Tuesday, September 24, 2013

It's Like Dirty Dancing, but Instead of Putting Baby in a Corner, They Drop Her on Her Head

For those of you unprepared for a sequel, this is part two of what happens at a bachelorette party is not admissible as evidence of ANYTHING in a court of law...as long as you have a good attorney.

(This post is a tad long and for that I apologize, but I am recording this tale not only for you, my dear readers, but for the sake of posterity. For many millennia to come, parents will be telling this story to their children before bed. Actually, that is a terrible idea. Parents of the future, please don’t relay this story to your little ones, ever. Probably don’t tell it to anyone, okay?)

(Also, the font and spacing of this post are completely screwed up and it's giving me seven kinds of anxiety but there's nothing I can do about it so we're all just going to have to deal with it, okay?)

As I mentioned at the end of part one, there is not much I can say about day two (mainly because my attorney told me not to).  I can assure you this. Shenanigans were had. There was lingerie. And there were books about...there were books. And games. And cookies that were most definitely not shaped like body parts.


The night started out innocently enough.  We went to Dirty Harry's and sang along and danced to the live band. Everything was going famously until this couple squeezed their way to the front of the stage. There was zero room for them because there was 11 of us ALREADY DANCING THERE.


I have little tolerance for people who violate the most sacred rule of dancing: “This is my dancing space. That is your dancing space.” But being the nature adult that I am, I took a deep breath...and began dancing like a spaz with the occasional totally accidental body check. Despite my best efforts at being obnoxious, the couple refused to move so we begrudgingly made our way down the dance floor.


The good news was that we were that much closer to the bar...and our animal print soul mates, the bachelor party! 


I know 19 beer infused bachelor-partying guys sounds like a testosterone fueled nightmare, but several times, we fair and delicate maidens marveled at just how gallant they were.

Okay, gallant might be a bit of any exaggeration, but they were a far cry from the boys of our college days.


Case in point?

One of the guys dropped a beer bottle and it shattered. After first checking to make sure all of us delicate creatures were okay, they swiftly cleaned up the mess and broken glass. I don't actually remember seeing brooms or paper towels, or recall them brushing glass away with their feet. I just remember lots of frenetic movements and suddenly everything was neat and tidy (which maybe means they weren't so much gallant as they were...wizards?). 


Compare that experience to college, where, not only did beer bottles shatter around you with little regard to your care, but beer was actually thrown in your face when the guy you were dancing with body checked a girl who got pissed and threw her drink at him and thanks to her shitty aim, connected with you instead. And how did your dance partner respond to this act of wayward rage? By picking you up, tossing you over his shoulder, and running around the dance floor like a caveman who's just killed a water buffalo, of course.


Unfortunately, even the chivalry of gallant men has its limits. Like when it comes to stealing their bras.

Remember when I wrote how I almost bit a stranger for safeguarding the bra of his brother? This is that story! 


But first, I think I should introduce the cast of characters. Yes, there were 19 of them, but only five had a starring role. I made up names for them, because fake names are fun and also I don’t remember their real names. (However, might I suggest to the friends and families of these fellas that they start calling their dear loved ones by these most fine names?)


There was…


The Bachelor – the superhero, who stood with his hands on his hips and a proudly puffed chest, emblazoned with a hot pink “B”, as in Bra, of course.


Robin –the oldest brother, known as the consummate best friend and all-around good guy.


Wolverine (the bra-defending brother) - so named for his ability to tear flesh from limb.

Goose- the shy guy who possessed a quiet confidence that made you think he'd be capable of, I don't know, flying fighter jets (without the tragic ending).

Stretch (as in Armstrong) - who was particularly bendy and flippy and made all of the delicate creatures need two Aleve and an ice pack for our joints just watching his feats of flexibility. 


Now that we got that out of the way, it is time to tell the tale of a wee lass who slayed the dragon and incurred the wrath of Wolverine. You see, The Bachelor was wearing a bra over his clothes because of course he was. He was very protective of this bra, which naturally made The Girls want to steal it. So we devised a cunning and brilliant plan which consisted of me distracting him by dancing with him, while a couple of the girls unhooked his bra and removed it from his chest with him none the wiser (because he’d be so enamored and/or distracted by my awesome/and or utterly confusing dance moves).


The plan was genius, I tell you. Genius.


There was just one thing we didn’t account for…The Bachelor was quite the slippery little sucker and had some spastic dance moves of his own. And also, the bra seemed to be welded shut. 


I absolutely despise when a plan goes awry, so I took matters into my own hands, literally. I wrapped my arms around him in a boa constrictor-like grip, grit my teeth in determination and … un … hooked … his … bra!


I waved it above my head and jumped about with the triumph of one who has just made Mt. Everest her bitch.


You know the saying pride cometh before the fall? Well, I literally fell to the ground when Wolverine grabbed my wrist. We engaged in a tug of war over the bra. His death grip became increasingly hurty to my delicate little bones, but I didn’t want to let go because I hate giving in and also because the sweet taste of victory was still fresh on my lips. My only option was to bite him. I opened my mouth, unhinged my jaw and got ready to chow down. But I stopped just in time, partly because I remembered that assaulting fellow human beings is frowned upon by the law, but mainly because I was afraid Wolverine might have skin bugs, or something, and I most definitely did not want to ingest those.


With my shoulders sagging in defeat, and my captured hand turning blue, I released the bra and Wolverine released his grip. I woefully rubbed my wrist and cried, “My poor hurt wrist! Why would you do such a terrible thing to such a tiny girl?”


Wolverine was instantly apologetic, but it was too late. Seeing my distress, The Bachelorette (who is one delicate creature you most definitely do not want to mess with) punched Wolverine in the kidney. I could tell it hurt by the way the color drained from his face and how he clutched his back and was all, "Wow, you punch hard." And I was all, "That wasn't me." 


He said, "Oh," but it came out all strangled sounding and he looked like he was going to pass out. I could practically see the darkness descend. Robin, Goose, and Stretch kept asking me if I was ok and I was all, "Really I'm fine. It didn't hurt that badly. I'm just starved for attention. If you want to worry about someone, you should keep an eye on your friend over here. He's about to cough up blood."

Later, Wolverine (a.k.a. the guy in need of a new kidney) attempted to redeem himself by standing several feet away from me and holding out his arms. "You know that scene from Dirty Dancing?” he said. “Run to me and jump and I'll lift you over my head." 


I was all, "That sounds swell. Almost as swell as me bashing my head on the ground, which is what's going to happen when the lift goes horribly wrong."


(Everyone knows the first place you practice lifts is in the water.)


Needless to say, I passed on the offer to be Baby. But I suppose it would be a fun memory to come back to that spot a year later and be all, "Hey see that stain? That's blood from my head." 

So that's it. That's ALL that happened.


Okay, maybe I gave more relationship-type advice to guys in bars, and maybe we almost got in a fight with another bachelorette party for stealing my friend's veil. 

And maybe, after 4,000 bendy dance moves, Stretch paused a moment and said to me, "Are you those girls from the boat?"


And maybe I responded…



And maybe I didn't actually say that because I would never use such unlady-like language. 

And maybe we forgave him for not remembering the hottest gaggle of girls to ever don animal print because it is common knowledge that those known for their powers of stretchiness cannot also be known for their powers of observation. 

Maybe all of those things happened.

But probably we were home and tucked in bed long before midnight while visions of sugarplums and cookies (that were most definitely not shaped like body parts) danced in our heads.

Whoa! Susannah (Formerly Write, Rinse, Repeat): Well, this is epic. The last bachelorette party I attended included a blow up doll named Pedro. I learned that Dennys doesn't allow blow up dolls in their establishment at 3 am. I learned the hard way. And Key West. All I remember from that trip are a lot of stray cats. I think they were all decendents of Ernest Hemmingways cats. I think.

6 comments:

  1. OMG. I think I held my breath through the entire tale!
    And all I can think is that I want to get married again and invite you and your friends to my bachelorette party. Not sure how the hubby will feel about this - but I am sure we can find him a pretty bra to make it right.

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  2. Will you be my friend? I promise I'll lose weight so I can be tiny again.

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  3. ^^^Me too?? You guys sound like an absolute riot.

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  4. I have been to exactly ONE bachelorette party (the details of which I cannot reveal because that's the first rule of bachelorette parties, obviously.) But yours sounds better! P.S. Hope your wrist is ok.

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  5. with my own bachelorette party less than a month away -- i can only hope its of the kind that multiple hysterical blog posts are made! funny thing is i am thinking of a "get wild" sorta theme too!

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