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Baller:  The “After Prom”

 OKAY, SO YOU NEED to know if Baller and Pink sealed the deal. The answer is yes, indeed they did. Two birds killed with one stone since Baller had not in fact done “it” before, but rather just let his friends fantasize as much as they wanted to. He just never denied it.

After a tumultuous few weeks leading up to prom night and the disaster at the hotel dinner because of that stupid stoned DJ; after losing his hat; after Pink’s reaction to his special effort; after all that, it felt so good to finally be alone with her and just relax. This prom stuff was far too taxing on him. He was stressed to the max.

He did have experience and knew instinctively what girls liked.  For instance, on Valentine’s Day he gained some valuable experience.  Baller found out the hard way that girls like to talk about feelings after making out.  Wow!  Do they ever just NOT want to talk?  Baller didn’t love her anyway, so he wasn’t really crushed when she blew him off.  He figured that he had learned something really handy to use on the next love of his life, which happened to be lying beside him right this moment.

All of a sudden, Baller felt the need to practice his pillow talk. He was totally and completely floored.  He jammed down hard against her reaction to the feelings he had just shared with her.

What? All he said was that he was really pissed at how she reacted to the bow tie corsage and how much her reaction had bummed him out, and how that had almost ruined the night for him.

What? Pissed is a legitimate feeling. It means angry! So why the hell SHE got so pissed at him and threw him out in such a hissy fit way was waaayyyyyyy beyond his scope.

His friends had warned him and warned him and warned him, and he just wouldn’t listen, and now look!  She was like one ugly screaming hyena.  That must be what they were talking about.  She must be PMSing big time.  Holy shit!  She was brutal.  Thank you God that he was not a woman—Wow—Wow—Wow.  Is it possible that just by asking her if she was getting her period soon, she would explode into more verbiage?  Geezzzzuzzzz!  She was not a very pretty picture right at this moment.  What was all that black stuff on her face?  She looked like a circus freak.  Wow.

Baller picked up whatever he could grab and made a dramatic self-exit before he lost his temper for real. If she threw one more thing at him, he wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.  He had feelings too, ya know.  Whatever!  No, no!  Not whatever.

He felt (See? That feelings word again—he had them too!)  That he had put so much effort into that gesture and all she could yell about was the stupid Hummer her daddy rented, and the piece of crap corsage she gave him, and how she had paid for the hotel room and prom tickets…and on and on and on.  Man!  His boys were straight right:  Girls just wanted rich guys to buy them stuff.  It’s really the girls who don’t understand feelings.  He was going to pay her back for the prom ticket, but he just hadn’t gotten the chance yet. It was going to be a surprise, and now she could eat the ticket for all he cared.  The dinner wasn’t even worth it. It was a piece crap, just like this whole night.

Needless to say, Baller ended up in solitude on prom night. He walked around alone, wondering why none of his best buddies would answer their phones.  He knows now that they were jealous, just like he thought.  He feels it in his gut (though he fails to see why any of them would want to experience his babe’s hissy fit).  Speaking of gut, he felt like he hadn’t eaten in a week.  His stomach was killing him with hunger, or maybe it was still the malochio from all the jealousy going around. It could have been the crap dinner. It may have been that he scoffed all the party food…lol. They had no idea…Lol. Still, he wished he could call his mom to take it off, but he didn’t want her to be worried and praying all night for him. He hated worrying his mom.

Rather than beating himself up further on the matter, he placated himself by picturing her being all alone in that great big Hummer that she never stopped gushing about.  Serves her right, the bitch.

Baller allowed his thoughts to wander. She was a real “daddy’s girl.”  She acted like some sort of princess.  That would make her mother a queen, right?  Her mother was a MILF.   That’s what she was, but he knew better than to tell her that. His friends were full of it.  They all talked about her mother and how they were cougar hunting. It was all BS. They wouldn’t have the cajones.  Besides, kittens were so much more lively, playful, and cute.

Then he stopped thinking and headed for the mountain. The sun was coming up soon, and maybe he could hook up with his boys there.

In the meantime, he busied himself with a little rap mantra he had just made up, live to suit the occasion. Yes, he was a man of everything!

Dat u diss me.dnt piss me.get me all wrkd up.Look me live in d eye.I jist say wassup?

 With all the right moves and all the right attitude, Baller managed to get past the incident that almost ruined his night.

He gave one last thought to his “prom princess” and felt (just for a moment) a little sorry that it turned out so bad, and that her night ended so early. With the vision of his weeping, lonely, heartbroken girl, he switched mind reels and went to blank for a while.

As Baller was switching reels, Pink was switching out of her tantrum mood and into her dancing shoes. Getting her act together at record-breaking speed she decided that absolutely nothing was going to stop her from enjoying the night she had planned out so caringly. Nothing at all. She took her time getting fixed, then ran to the lobby just in time for the group shot before heading out clubbing with her classmates and their friends.

 

SOLO

STILL UNABLE TO FIND HIS friends or get some food, Baller resigned himself to the fact that the night was over. Nothing exciting was going to happen and it could not get worse than this. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
He finally found a secluded spot to sit down. Baller was exhausted with all that had taken place so far. His stomach was really killing him now. As he crouched to sit on the rock, Pink’s phone (which unknown to him was in his back pocket) hit the speed dial to the local radio station where the Director of Marketing was taking the phone shift for the night, while troubleshooting how to boost the ratings for the sweeps. He couldn’t afford to drop the ball on this and didn’t mind putting in some extra hours. At the very moment he picked up the phone, Baller felt a big relief in his stomach, and he broke wind time and time again. What the hell did he eat? Who cares? he thought, as he forced a more exaggerated noise into the night.
The barrage of gas emissions continued. He jumped up, and started shadow boxing and screaming at the top of his lungs, “I’m Baller Unpronounceable-Last-Name, and I’m King of the Freakin’ Prom,” followed by the unmistakable Rocky theme daaa da da da. Right out of his over-exaggerated big mouth and directly onto the digital tape at the radio station.
They had just implemented the “butt phone” policy. Although they had caught a few good ones, nothing compared to Baller’s performance and nothing ever would. It just got better and better.
The Director of Marketing was swimming in his own creative juices, thanking God for his mercy, and, in between fits of laughter, patting himself on the back for ingenuity. He dropped to the floor in prayer, crying with relief and laughter. He had been under tremendous pressure this year and was functioning in an unhealthy state until tonight.
It had been a slow night because of prom, but in return, the prom had given him a gift. It gave him all the time in the world to plant this stuff. In his rush to start publicizing this bonanza, he had left the tape on.
He was busy alerting all of his personal friends on Facebook (1,456 and counting), all of the station’s fans (who-knows-how-many and counting), all the Twitter subscribers. His marketing list was going full throttle and at lightning speed as he signed into MSN to let some more people into the loop. He’d keep them guessing. This was radio magic, and he was handling the controls. The “prank call campaign” combined with the “butt callers” should about round it out for him. God, he loved technology!

Oblivious to his surroundings and still basking in the moonlight, his earphones now blasting while he hooted and hollered the night away, Baller never heard the cop car pull up.
In the meantime, back at the radio station the marketing guy had tuned in once again to the phone call, and once again took delight in his ingenuity.
The police were having a slow night. With way too many patrols on duty tonight, they were pretty well just cruising, drinking coffee, and shooting the breeze. Pure boredom had brought them over to Baller. It was pure bad luck for Baller because he had just lit up his last spliff to celebrate feeling okay for the first time tonight.
He stopped mid-pirouette when he caught a glimpse of the police car, swallowed the joint (too late), and chocked up their visit to racial profiling. Though it hadn’t happened to him in a while, he heard about it all the time: The cops just randomly picking on someone. He wasn’t worried at all. He was clean—super-clean—hands down. By the time they got out of the patrol car, he was ready with attitude and felt skilled to take them on.
Once again he was mistaken. And once again, the night turned sour right before his eyes. What Baller had not realized, or even given any thought to, was that he had an unpaid speeding ticket still outstanding from a year and a half ago. At the time (and to this day btw) he didn’t think he should have to pay the ticket because his probationary points had been wiped out, and he lost his license anyway. Life really sucked man. It really sucked. Nothing made any sense. Who would pay a ticket when they are no longer allowed to drive? All his friends agreed: Don’t cough up the funds for nothing.
One minute he was actually having a good time (under the circumstances), and the next minute he was in cuffs and being processed at Station 11. He felt like he was getting punked.
For the twenty-five millionth time in his short life Baller wondered when he would catch a break. When was it going to be his turn to live large? How the hell would he get through this one? Why was he in a jam tonight of all nights?
Meanwhile back at the station, the marketing director still had uncontrollable laughter, tears of joy rushing out of his eyes, and a stomachache of his own from the hilarity he was feeling. He was picturing living large himself. Finally.

Continued  tomorrow …

This is a partial excerpt from my book – Prom Girls a North American Rite of Passage.

In the book I explore four distinct paths. One of the paths is the story of Baller and Pink and their escapades of the evening. It will be continued tomorrow IF I manage to get into the document again. My layout and copy editor along with myself cursed the document up – down – and sideways. It locked up three computers at a time with the sheer weight of the images. We thought it had a mind of its own! As I read back on what I wrote… I know it did.

Short Review:“Prom girls is not as light and fluffy as you might expect. I like the funny stories and the sad stories equally. One of the stories is written in the language of ‘texting’ as a young man describes his anxieties of asking out a girl.”

*IF you are interested in purchasing this book, please contact me directly as I have stock at home. $20.00 including postage. Thanks so much.