Beau was kidnapped by his groomsmen yesterday afternoon for his four day bachelor party extravaganza in Montreal. That means I’ve spent the last twelve hours crapping with the bathroom door open, eating nothing but pizza, and sleeping in the middle of the bed without him complaining about my elbow being in his face. What better time to tell you about my own bachelorette party which occurred two UNFORGIVEABLE weeks ago? I actually did a complete write up at work yesterday but found that too many of the important details were left out in a one part entry. The humor is all in the details, my friends. So, before Bologna pops out of one of my closets frothing at the mouth, wielding a laptop, and shrieking at me for an entry, let’s begin.
Two INEXCUSEABLE Saturdays ago, Chairsy pulled up to my house in her brand spanking new SUV. I hopped in and threw my bag in the back which contained (among many other things that Bologna insisted that I bring) a bathing suit, five pairs of underwear, and a sturdy pair of walking shoes. I immediately asked if there were snacks. Shocker.
Chairsy instructed me to look at the bag at my feet and to also note the two bottles of soda that had clearly been tampered with. I was to consume those. Trusting that Chairsy wouldn’t slip me a roofie (and frankly, not caring if she did – free drugs for everyone!) I opened the first bottle and tentatively took a sip. I was chugging the sweet nectar of rumndietcoke before we’d even left my street.
Though Chairsy was supposed to blindfold me from the get go, she understood that the combination of binge drinking in a moving vehicle in pitch blackness might cause my now notoriously (NO-NO-NO-NOTORIOUS) weak stomach to expel its contents all over her brand spanking new dashboard causing her husband to kill her in a gruesome fashion. Thus, I was allowed to skip the blindfold and secretly begin guessing where we were going. Yes, I can talk myself out of almost everything. I would have been a lawyer but that requires work and I am decidedly against work.
After my first bottle of darling rumndietcoke (sweet Jesus, how I’ve missed you, my poppet) I convinced my chauffeur to let me out of the car to pee. Everyone is happy to pump me full of liquid but the minute the necessary bodily function need occur, it’s all OH LOOK AT DK WITH HER TILTED WALNUT BLADDER. Sorry for my petite organs. I can’t help that they aren't gargantuan like yours.
Rest stops are much more fun when you’re tipsy. Before you start thinking I’ve gone lightweight, let me say that Chairsy mixes a hefty drink and had prefaced my first sip with “Sorry… that might be a little strong. I got carried away.” Carried away indeed. I skipped into the turnpike restroom, nearly stopping to ask what appeared to be a living anime character to take a picture with me. I clicked the lock on the stall while pulling down my pants and spun around in ballerina fashion before flopping down on the toilet. I immediately jumped up in my least graceful way, pseudo-waddling in the seated position so as to hide my lady bits to slam the door shut before any errant Pokémon saw my shame. Guess the lock was faulty. Must have been.
I skipped back out to the parking lot ready to relate my close encounters with Japan and stopped short on the curb. Instead of seeing Chairsy usual red beater, I saw a sea of unfamiliar vehicles. What color was her new car? Black? Dark blue? Steely Gray? Shit. Well, I knew it was a Toyota SUV. That narrowed it down to only 90% of the cars. I peeked in a few vehicles and inadvertently gave one elderly woman the scare of her life when I was certain I’d found Chairsy’s car and popped up next to the passenger’s side window with that HERE’S JOHNNY face and enthusiastic jazz hands only to find that indeed, I had not found the right Toyota at all.
Eventually, I found Chairsy in the next row and told her about my adventures. We continued our journey while I wondered aloud whether the turnpike went east-west or north-south and started nursing my second bottle of refreshing, beautiful rumndietcoke (sigh of yearning). I became convinced that we were not going a roundabout way to Boston when some of the town names became vaguely familiar from my college years. We left the highway and not long after, pulled onto a bona fide dirt road. I felt so complimented that Chairsy bought an offroading vehicle just for this moment. Until she pulled over and told me to get out.
I stepped out, making sure to leave the door open so that if the engine kicked back on, I’d have time to hop back in. Chairsy told me to turn around. I faced the farmer’s field, surveyed the recently sown rows, and asked if we were trespassing on private property because getting shot at by a man in overalls was not really my idea of a good time. Chairsy giggled from somewhere near the trunk of the car. While I continued to form a contingency plan, she blindfolded me, pinned something to the back of my head, and shoved me back in the car. While this may sound like the starts to a promising porno, I assure you, it is not going in the direction that you think it is.
Though blindfolded, I could sense from Chairsy sudden reticence and the many K turns that we were ever so slightly lost. Could there be a more convenient time that when you’re lost in the unfamiliar land of Deliverance to need a bathroom? I think not. I demanded she return me to the dirt path so I could tinkle in the bushes. Instead, ten minutes later when it became evident that a phone call was necessary for assistance, she pulled over at a gas station.
I cheerfully hopped out, resolving to look at the bathroom lock BEFORE undressing (see, I’m a quick learner) and walked in with a jaunty step, smiling at the many admirers who watched me go by. By many, I mean the toothless man who held the door for me and the Pakistani cashier. I was pleased to see my favorite type of public lavatory (a single room instead of a prison of stalls in which I could see my neighbors’ ankles), secured the door, double checked the lock, and enjoyed a private smile before looking up at my fabulousness in the mirror. Looking back was a smug, slightly intoxicated woman with a fringe of veil showing around her face. The smile broadened as I checked myself out. The smile faded as I realized my admirers outside may not have been admiring me so much as staring at the many neon penises bedazzling the back of my veil.
Instead of slinking past my new found friends, I strode past with my head held high, genital-covered veil flowing behind me. I returned to the car, ready to say “very funny” in my best dripping-with-sarcasm-but-secretly-incredibly-amused voice but Chairsy was ready for me with one of my weaknesses in hand: a big red balloon with a note attached that read “Clue #1.”
That’s where I’ll leave you for today. See what I mean? I couldn’t do the sheer awesomeness of my bachelorette party justice if I didn’t tell you how it really went down and there’s just too much for one day’s work. I swear on my penis veil that I’ll get the entire story written by the time I leave for the wedding next Wednesday. But for now, I need to get to my wedding chores and prepare for the arrival of Lulu who has generously offered to drive up for the weekend to help with crafting. That means I’m spending my last weekend as a single lady the same way I spent them from 1992 to 2002: having a slumber party with Lulu, gossiping about boys, watching chick flicks, and getting into my
1 comment:
Consider this me jumping out of your closet demanding more!
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