Bubblegum Barbie

Last week my friend Dub asked me to prom via text message. It was all so non-threatening and friend-like that I couldn’t say no. Plus, I love any and every excuse to dress up in sparkly things.

I excitedly told my co-workers, ran it by manfriend (yknow, in case he was all ‘no! you are mine and I will not share you on a Friday!’…yearight.) and frantically called my mom screaming, “gather the dresses! The time has come!!”

Yesterday I mentioned said invite in a small snippet of a post. But then you had no idea how whimsical adult-prom could truly be.

Though Momma Social Narcissist (forever now to be known as Momma SN) never said the words “stop obsessively calling/texting/Facebooking me, I will find your damn dresses” I’m pretty sure she thought it. She graciously had our local courier (read: Dad) drop them off for Dub and me the try on.

Who can still fit into her dress from junior year? This girl.

Anyways we were clearly unsatisfied with what we had, and rushed out to Ross the night before with 30 minutes before closing. Several gaudy, scratchy, tulle-layered dresses followed and I found my re-prom dress. Let me tell you, it is eighteen-dollars and ninety-nine cents of bubblegum pink goodness falling somewhere between my Big Fat American Gypsy Wedding and pure trashy. When combined with Vegas tan, I really look like a GTL-ing Jersey girl from the Shore.


Dub had some trouble finding a dress, and because she likes fashion-fueled stress and sheer panic of not knowing what to wear, she decided to purchase multiple (yes, multiple) dresses day-of. Ballsy.

Her top choice, a black and hot pink glittered gem, much like my own attire, was about three sizes too big. But really, it was just so perfect for the event. She showed up at my place looking like a taffeta hoarder. We established that yes, in fact, the dress was three sizes too big and could we a) tighten the elastic b) tie some extra tulle around her waste like a poor-trannies belt or c) possibly add straps? Then, the answer became obvious.

“I’m gonna take it in,” I said coolly and headed off to find my free-from-the-Sheraton sewing kit. It was about 6:30pm and our date was due to pick us up at 8:20. Which is a joke because, duh, what girl is EVER on time? ESPECIALLY on re-prom? I stitched up the left side, admired my hand work and proudly said, “See! I told you it could be done. Now I need to eat” then devoured an entire order of pad see ewe. The clock was ticking, I still hadn’t showered and Dub’s dress wasn’t finished. I got back to sweat-shopping and took in the remaining side – surprisingly with no needle-stabs (go me!).

And then, we were right back where we started. Dub pulled the three-sizes too big dress over her head and I went to zip her up and…

“Ut oh.”

“What do you mean, ‘ut oh’? Tell me it’s going to zip.”

I was laughing so hard I think I peed (thankfully, I still hadn’t showered), “It’s not going to happen.”

“What do you mean? This dress was THREE SIZES TO BIG!” Yup, I took it in about six inches.

I quickly removed the sticking from one side and said, “asymmetrical is so in!” then zipped her up (on the left.) Sure, she couldn’t breath but really, who can?

Our date was on time, and so we quickly threw ourselves together, iPhoned for an Uber and headed to prom! (OMG, PROM!) After much discussion, Dub declared that yes, in fact, the crown was too much and I should leave it at home – much to my chagrin. I decided to wear my sunglasses (at night & inside) for the majority of the night to make up for the loss.


Ok, even though I never plan on turning 30 (because I think 29 is a perfectly acceptable age), if I do bite the bullet and go for it I hope to have a party as fun as this one. We walked in, in all our glory, me with sunglasses (duh) and a boa and Dub with her gloves to find faux-flower corsages and boutonnieres waiting for us. After awkwardly and unsuccessfully trying to get Date’s boutonniere on, we took on turn for pictures.  Still waiting on those btw.


Then a table of jell-o shots happened. And Dub was busy socializing, so Date and I went ahead and helped ourselves.


So that happened. Maybe a little too much.

The rest of the night consisted of dancing, dancing without my shoes on, Dub removing her glove WITH HER TEETH and then more dancing.


I chose to wear these silver shoes I got as a bridesmaid gift years ago because they were the most prom-esque shoes in my closet. They have like a 2 inch heel so I was all, “I can rock these all night!”


After taking them off, my second mistake (the first was wearing them), I couldn’t put them back on as my feet decided to reject the idea of shoes entirely. There is essentially NO padding and it felt like I was balancing on wooden dowels.

I am pretty sure everyone at the party either kicked me or stepped on my feet at one point – which did not bother me at the time. However, when I awake with a scrape on my ankle I quickly remembered why steel-toed boots would have been a better choice, though less fashionable. (Or, maybe not?)

The party broke up around 1 am and Dub was set on having beers at her co-workers house. I was set on being home. We stopped at Dick’s (another duh) and I then proceeded to ask and ask and ask if they could just please please please drop me off at home. They did, and I woke up at 9am in a pile of boa feathers with a wounded-soldier-chocolate milkshake on my bedside table. I was awake long enough to let Dub in to get her keys, before claiming the world was too bright and pulling out my eye mask. It’s amazing how late one can sleep when all light is blocked out (1pm).

Re-prom was the exact OPPOSITE of my real prom. Thanks and happy 30th to our host, who threw one bitchin’ party!