So how did I end up at a bachelor party? Well, if you are a loyal follower of this blog, you are well aware that some of my closest friends are guys. Even though this particular friend and I are separated by several states and miles upon miles of turnpike, we've stayed extremely close over the 8 years we've known each other. He is one of the best people I know and has, in fact, driven those miles at the drop of a hat when I've needed him. Several times. I'm incredibly lucky to have him in my chaotic life.
So when he asked me to attend his bachelor party how could I say no? I mean, all the fun and none of the real responsibility of a groomsman? Sign me up! (You didn't really think I could stay sentimental for more than one paragraph, did you?)
After a hellishly long hung-over drive back to New Jersey, I was on my coma couch desperately trying to piece together the events of last night. The evidence in my camera and purse (drunkitemizing at its finest!) suggests several things:
- I started drinking between the hours of 5 and 6pm. With my friend's future brother-in-law and his friend, both of whom I had never met. Before meeting up with the bachelor.
- I challenged the last bar to an epic ski ball battle. I was reigning champion for quite some time mostly due to the fact that one of the guys started berating strangers so that I could hold on to my win. Then he wrestled the title out from under me. He is now dead to me.
- One of us may or may not have been arrested and fingerprinted for prostitution.
- I spent some time in the men's bathroom. At least 4 pictures worth of time. Since writing this post and being utterly confused by this particular event, I have discovered that the reason why I was in the urinal is because one of the guys insisted I absolutely had to see the best urinals in DC. Sounded like a good idea at the time? Stupid whiskey.
- My coat was stolen.
- I was in someones house at some point. There was rum involved.
- I got into a fight with many tiny pirates. Apparently I stole their swords in order to humiliate them because 25 tiny multi-colored rapiers were scattered around my purse the next morning.
- An Irishman gave me his card, after he accosted me on my way back to the guys. Despite my notorious weakness for accents, I wasn't interested in him but what I find interesting about his card, is that I wrote "He's Irish!!!" in drunken scrawl on the back. Just in case I forgot. Which I obviously did until I found his card this morning. This also leads me to wonder whether he saw me write on the card. Stupid Whiskey.
- My coat was found. By one of the guys. Because he had been wearing it.
Alas, we did not venture into strip club territory. Sadly, no eastern European lesbian strippers for me. I reserve that honor only for friends who get recently separated from their wives. Thanks again Cooper for that one.
Are you wondering if I left off any scandalous behaviour on the above list? Gosh, of course not. What do you take me for? Some shameless hussy?
Hope you had as much fun during your weekend as I did, fellow bloggers. Do send me some stories. Or at the very least some drunk texts.