So prom was {a fantastic} experience.  It has been journalled with much wit and commentary in the exceedingly-long paragraphs below.  Feel free to skip, but take a look at the second picture in this entry.  It's a sight.

Pictures in the picture-thingy. Only the related foliage received billing, because otherwise it would all be the same, single word. {I.e. "prom."}

Photographs at my grandparents' were really an elaborate excuse to document the newly-installed deck. No, really, they confessed to this. Then a great to-do was made about some 'blue potato plant' which absolutely must be in a picture with Nemanja and I. What this plant is, do not ask me; I just stood by it. Subsequent attempts in the car to decode the significance of a 'blue potato plant' were unsuccessful, and resulted only in laughter.

 <-- Exhibit A: The famous Blue Potato plant.

The drive to Macaroni Grill was rife with excitement. It began with sitting in a left-turn lane and some guy in a white Blazer taking up half of the lane beside us for unclear purposes. The light turns green. He decides he wants in front of us, and belligerently accelerates almost into the nose of my beloved Accord, R2-D2. Before I could stop it, my right middle finger was displayed for all the world and the Blazer driver to see, while the left hand had cemented itself against the horn. Because those kinds of people irritate me. Waiting to turn right onto the freeway, Blazer Boy raises his hand for me to pull up beside him. He was either going to yell at me or make an excuse; the former was much more likely, and if the latter was true I didn't want to hear it unless the woman with him was giving birth. Access denied – we zip to freedom!! Or… So I thought. Long story short: "Did I just blow by the 840 exit???" "Yes, yes you did." {Insert string of expletives here. And a few moves that I question the legality of.}

But we prevailed. The line at Macaroni Grill was extended out the door and around the sidewalk – very club-like and elitist of them, the snobs. ;-) Fortunately, we were prepared for such an event. "Hi, we have a reservation. Donner, party of four, please." Next time reservations are needed for something, we can all go under the name "Nero," because who doesn't want to share billing with the completely-sane-of-course man who made his horse an advisor? Macaroni Grill is now the Best Restaurant Ever, because they give you paper and crayons. We all practised writing our name upside-down like Elise (our waitress) did, except much slower and less precise.

-- "Is that girl gray?" "Oh my god, she is!" "I hope it's not natural." "I think it is." "Can tanning beds do that?" *Collective shudder* "Let's give her the benefit of the doubt. She could have sniped someone and wiped the camouflage make-up off just before going to dinner."

Fuelling both our desire to be fashionably late and our energy levels, a stop at Starbucks was (of course) mandatory. Jerod Frenzel accused us of stealing his glory by adding to the former non-ratio of prom kids at Starbucks. We mocked him. Not really, but it's the best ending sentence I can concoct right now. Better than being accused of glory-stealing, so there. :-P

Prom. DanceDanceDance. Because really, what else can you do there but walk around and not recognise people? "GAH! Woah, hey, it's you!"

Post-prom involved lots of food and lots of burning things. Well, wood mostly, but marshmallows and plastic cups and orphans were also involved. "Who's pulling into the driveway?" *Gasp, fear* "I don't know! Let's take the marshmallow pitchforks and go check!" {So Reese, Rachel, and Mechelle were greeted by three girls wielding travel-size steel pitchforks. Welcome to the farm.} We discovered the hard way that horse sounds which would be perfectly ordinary by daylight are perfectly abnormal and downright scary around a fire in the middle of a field at 2:00 am. And we also discovered that roosters do not crow at dawn alone. Oh, no, this one got a head start. At every quarter-hour. Reese: "That bird is just asking for it."

*Random noise* "OHMIGOD WHAT IS THAT?!" "It's a donkey."
{That's as far as I'm going with that one.}

Disband at 5:30 am.

Then, after a maximum 1 hour 15 minutes of sleep, it was time to go to faire rehearsals. Faire rehearsals are an interesting event to attend half-drunk from fatigue, especially when you have to rehearse a fight. {Everyone was super-nice to me, though. It was weird. I think they just liked to watch me sway around like Jack Sparrow and run into things.} Pretty sure I fell asleep standing up during notes for the opening gate scene. There is photographic evidence, but only two people have access to it. And I intend for it to stay that way. ;-P

 <-- Our fight director was very intent during rehearsals.

I have "Dancing Queen" stuck in my head.  It's what Andrew/Sven and I process to in the opening gate scene.  Because Abba and Anna are not only palindromes, they're Swedish, too.  It works.

Sarina and I fit two hoopskirts in the front of R2-D2 this afternoon in a downpour.  Then waited by the gate for someone else to come in behind us so we wouldn't have to get back out in the torrential rains to close it.  Really, we saved them the added trip of having to unlatch it again, thereby keeping them a little dryer.  More dry?  Whatever.  This post is too long, and I'm bleary from want of sleep.

Bon soir.