April 8, 2005

Wedding Weekend Recap Part 3: Too Damn Sober to Party with this Crowd

OK, you asked for it, you demanded it, you threatened to slap me if I didn’t
post it, so here it is—Bachelorette Party! When you last saw me I was
heading into the hotel lobby toward feather boas and certain doom. The first
sign of the impending apocalypse came when I realized I was expected to wear a purple boa with my red shirt. But, for Courtney, I soldiered on, now also equipped with a preprinted nametag reading “Loosy Goosey.”

Our limo arrived and our driver Mr. Gay (yes, Mr. Gay) helped us all in and
asked where we wanted to go. Amber was a woman with a plan; a plan, and a big thing of vodka. So off we went to a snazzy restaurant for pre-drink snacks and some opening cocktails. I of course wasn’t drinking because of my medication (though you’ll recall I had actually lost most of that during my plane puke-athon).

At the restaurant, Amber, who briefly studied the drink menu, decided to simply order “one of each.” This move filled me with just an inkling of
awe, mostly of the financial variety, but also because of her confident delivery.

It was like something out of a movie, or maybe Sex in the City. Courtney’s
bachelorette party veil, equipped with flashing phalluses of assorted colors
was by this point drawing many stares, mostly I think from people trying to
make out exactly what the flashing objects were. One woman actually stopped by our table to tell Courtney how adorable the veil was, but as she walked away she seemed to realize that, y’know, the veil was covered in penises, and she made the most priceless expression, sort of like she’d just stuck her hand down a garbage disposal and flipped the on switch. Drinking war stories were exchanged, snacks were consumed, and some crazy (very divorced) ladies in the bathroom kept yelling at Courtney to “Run! Run while you can!”

The next stop on Amber’s itinerary was a club which looked closed when
we arrived. Mr. Gay checked it out for us and reported that it was “Goth
night” and that it wouldn’t really be getting started for a while.

Now I was torn because on the one hand Goth night was something I figured I could handle, but on the other hand I didn’t relish the notion of walking into a Goth night with this group. It’s not that I feared the Goths, but just as I wouldn’t wear a clown suit to a funeral, I wouldn’t normally show up in a purple boa and trendy shoes to hang out with a bar full of Goths. Luckily for me the other girls were decidedly anti-Goth night and we decided to head elsewhere.

As we toodled around town looking for someplace promising we passed what appeared to be a dead man lying face down in the street. He was surrounded by firemen and the like and we tried to decide if this was some sort of bad omen. We stopped so one of the girls could find a bathroom and some random college boys outside a bar reported that the dead guy wasn’t so much dead as he was very, very drunk. Apparently he just sort of toppled over face first onto the pavement.

With the mood somewhat restored we headed in to use the restroom at a festive place whose name I have forgotten. It wasn’t a biker bar, but it was definitely less preppy than other places we went. Everyone downstairs was friendly but the bathrooms were upstairs in what seemed to be a more private area where we got colder, more incredulous stares. The bathroom itself was awesome. The outer door looked kind of like a port-a-potty or something, and the inside was covered in graffiti. I wouldn’t have minded staying at this bar, but the girls wanted to dance, so off we went to continue our search!

Back in the limo I had one of those terrifying moments where a seemingly small generation gap suddenly cracked open wide like the Grand Canyon. It was when all the girls were singing along with the radio, rocking out and having a great time. I was encouraged, nay, commanded to join in, but reluctantly had to decline because I only knew one per every dozen songs played. Luckily people were getting so drunk they probably didn’t much notice. Or they just figured I was totally lame. Which, y’know, I pretty much am. But still, the only thing worse than being the sober person at a bachelorette party is being the sober uncool person at a bachelorette party.

*sigh*

Looking for some excitement we headed for one of the local casinos, a huge place with a ceiling painted to look like the sky. Did we gamble? Nope! We went to the arcade, which was preparing to close, and played Dance Dance Revolution. If you’re not familiar with the game it involves dancing along to moves displayed on the screen. Courtney and Amber were making a pretty bad show of it when the arcade attendant offered to step in and show us how it’s done.

This was, without a doubt, the highlight of my entire evening. He put it on expert level and as It’s Raining Men blasted from the speakers he did the most amazing dance ever! It only got better when his little friend from the movie theater across the way joined him in the second DDR spot. The two were like a couple of pros, totally in sync with each other and the game as we all stood around laughing and cheering. Believe me; you had to be there to really understand what a perfect only-in-the-movies moment it was. After the DDR hijinks we decided nothing else in the casino could possibly compete, so we left in search of batteries for my digital and a new disposable camera for Amber.

After some brief stops the girls decided to keep Mr. Gay for an extra hour and
it was off to the final bar of the night (somewhere very college hormone meat-markety with “America” in the title). This was where the sober-drunk gap became most noticeable. I couldn’t dance because of my back and there
was nowhere to sit, so I stood at the side of the dance floor while the others
got their groove on. Let me tell ya’, nothing attracts young, virile, obnoxious college men like a group of drunken bachelorette party attendees. They swarmed en masse and proceeded to do some dirty dancing that woulda’
made Patrick Swayze proud. Courtney took time out to jump up by the DJ and pretend to play an electric guitar for a bit. The girl never ceases to amaze me. At one point an overly exuberant bridesmaid/horny college boy couple was so involved in their make-out session on the dance floor that when they literally fell into me knocking me backward onto the stairs, they never stopped to acknowledge it.

Camille (or as I like to think of her, The Empress of Georgia) and I left the
dance floor and she proceeded to have some of the most entertaining conversations with strange men I have ever witnessed. She was so smooth. One guy came up and wanted something, not sure if it was her or her feather boa, and she was like “No, you can’t have it” but then let him take one feather
with him. It’s all about the attitude and presentation, something I’ve
never been able to pull off. Case in point: One young man, who I fear took my
polite/awkward smile as an invitation, attempted to put the moves on me, but after I replied that, yes, I did in fact have a boyfriend he said, “Oh,
never mind,” and walked away. I had one other brief verbal encounter with
him later in the evening, but it didn’t make a whole lot of sense. Maybe
he’d begun speaking in code. Hmmm, maybe he was actually there to meet
a fellow secret agent and was trying to drop those little “The black dog
flies at midnight. Wear only yellow rain boots” contact lines. Or he was
drunk. Whatever.

As the night turned to early morning I found myself back near the front of the bar with Courtney, Camille and a man who I feel certain would proclaim himself to be 100% heterosexual. He kept telling Camille how faaaaaabulous
her boa was and then he’d offer (threaten?) to spank the three of us. He was finally kicked out after he fell off of his barstool for the third time in five minutes.

By this point I was beyond ready to bid the America Pub farewell, but that’s
an unfortunate side-effect of being 27, attached and sober. Oh, who am I kidding? I felt the same way when I was young, single and…still sober. Hmmm. Anyhoo, eventually bachelorette party victory was declared. We left, Mr. Gay dropped us back at the hotel and Larry came to pick us up. By about 3 a.m., after Amber and Camille had been shuttled home, Larry, Courtney and I arrived at our hotel and collapsed with the knowledge that in a few short hours we’d be braving that fearsome beast known as…the manicurist!]

Click here for photos of Bachelorette Party Shenanigans!

Stay Tuned for

Wedding Weekend Recap Part 4

In which Larry is encouraged to take photos in a women’s restroom!

posted under Events, Travel | 2 Comments »
March 17, 2005

Wedding Weekend Recap Part 2: Larry vs. the Banana Chocolate Swirl

We were picked up at the airport by the groom’s twin brother Jason (the
best man) and his step-sister Becka (tiny bridesmaid). We’d only met Jason
once, but he was easy to locate since, y’know, he looks just like Ryan.
There seemed to be some confusion about where Larry and I were staying that night, which turned out to be because we apparently had nowhere to stay. But figuring it would all be worked out eventually the four of us headed to the hotel to kill a little time in one of their rooms.

From there it was off to the fantabulous Pizza Street (think Godfather’s meets…a crappy Midwest pizza buffet). All of the twenty-somethings attending the wedding were there and it was meant to be a sort of mingling get-to-know-each-other thing. Everyone seemed very nice. I was sitting between the groom and tiny bridesmaid, who it turned out, is only a senior in high school. (Insert joke about my ancientness here.) Despite my marathon puke-fest that morning, I decided to brave the buffet.

If you’re ever there, I recommend the spinach alfredo pizza. Larry, daredevil
that he is, had some of the Banana Chocolate Swirl pizza (back by popular demand!). He mostly just poked at it and then went off to get some soft serve ice cream. Obviously his taste buds aren’t as refined as those of the Kansas City natives.

After pizza and socializing Larry and I ran some errands with Courtney and
then the three of us went to her grumpy grandma’s house. I only describe
her as grumpy because if Courtney ever reads this I don’t want her to
be offended by my using a more accurate descriptive like, say, insensitive old bitch. The minute we walked into her (terrifyingly) immaculate home she went off on Courtney about leaving a mess around, which was in reference to the in-progress flower girl baskets Courtney had left neatly stacked in a corner. Uh-huh. The rant might have been excusable even with Courtney being a stressed-out bride-to-be who really hadn’t left a mess, but when Courtney repeatedly apologized and said that she understood and yada yada the grandma JUST. KEPT. GOING. It was all I could do to not step in and say, “She gets it, OK?! I get it, Larry gets it, the dog gets it! DROP IT!” Eventually the grandma left and we started running around getting ready for the bachelorette party while Larry called hotels trying to find us a place to sleep for the night (grumpy grandma didn’t want us to stay there, probably because our very presence might have disturbed the museum-like
austerity of her crypt, er, I mean home). [Courtney has assured me that her grandma is a very nice lady and was just stressed about having to host a brunch on Sunday. She would know, it’s her grandma. I guess that makes me the insensitive bitch in this story. Sorry.]

We were scheduled to meet the last of the bachelorette party at the hotel downtown, so as we were running late, we rushed out of the house and headed that way. Larry continued to try to find somewhere for us to stay and agreed to pick us up when the night was over (hooray for the good boyfriend). He dropped us off at the hotel and took Courtney’s car. We had to call him back five minutes later because Courtney left something in the trunk, and I ran out into the freakin’ windy night to grab it from him. Then he took off to cruise the streets of Kansas City and I headed into the hotel lobby toward feather boas and my certain doom.]

To be continued in

Wedding Weekend Recap Part 3: Too Damn Sober to Party with this Crowd

(I know I promised drunken bridesmaids, but I wanted to be able to devote
an entire post to the bachelorette party next time, so, y’know, rough it.)

posted under Events, Travel | 6 Comments »
March 15, 2005

Wedding Weekend Recap Part 1: It’s a bird; it’s a plane; it’s…a weenie toaster?

Thursday at 10:10 a.m. I was already flying high even though our plane was
still on the ground. Larry and I were seated on our United flight waiting to
take off. I knew my back was going to be trouble on the long flight so I had
taken my prescribed Percocet and Valium combo with a bagel and apple juice.

Midway through the safety video the mix really started to kick in. A sample
from the journal I was writing in at the time: “My back really hurts but
luckily I just can’t seem to care. I was looking in the Sky Mall catalog and they had this pop-up hot dog cooker, like a toaster for weenies and buns! Bloody brilliant!” So that should give you a sense of my overall mindset. A little before takeoff I started to feel kind of sick to my stomach and the takeoff itself was pretty bumpy. Three minutes after we left the ground I puked in an air sickness bag for the first time in my life.

No one noticed except Larry, but I was humiliated and felt like death warmed
over. By 11:35 I had puked for the third time (the second two were in the airplane restroom) and was now seated in the aisle seat praying to just die and get it over with. Every flight attendant on board knew I was sick and kept trying to give me ginger ale or water. I must have been extra pale and glazed because anyone who saw me looked frightened.

At 1:05 we landed at Chicago O’Hare and I was starting to feel a bit better. The flight attendants had offered to get me a wheel chair but I escaped before they caught me. O’Hare is a weird airport. They had a full-sized dinosaur skeleton replica in one area. More spectacular was the insano underground bit with a moving walkway, which looked extra freaky to my addled brain. It’s kind of dark with all this rainbow neon stuff on the ceiling and alternating glowy pastel blocks on the walls. There was this crazy tinging new-agey music and the only thing missing was a generic 1950’s narrator saying, “The future…it’s closer than you think,” or some such nonsense.

The second leg of the journey turned out to be, if you can believe this, worse.
The mean old man in the aisle seat wouldn’t trade spots with me even though
Larry explained I was really sick. I decided to puke on him if it became necessary.

This flight had the worst turbulence I’d ever experienced and I spent
the last half of the flight with my hands clapped over my mouth, determined
not to puke in another bag. The minute we got off the plane in Kansas City I
went straight to the restroom and as soon as it sounded pretty empty I puked
for the fourth and last time that day. ]

Stay Tuned for Part Two of the Wedding Weekend Recap

Featuring a pizza buffet, feather boas, drunken bridesmaids, and a Dance Dance Revolution!

Coming soon…

posted under Events, Travel | No Comments »
February 15, 2005

UPS WTF?!: In which the boys in brown declare war on me

The following is a new tale of woe for those who have been following the continuing misadventures of the Bridesmaid Dress of Infinite Plunges.

Friday I came home from work to find the most annoying piece of paper stuck to my door. Yes, dear friends, it was a note from the UPS folks saying they had missed me (imagine that-in the middle of the day!) and would not relinquish the Dress of Most Unfortunate Design to me until I signed for it in person. Next delivery attempt? Between 2 and 5 p.m. on Monday. Of course, because everyone is apt to be hanging about the house between 2 and 5 on a Monday! Heaving a great sigh of resignation I decided I would simply have to take the second half of Monday off. OK. So Monday I arrived home at 1:30 p.m. and began my UPS vigil. I waited. And waited. Then, at last, the door buzzer! Hitting the door-open buzzer and racing down the stairs at breakneck speed I arrived just in time to see a package hurled into the inner doorway. Not from UPS and certainly not dress sized (especially not my dress size). I trudged upstairs with the package, which turned out to be three cans of Pibb Xtra for Larry (thanks, Dad). I resumed my vigil.

I became very drowsy but knew I couldn’t give in to my sleepiness lest I miss the UPS driver. Catching a UPS driver, you see, is very much like catching a leprechaun or seeing Haley’s comet: you’re lucky if you get even one chance. Some cheese and crackers later and the buzzer! Again I hit the open button and charged down the stairs only to fling the door open and find…some totally random dude. Apparently he was there to box up the first floor apartment of the building’s previous owner (now deceased for some time) but he couldn’t get his key to work. Not surprising since I can barely get in myself most days, but that’s another story. So I put on the brave face (no problem, sir, I love running up and down the stairs at all hours of the day) and climbed back up to continue waiting. And waiting. And waiting…

At 5 p.m. I said to myself, “What in the name of all things holy? Heads are gonna’ roll!” Obviously I had been outmaneuvered again and UPS must have arrived earlier than anticipated and left with the Dress of Ultimate Exposure. So I decided to track my package online using the number on the infamous Friday afternoon non-delivery slip. So I tracked the Dress of Doom, fully expecting it to be safely nestled back at the UPS lair, but instead I see: Status-Delivered, Signed for by COHEN. ~blink, blink~ Uhhhh…whaaaaa’? A pause to digest this and then I believe I yelled something to the effect of, “What the FUCK?!?!?” So I ran downstairs (though I might have strolled at this point) and there, sitting in the outer entryway, was the Dress to End All Dresses. Huh. I called Larry. He hadn’t signed for it. There is no other Cohen in the building. In fact, at that hour there probably wasn’t another living soul in the building. And UPS never so much as touched the buzzer for my apartment. This leads me to the following possible conclusions:

1) UPS are a bunch of wankers who fake signatures and toy with their customers mercilessly.

2) The ghost of the dead building owner, disturbed by the presence of a stranger in his apartment, was hanging about in the entryway and figured he may as well sign for my package assuming I wouldn’t be home to do it myself.

3) Larry signed for it and is trying to drive me mad like Charles Boyer did to Ingrid Bergman in Gaslight.

4) A future me traveled back in time to ensure that the dress was delivered, signed for it, but hated me so much she didn’t bother to ring me to let me know.

5) In a Donnie Darko-esque schizophrenic daze I actually signed for the package myself and then left it in the entryway, perhaps hoping it would be stolen thereby freeing me from any obligation to wear the Dress of Sincerest Unflattery.]

posted under Rants | 1 Comment »