AAAAAAW, SKEET SKEET MUTHAFCUKA!

I apologize about the vulgarity of this title. I swear there’s more to it than me loving the Ying Yang Twins.

BUT FIRST THINGS FIRST!

Though I think it is SUPER ADORABLE that someone google’s this blog everyday with these taglines:

  1. bestie beastie project food life wine
  2. the bestie beastie project love life wine
  3. bestie beastie food love wine
  4. the beastie beastie project food love life wine
  5. bestie beastie project love life food

you are making it incredibly evident to me that I (we) pretty much only write about being romantically cynical, alcoholic, fatties. And though there may be some truth to that (okay, a lot on my part… I can’t speak for the Beastie), please, for the love of God, just bookmark us. I’ve noticed that “clothes” was nowhere to be found on that list… I guess I am still, in no way, any sort of authority in that department. “Boys” was also left unlisted, but there’s no surprise there. WOMP WOMP.

But back to the original storyline.

Despite the fact that I am no boy-expert, I am pretty content with calling myself a Ryan-Reynolds-expert. Given the amount of times I’ve fallen asleep watching various RR movies (I fall asleep  not because the movies bore me– *ahem* LOTR– but because I’m so enthralled by his good looks and even moreso good acting! bahahaha.), I am confident that I can pretty much tell you all the scenes in which he is incredibly gorgeous. AKA all of them. But there’s always one scene from The Proposal that has a falcon-like grip on my heart, despite the fact that Sandra Bullock actually outshines Mr Van Wilder. You’ve guessed it! Who wants to see Sandra Bullock shake her bottom to some pretty inappropriate lyrics with Betty White?

In case I haven’t mentioned this a million times yet, I LOVE THE YING YANG TWINS. I don’t know why, but I always have. That special way that Lil Jon says “YEEEEEEEEAH” really gets the juices flowing for me. But enough about me! What I love most about “Get Low” is the fact that it always reminds me of the Beastie.

Let me set this up for you :)

The year is 2005.

The Beastie and I are pretty much being the life of the party at our Junior Prom, arms flailing and shoulders popping and hips thrusting all about the dance floor with our then-boyfriends: Karina with her freshman boy that seemed way too overwhelmed with the fact that he was dating a hottie 2 years his elder to ever actually talk to her bestie (ME!), and me with the boy I had spent 3 years chasing and wearing down until one day he finally caved  and agreed to hold my hand. Gary Marshall couldn’t direct a better love story.

Now keep in mind that this was when it was COOL to super soberly gyrate to hip hop while simultaneously singing all the lyrics, like you’re Lil Jon himself.

Suddenly, GET LOW comes on and I shoot the Bestie that look that pretty much says “AWWW SHIET! DIS MAH JAAAAAAM!” and she returns one back suggesting “GO CRAZY! But also, please don’t embarrass me, or anyone within the near vicinity, with your terrible, terrible dancing.”

Alright. Clear me some room, people.  It’s about to get CRUNK “up in here.”

I give my bf the signal that it’s time to let the bird fly on its own and UNLEASH THE DANCE BEAST WITHIN ME. He nods in approval, knowing that once I unleash, hoards of paparazzi will swarm us, and we’ll be instantly escalated to the status of “celebrity couple” and that he’ll have to start covering my “bathing suit area” whenever I exit a car and we’ll have to start running from our limos into the restaurants with various items like purses and newspapers covering our faces.

But just as I’m about to break it down, I hear this voice to the side of my head that I’ve never heard before. It’s definitely not Lil Jon, but it’s his words. I look over and low and behold, the Beastie’s 14-year-old boytoy is rapping. Keep in mind that, prior to this, I’ve never heard him speak before. I was floored. So baffled that I couldn’t even claim my dance stardom. Soon, I realize that he’s screaming “AAAAW, SKEET SKEET MUTHAFCUKAS!” and it’s everything I can do not to laugh. I mouth to the Beastie “is he old enough to know this song? Does his mother know that he sings these lyrics? HE KISSES YOU WITH THAT DIRTY MOUTH?!” She just shrugs, and keeps dancing, and I guess if it doesn’t concern her, it doesn’t concern me either.

The next song plays and I recall laughing at him a little less. And the night goes on in similar fashion. And that’s pretty much when I realize:

Prom is magic :)

If the Beastie and I weren’t best friends before, Prom definitely cemented it.

We were both on the class council, and thus it was an obligation to be a part of the Prom Planning Committee (though it wouldn’t have taken much effort to convince us to join if it wasn’t required) so for months and months, we would meet with a bunch of other love-thirsty girls at lunch, planning every last detail of pretty much the high-school equivalent of a wedding. We also coincidentally sat next to each other in several classes, and since we had a lot of mutual friends, we decided that we should also plan our group’s itinerary for Prom, ie “the house to get ready at” and “dinner venue” and “limo ride” etc etc. AP Physics pretty much became PROM PLANNING for the two of us (sorry Mr. Siemens), as evidenced by the countless (pointless) lists we made. Prom was in the air like SARS. It was insane. (Also, I guess this is around the same time Asian had a SARS outbreak, so perhaps this is a poor choice of simile?)

We ro-sham-boed for who gets to wear pink, and agreed that we were going to have to become grown up women and purchase those chicken cutlet things. Apparently this is how girls bond? It was probably the most exhilarating and exciting and stressful era of my high school career. Forget about taking the SATs, AP Exams, etc. Planning Prom was the ultimate test of real-life-preparedness.

I thought of all this when my Facebook wall recently became over-spammed with this WongFu video:

More than anything else, I remember being super excited to slow-dance with this boy (remember, I spent 3 years chasing him down!), so it’s weird to me that kids don’t slow dance anymore? What do they do? Surely not grind! My baby cousins are going to prom this year! Oh god. How times have changed.

I blame the fashion industry for this.

I walked onto the middle school campus I used to coach volleyball at last year and I could not believe how much skankier kids are dressed nowadays than when I was in middle school. Seriously. These kids made me look like I was wearing an Amish dress. And call me old fashioned, but I feel that dressing like you’re in a rap music video is a right of passage, and you have to EARN it like the rest of us did.

Anyways, it would be pretty ridiculous to expect a bunch of kids dressed like play bunnies to slow dance at their school dance, so that’s why I’m upset with the fashion industry. That and because I want fanny packs to come back SO. BAD. But unless you live in Seattle, Portland, or San Francisco, you’re pretty much a tourist if seen with said fanny pack.

I can’t wait to be an 80 year old Asian lady so I can look as Asian touristy as I want!

PS, as a testament of my devotion to this blog, I’ve tried to sign into my ancient MySpace account to quickly copy and paste some classic prom photos for you guys, but unfortunately I can’t remember my log-in info, whatsoever (I even tried to the BUFFET password!), and unfortunately unfortunately, I gave away my computer that held all of my high school photos on its hard drive (thinking I’d never need them again… silly me!) so here are some very poorly taken photos of physical photos I have laying around in my room. I really need to invest in a scanner.

Beastie, I have absolutely no pictures of you and Muma, so feel free to upload your own :)

Maybe, if you’re lucky, we’ll upload our senior ball photos. Much more attractive pictures, I have to say. What a difference a year makes.

 

 

 

 

 

Oh, how we’ve blossomed!

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