Well shama lama ding dong some good stuff is just beyond the horizon. It’s time to celebrate. And no, I’m not talking about taking some Vouvray to the dome while pinning imaginary weddings on Pinterest (although such activities are pretty f-ing sweet) but thats how I roll on the reg.
I’m talking big things…
A new whip. A new silly name for said whip. DNC in Charlotte. And a bangarang friends birthday/friends engagement weekend on the 17th. So let’s talk party-rocking, shall we? Because Babygirl doesn’t mess around when it comes to going out and acting a fool. It’s science. Like Gaga, I was born this way (minus weird Alexander McQueen Armadillo platforms and monster claw).
First, off – set the mood.
Call me old-fashioned, but I still think the best part of a good night out is the getting ready part. The preparation. This time period involves my favorite things in life: curated insane playlists, putting makeup on, costume changes, and drinking cocktails in a bathrobe or towel. Or in the case of the Feinbergs, grannypantalones.
It all begins with what you name your going out playlist. My go-to compilations include: “Get ‘Er Done,” “It’s on like Donkey Kong,” “DTF,” “GET WEIRD,” and “Frat Season.”
Make sure to add plenty of Brit.
After you’ve showered and blown out your weave, make a drink.
Spritzers are so hot right now.
While you sip, pick out your costume. Something that screams WHAMMY! or purrs RAER.
Choose your getup based on the audience. Read: don’t wear a f-ing poncho if you’re trying to hook a man. Furthermore,
don’t waste your spanx shimmy into a skank tank if you’re doing a godforsaken girls night over tapas.
I’m a big believer in NOT having too many people around for the pregame stages. There are few things more unpleasant than a bunch of chickenheads chirping in my ear, getting in my mirror space, and offering their unrequested opinions on my ensemble process. I suggest limiting one’s getting decked session to a maximum of 2 other biddies in the joint. And maybe one gay husband for bitchy honesty.