Every Thursday morning I wake up excited the weekend is almost upon us and then I open up my Instagram and the baby pics flood my eyes. Tis Throwback Thursday and I thought it was time to honor the glamorous parties we all endured unfortunately in the midst of our awkward stages, Bar Mitzvahs.
We’ll skip past the service part like any smart betch did anyways and get straight to the afterparty.
My biggest challenge when it came to a Bar Mitzvah party is still my greatest challenge today when I’m invited to an event. What the hell do I wear? Now I am #blessed with clear skin and straight teeth but in 7th grade finding an outfit that would draw eyes away from my braces was more challenging than choosing an Instagram filter. (quick moment of silence to pause and be thankful we did not have social media during our middle school years).
My go to was obviously a denim skirt, a Tory Burch flat and some sort of sparkly top (cringe). I also always made sure to have a matching juicy zip up (velour not terry cause it was nighttime you know?). I would get ready with my other girlfriends with a straightener plugged into every outlet in the house. We stood in front of the mirror for hours perfecting our Juicy Tube lip gloss because we hadn’t yet discovered the miracle of top lid eyeliner.
Every party was basically the same. We entered the venue, either a country club, Jewish Community Center, or for the cool kids, a restaurant or club…and immediately split up by gender, girls on one side boys on the other. We snacked on the appetizers, some knishes to satisfy the older relatives and then basically just some American snacks and a chocolate fountain.
There was usually a photo booth with random accessories we could put on to take photos in, many feathered boas were always included, and obvi a set of extremely large sunglasses. Then we moved on to activities such as making wax hands. This was a go to at almost every Bar Mitzvah party, like come on get real how many fucking rainbow wax hands does a betch need? Zero. Hopefully this trend has ended. Who am I kidding, kids can hashtag their parties now so the wax hands must be a goner.
Then it was time for the “dance party.” I still don’t know how down a 13 year old boy on the edge of puberty can really get when “Get Low” comes on and his bubby is sitting on the edge of the dance floor, but whatever. The button pressing job of a DJ is already a really tough task I’m sure, but for Bar Mitzvahs they are literally getting paid to stand there and play a playlist (or maybe a CD-ROM whoa throwback) that must be passed from DJ to DJ cause they literally had the exact same songs at every party. Some 'Yeah!' and 'Hey Ya' while we danced around like we were trying to get on TRL.
We thought we looked like this…
When in reality we looked like this…
Then it was “time to slow it down” with I Hope You Dance and Five for Fighting’s Hundred Years while we slow danced with our crush of the week…and then of course The Cha Cha Slide which if I never hear again, it will be too soon.
And after we attempted to grind our preteen hormones out on each other's Abercrombie and Fitch without the parents noticing we had to awkwardly join together and sway from side to side to “That’s What Friends Are For.”
Then it was back to one of our betches houses for a slumber party and texting whatever boy we currently said we lyl’d in our aim profile.