I attended a good friend's 80s-themed birthday party last Saturday. Guests were asked to
revisit their worst
nightmares dress up in 80s garb (I can't call it fashion, I just can't). I had
blocked out most of the trends of the time from my memory, and had to ask
people on Facebook for reminders of them. I appreciated the suggestions, even though they filled me with dread and a small amount of horror.
Nate had to work, and while kids were "welcome" I roped my mother-in-law into watching the boys and went alone. I had a lot of thoughts, surprises, and experiences while preparing for and attending the party.
BEFORE THE PARTY:
BEFORE THE PARTY:
- I went to the drugstore to buy the ole Wet n' Wild garish lipstick and eye makeup because apparently my current makeup choices are incredibly boring and lacking any colors outside of the "earth tones" palette. While standing at the Wet n' Wild endcap, staring at my choices and trying not to cry, I had to actually move out of the way three times for others to grab their shit. I had no idea Wet n' Wild was still so popular.
- It was actually kind of embarrassing buying the makeup. Even though the chances are the teenage boy that rang me up didn't even notice what I was buying, I was positive that he did notice and was thinking to himself, Does she actually think she's going to look good in this shit? What an idiot.
- While dressing for the party, I realized that this was the first time in the history of my existence that I got ready to go out and instead of trying to make myself look good, intentionally made myself look like a jackass. I wore an off-the shoulder black shirt, a short white and teal skirt, black leggings and white leg warmers. With puffed-up, hairsprayed bangs and a side ponytail. I felt, and looked like, a complete tool.
- I was super grateful for sunglasses to hide my hideously made-up, blue eye shadowed eyes while driving to the party.
AT THE PARTY:
- I got to the party in just enough time to witness my friend putting makeup on her tall, muscular, manly-man husband. Who was wearing skin tight, metalhead pants. Priceless.
- I arrived at the party sans kids, and immediately took possession of an eight-month-old baby and hung out with him for a solid 30 to 45 minutes. But hey, it was TRIPLE B!! (Who now outweighs my two-year-old.)
- I was holding Triple B in one arm and trying
not to throw out my backto capture a picture of the two of us with my cell phone camera in the other hand, when he suddenly leaned over and kissed my cheek. I thought I was going to die from the sweetness of it. And then when I saw that I captured the moment in the picture (for the most part - he's going in for the kill), I was ecstatic. The photo is of shitty cell-phone quality and did not even pick up my bright hot pink lipstick and blue eyeshadow. Because it doesn't have a flash. Because it's not an iPhone. If that makes me dead to you, then, so be it.
If you didn't just swoon at that baby, you are heartless.
- Then Triple B proceeded to kiss me six more times over the next couple of hours. I told his mom that I love what a love he is and she told me that he kisses like, three people and NOBODY ELSE. So yeah, I was incredibly flattered and now I love him more than my own kids.
- I'm sure Triple B thought I was a clown, and that's why he kept kissing me. I certainly looked like one.
- I accidentally shot "giggle juice" out of the cooler spout and all down some dude's leg - some dude dressed in tight white shorty shorts à la 80s tennis player. But, he was a good "sport" about it. No pun intended. Actually, yes. Pun intended.
- Since I didn't really know many people at the party, I, by choice, hung out in the "baby area." The irony of escaping my kids and then voluntarily sitting with other kids was not lost on me.
- I need to dramatically up the intensity of my workout. There was dancing, and I almost didn't have the stamina and strength to have at it for longer than a few songs. (And feel free to jump to any conclusions regarding what that says about my "dancing." The worse, the better... and more accurate.) But I pushed through, and my legs are still sore, two days later. Pathetic, especially considering that I used to spend my college weekends in clubs, dancing on speakers for hours. ...Wait. Maybe that's more pathetic.
- Speaking of dancing, I've never wished I knew how to breakdance, or B-boy, more than I did that night. And I'm especially sad that spell check doesn't recognize the term "breakdance." The internet says it's spelled the way I spelled it, spell check fucks.
- The "fashion" of the 80s SHOULD NEVER RETURN. I've seen some bits of it sneaking back into today's fashion and it needs to stop before we have a full-scale catastrophic return. YOU CAN KEEP YOUR STYLE, EIGHTIES. WE'LL KEEP THE MUSIC.
AFTER THE PARTY:
- When I returned home, I could hardly walk, my feet and legs were so sore. I was also exhausted and almost fell asleep on the couch as soon as I sat down on it. LAME.
- Hot pink Wet N' Wild lipstick will still be visible on your lips the next morning. After showering before bed. After brushing your teeth. The shit STAINS, people.
- Speaking of that, I washed my face three times before bed and could still see remnants of the blue shadow on my eyes the next day. Cheap, garish makeup is like garlic on your breath the next morning, despite brushing, flossing, and gargling bleach. YOU'RE STILL GONNA SMELL IT.
So happy dirty thirty, E.B. Love you, good friend. Love your baby more, though. *wink*
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