Big bachelorette party coming up this weekend. I'm tres excited for the bride to be. She and her beau have been engaged for over a year and it seemed like the day would never come, even more so for the bride and groom I'm sure.
It's been awhile since I've stretched my bachelorette legs, -and I mean that in the least whorey way possible - and am therefore a little rusty - and I mean that in the least dried-up-old-crusty-lady way possible.
I thought I had my shit together. Black shirt, jeans, silver shoes. Good to go.
Or so I thought until I went shopping for a dress to wear to the wedding.
I called my friend J. "I'm going shopping for a dress for C's wedding.
J: Good luck. (she says with much sarcasm and derision)
Immediately I am alarmed. J is the happy-things-are-great-you-will-find-an-amazing-dress kinda person.
J: I bought a couple things. I don't really like any of them. Apparently J-town hates the color green.
Me: Are you talking about the bachelorette party?
Me: We have to wear green?! WE HAVE TO WEAR GREEN?!
Bring on the anxiety.
Me: What is the plan for this party? What are people wearing? Are they wearing dresses? I don't wear dresses to clubs. Are we going to a club? Will there be wardrobe changes?
Me: I'm calling T to find out. I need to know just how much anxiety I should have going into this weekend.
Called T. Green is indeed the color du jour.
Great. I don't know if you all know this, but I live in a town where fashion has gone to die. Combine that with the fact that my shopping excursions usually go like this:
Fitting Room Attendant: How'd that work out for you?
Me: If it's a scarf, then great. If it's a pair of pants, well then, not so much.
In other words. I Don't Get Fashion.
Basically the chances of me finding something fashionable and, oh yeah, green are like...uh...a crack head giving up...uh...um...a bear not shitting in the wo...uh...f*ck it, you fill in your own metaphor. (I do realize simile is the right word here, but I'm more of a metaphor kinda girl.)
But I am nothing if not determined (and if we're being honest, not all that determined), so shopping I went.
And guess what? I found a dress! It is green! And tight! And shiny! And also? Tight! I look like a hooker. A high class hooker.
I made sure I had a very clear understanding of the return policy before I left the store.
I tried it on for the husband after dinner. After I shoveled 40 pounds of food in my face. The dress was much tighter due to the food baby waging war with the tight shiny fabric.
Also? I'm pmsing and bloated.
I don't think you guys need a calculator to figure this one out.
Food baby + pms bloating + tight dress = F*cking awesome.
I looked like a pregnant hooker. A less classy pregnant hooker.
By this morning I was all doom and woe, I am not going to go. (Hey hey hey Dr. Suess)
And then J facebooks me and asks what the plan is.
J: So what's the plan? And did you find something to wear?
Me: I found a tight shiny green dress. TIGHT. I look like a hooker. A high class hooker. I'm pretty sure I'm returning it. I'm questioning even going. Did I tell you my doctor prescribed anti-anxiety meds? I haven't taken any yet because, well, the thought gives me anxiety.
J: Ok, we can handle this.....(lots of nice supportive things) When are you leaving your house? I need somewhere to get dressed and someone to go with me to find cock rings. I choose you.
Me: I was thinking of leaving my house at 4:30. Where should we get dressed? My house? Where are we going to find cock rings? There's a XXX store right on the main road in F.P. where we'll probably get kidnapped or raped or both if we go there. Or I'll get arrested since I will be dressed like a hooker.
Moral of the story? J always makes me feel better. Like in high school when I couldn't find my cheering bag after practice and I was all MY LIFE IS OVER THE WORLD IS ENDING I WILL NEVER GET INTO A GOOD COLLEGE I WILL DIE ALONE WITH A MILLION CATS. And J was all, "let's check lost & found." And guess what? The bag was in lost & found.
Amazing, I know. J is like The Rainman. I'm not entirely sure if that metaph...grr...simile works here. I've never seen Rainman, but people think he's pretty awesome right? If right, then J is The Rainman. If wrong and people think The Rainman is a giant douche loser serial killer, then J is nothing like him.
Basically, J's it's-going-to-be-okay is the perfect complement to my I-CAN'T-HANDLE-LIFE- RIGHT-NOW. Complement for me anyway. For her? Probably more like, I'll-have-another-glass-of-wine-please.
After our facebook exchange I was feeling better and ready to wear green and dance on a bar or do whatever else necessary for free drinks for my friend C.
1.) She did the same for me at my bachelorette party. I think. That night is like one giant blank screen.
2.) When your friend tells you she chooses you to go on a cock ring scavenger hunt, you cannot let her down.
After work I hit the mall again. My town's mall is like driving through that long stretch of Texas. Nothing but dust. And roadkill and vultures. And probably a few cacti. And maybe a billboard of the Marlboro Man. I don't know. I've never been to Texas.
I found a green dress and a green shirt.
So now my choices are, high class hooker, frumpy beach bum, and 40-something mom trying to be 15.
You can imagine how excited I am over my choices.
The good news is the Anxiety Weekend, I mean Bachelorette Party isn't about me.
The bad news? During my shopping excursion I realized I am color blind. Is this blue or green? I think it's blue. But it might be green...if I hold it like this and tilt it away from the light. Oh, but this is green. Nope it's blue. Is it? No, it's totally green.
I would tell you about the not-even two year old girl dancing to the raunchy music playing in the high class hooker store (imagine the skankiest dancing you've ever scene. no skankier. with more gyrating. and come-do-me eyes. got it? now imagine a not-even two year old child doing it. I know. feel free to judge her parents.), but I need to shave my legs, give myself a pedicure, pluck my eyebrows, and in general, whorify myself for the weekend. In the high classiest, beach bummiest, old-mom-living-through-her-daughter kind of way.
For those of you offended by "cock rings" let's remember they are being used within the confines of marriage, okay?
For those of you offended/concerned by anything in this post, let's remember this blog is one of sarcasm and most everything posted here should be taken with one giant bloat-inducing, ankle- swelling, breast-engorging grain of salt, okay?
Did I mention I have pms?