The last dying gasp of hair metal in the early 1990s, the hair band "rock ballads" were a staple of the awkward world of eighth grade dances.
The rock ballad was a way of saying "I love you but I’m not a pussy" in the spandex world of hair rock. The long run times and loosely veiled sexual themes of the song made them a must in the make out and slow dance parties of the early 90s, and no one could crank out a rockin' slow song quite like Guns N' fucking Roses.
So crank up the machine Sherman...
Our date: 1992... Our Target: Guns N' Roses.
The soundtrack of my life:
Guns N' Roses: "Don't Cry"
In 1992 I graduated from the eighth grade. My school, a somewhat liberal catholic school, marked the occasion by holding a "senior dance", and encouraged all of us to ask someone to the dance (of course, only as "just friends").
I asked a girl named Amanda, a nice chick that I had spent the better part of three months trying to build up the courage to ask out, and she agreed.
The night of the dance, I got dressed up and bought the girl a corsage with money I had earned mowing lawns. I arrive at the dance a few minutes early and see Amanda. I start to move towards her. But as she sees me, she takes off for the ladies room, locking herself in a toilet stall. She stayed in that stall for the better part of an hour, crying (to this day I have no earthly idea as to why). Eventually her mom (who was a chaperone at the dance) managed to talk her out of the bathroom and convinced her to go and dance with me.
After a glass of punch and a few awkward comments to settle the nerves, the two of us made our way to the dance floor. We began to do the two step- our awkward pubescent bodies wobbling to and fro to the beat.
She looked into my eyes... I looked into hers... And it happened...
she threw up on me and without so much as an "I'm Sorry" took back off into the ladies room, leaving me (crying slightly) standing in the middle of the dance floor, covered in half digested chips and fruit punch.Here’s Guns N' Roses with "Don't Cry"...