I tried to write this post yesterday but I was still recovering from being out past 10pm on Saturday night, preceded by 11:30pm the previous night. I’m what you call a “homebody” and these days it takes a lot for me rally for a night that includes more than dinner out and a glass of wine.

 But for Dale, I rally.

I’m a mom to two little girls, the youngest being 5 1/2 months old, and work full-time as a writer in between battling massive mounds of laundry and being bossed around by my children. I’m 40 and tired, like all the time. But once a year, I basically bank all of my “going out” energy, like Weight Watcher’s points, for Dale’s birthday party. It takes training that includes different variations of power napping and hydrating, leading up to the main event, but I put the work in. I’ve been attending them since the tender age of 17, only missing a handful for the several years I didn’t live in Florida. Every year is a different theme and if you follow my blog regularly, you’re not only one of my favorite people, but you have definitely read about them before.

This year, I had to go solo because we had no babysitter, so Jason took one for the team. I mean, I did grow a human inside my body for us so I feel like it’s okay.

When Dale made the big reveal that it was an 80s theme, my wheels began spinning immediately and I already knew there would be fingerless gloves, leg warmers and a side pony-type hairstyle in my future.


I also had some thoughts about his costume.

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I mean I don’t want to say that I “picked out” his costume but…


I do feel the need to tell you that just moments before I walked into the party and that picture was taken, I felt like I was taking my life into my own hands just by getting out of my car. The neighborhood is shadier than Rob Kardashian’s recent Blac Chyna social media melt down.

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Since I was solo, my friends, Karen & Jason adopted me into their marriage for the night and were my knights in shining armor.


One of my FAVORITE parts of Dale’s parties are the costume choices. I LOVE LOVE LOVE seeing what people are going to bring to the table each year. And with an 80s theme, I was especially curious. Let’s just say that 50(ish)% of the people there are not checking the age 35-40 box on any applications (stop rolling your eyes, Dale) and might not in fact have even been born during the 80s. He tells me and Karen that we are like the old crotchety muppets in the balcony. You should just take a poll and ask how many people there know who Frankie is and why he needs to relax.


And you guys, we always bust Dale’s balls because he NEVER puts out food like a nice Jewish mensch, but this year…he did, so I immediately asked him if he got a raise.


His cake was more grand than my wedding cake (both of them actually) because Dale is really good at being extra (see, I’m not so old…I know how to keep it 100 and throw out what the kids say these days)!


You also can’t have an 80s party with the appropriate swag.

Slotted glasses….check!

Glow bracelets…check!

Mini Rubix Cubes…check!

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He nailed it.


The entire venue was literally like being in a time warp. Like for example, not everyone was in “costume”. Some people were just there for the music and were in regular clothes. But then there were some instances where you couldn’t tell the difference. Like did they go to Party City like me to score accessories to match the stuff I bought online? Or is this just their regular Saturday night attire. To me…that basically translates to the fact that you are in a legit spot. And every legit spot has its regulars. Like this guy in the bell bottoms (who BTDubs falls into the category above)…who was FUCKING INCREDIBLE! He was going all Saturday Night Fever up in there and it was something else. I was actually hoping for a dance off between him and Dale, preferably to a BeeGees song or Rapper’s Delight…the full version.

Then the once-a-year drinking extravaganza began. Dale is not a drinker. He has the liquor tolerance of a 10-yr-old girl at bible camp. So sometimes things escalate quickly.


Case in point.


He slowly started to look less like MJ and more like the preacher from Coming to America.


But then it happened. A moment Dale has probably been waiting for his entire life. And It. Was. Glorious.


I’ll admit, I was kvelling like the Jewish mother that I am. Until I became the nervous Jewish mother when a knife fight almost broke out.

That was close!

I’m pretty sure Dale is a viral sensation now with the amount of phone footage going on that night from the strangers watching him with their jaws on the floor. It will probably have bigger internet legs than the Harlem shuffle (god willing).

And while he calls me a nana, and I bust his balls right back, I will NEVER miss his soirees and the chance to kibitz with old camp friends and take in all the wonder that is a DaleMitzvah.





Happy Birthday Daley and thanks for another great time!! See you next year!