On High School and Psychotic Boyz

I never went to any homecoming dances.  Nor prom.  Nor the entire fourth quarter of Algebra III/Trig . . . but that's another story. 

At the time, I told myself I was vehemently opposed to the forced conformity and blatant social injustices imposed upon the sub-societal structure of the hell we called "high school."  Looking back, though, I see that it might . . juuust might . . have been the minor detail of my poor white trashy self without money OR a date.  (Well, I wasn't TRASHY!  Hehhehheh.  Okay maybe I was.  Just a little.)

(Apparently trashy enough to get kicked out of the car pool.  But that's another story.)

So, yes . . . . homecoming.  Imagine my surprise upon discovering that my firstborn is the type to throw herself into such events . . . and LOVE it!  I feel pangs of jealousy, I admit.  (Until I remember the forced conformity and glaring social injustices imposed upon the sub-societal structure of the hell known as "high school.")  I might really just love that her family life is stable enough, and that she is who she is - to be ABLE to enjoy such things.

And enjoy them, she does:

See those boyz??  The one in pink is one of her bestest friends, and that doppleganger of Elijah Wood is The Boyfriend.  And he's such a brilliantly GOOD guy that I'm beside myself with Mama Joy.  Because as it turns out, the PREVIOUS boyfriend (remember the pierced Buddhist?) is actually a mentally unstable, manipulative and controlling psychotic freak.  If you read between the lines, there, you'll find I wasn't exactly pleased with Mr. Buddhist and how he treated my Firstborn.  Oh no I was not.  And the mind games and harassment CONTINUES.  But that's another story . . . 

THIS story is happy!  And this Firstborn of mine deserves happy!  And that of course makes ME happy!  And it makes me want to leap onto tall structures and rip my shirt off and dance like Peewee Herman.  Like that time . . . at band camp . . . but that's another story.