Party People...who nap

We’ve already established on multiple occasions that I am a Terrible Bridesmaid.  In part because my eyes reveal my true opinion while my mouth says, “No, this fuchsia wonder of a dress is flattering on everyone,” and I will tell a hysterical bride (in an effort to make her feel better) “Its fine that the seat covers aren't the color you picked—no one cares and will remember your wedding as much as you will anyway”.  Slam bam word vomit.  (Never tell a bride no one will care about HER wedding as much as she will…it’s a bad bad bad thing to say.)

So naturally when my oldest friend asked me to be in her wedding I had trepidations.  Weddings are expensive, and I don’t revel in signing up for what always has the potential to turn into a hostile situation between all the love, expense, and mother in law dissention in the air, but for my friend I said yes.  And promptly proved right away that I was a terrible bridesmaid by posting about a bridal store in our (mutual) home state offering a “Hunting Season Opening Sale”.  My mockery of the bridal sale was taken as mockery of the wedding (two hugely different things, now if I’d been mocking that wedding had been scheduled to accommodate bow hunting season that would have been making fun of the wedding).  So for a solid month I was in the dog house until I redeemed myself by talking my bride off the ledge a couple of time from falling into the pit of Bridal Manic Mania. 

Last weekend was my first real Bridesmaid duty, and I flew home to Michigan for the Bachelorette.

My last Bachelorette weekend kicked off with having a Penis cup setting off the all sort of security in the Boston airport, so I was determined this weekend would go better. 

It started out with Zimm picking me up, me opening the back door of her car and it falling off in my hands.  That’s right, the car door fell off.  In my hands.  I stood there looking dumbfounded and worrying about my apparently hulk-like strength, while Zimm casually walked over and slammed the door back into position. 

Needless to say it was not the kickoff I wanted for the weekend.

Now when Bachelor/ette parties come to mind, the typical standard is to think of the usual debaucheries-strippers, booze, bad decisions, and losing a member of your gang to copious amounts of alcohol and the top floor of a swank hotel. 

Zimm’s Bachlorette was none of these things, we kicked off the party with a group nap.  A nap.  And it was fantastic.  From there we played cards, raided the bulk booze at Sam;s Club and went a fancy smanc dinner followed by loads of ski ball.  In short, it was the perfect night out with the girls. 

We woke up the next day with our memories intact the way her car wasn’t. Fabulous!