyant theme to our outfits. He wore a denim tuxedo that he bought at Goodwill for like three pennies and a spool of thread, topping off the ensemble with yellow-lensed glasses and a large-feathered pimp hat. I, still being a 1990's teenage girl, bought a dress from Betsey Johnson and a pair of Steve Maddens. To match my date, though, I added a feathered boa, elbow-length gloves, cat's eye sunglasses, an Audrey Hepburn length cigarette extension, and a leopard print coat stolen (and later returned) from the school's costume closet.

We were breathtaking.

As legend has it, our entrance to the ballroom was almost holy. Our gloriousness silenced the room, taking the breath away from each and every other partygoer. Young Timmy Smith, with his weak heart, fainted when we walked past (He was later revived by some smelling salts and whiskey from the local medicine man). Without anyone operating it, the spotlight couldn't help but follow James and me everywhere we went. The crepe paper decorations bowed to us as we danced by, while the punch bowl bubbled when we refilled our plastic cups. At one point, the heavens opened up and all of prom saw the face of God, who just so happened to give James and me a wink. There was no vote, the Queen's tiara and the King's crown just floated across the room to our heads. So, we slow danced until dawn...or 11:00 PM. And then it was time to go to an afterparty where we imbibed case upon case of Coors Light, a beverage of kings. The next morning, I awoke and wondered if it had all been a dream, but when I opened my hand, I was still holding a can of the Silver Bullet. Magical.

So, that's the story, exactly as it happened. That's how I became queen.

Last night, I spent some time looking through old scrapbooks trying to find a picture from this blessed night. I contemplated posting the usual girl + boy + corsage professional picture. I decided, however, that the most appropriate photograph is the one below. A picture of me drunk as a Portuguese barback at approximately 4 AM at my friend Molly's afterprom party. Notice the leopard coat and TIARA!!! Thank you Dan and Jesse for being my fly boys in this photo.


  • At 9:02 AM, Blogger east side girl said…

    I was never a prom queen, but if I was, I'd want my experience to be just like yours.

    Love the leopard coat.

  • At 11:52 AM, Blogger me said…

    i was hoping that like the rest of us, you only got cool after escaping humiliation in high school. damn you Lang Fisher!!!

  • At 2:19 PM, Blogger sarah said…



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