Yesterday marked the sixteenth anniversary of the biggest party of my unmarried life — my bat mitzvah. My mother told me that she was so worried building up to the event that I wouldn’t have a good time. Not because I was like one of those terrors on MTV’s “My Super Sweet Sixteen,” but because at every party I’ve ever had, I was always so worried about others having a good time that I couldn’t enjoy myself. 

Will it be awkward because T* and V* both like C*? Who is A* going to hang out with, she doesn’t know anyone! Is J* upset because E* spilled soda on her? You may have remembered me telling you I cry at every birthday in a previous post? Well, here’s one of those reasons why.

But my bat mitzvah, that was an awesome party. Everything took off swimmingly. The weather was unseasonably warm for March 28th in New Jersey–in the high 80s–and the warmth in the air put everyone in a good mood. My sea-foam green ballgown would have made any Disney princess jealous. I know once I tell you where I had the party, that it was called “The Newark Club”–that’s right, in the tri-state area’s murder capital, good ole’ Newark, NJ–you won’t form a proper image in your head. But trust me, it was nice. The theme was “Camp Dyana,” because sleepaway camp was my favorite place in the world. We had a DJ, a band and the “Party Motivators” (The term “Bat Mitzvah Dancers” was apparently offensive to the profession) were really getting the crowd going. Everyone was on the dance floor, the adults were liquored up, and the kids were… also liquored up. Oops. A few friends of mine had snatched the glasses of champagne off of the adult’s tables when entering the ballroom. And typical of most 7th graders, they couldn’t handle their alcohol. There was vomit. And a shoe. I was blissfully unaware of the controversy until it was time for the “Camp Dyana Color War Games” (if you’ve never been to sleepaway camp before color war may sound offensive, but I promise you it is not). Suddenly, the crowd had dissipated and it was a real struggle to get all the kids on the floor for the potato sack race. Oh no, did everyone hate this idea? Should I have played Coke & Pepsi like at every other bat mitzvah? Where is everyone? It was after the poorly attended games that I had my standard, birthday (in this case bat mitzvah) cry. Luckily, the music resumed and gossip of the drunken peer had everyone talking about my wild and crazy bat mitzvah! The night was a success. My people were happy, and I was pleased.

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