Posted on | June 21, 2010 | 7 Comments
I had the time of my life this weekend. Not in a
totally awesome cheesy “Dirty Dancing” kind of way, but in an “Oh my God. Seriously? I feel 22 again” kind of way. It was that kind of weekend. And it was AWESOME.
Husband and I packed up J and about sixteen tons of crap and headed up to North Carolina for the wedding of one of my best, best friends. She’s critically amazing. I wouldn’t lie to you. And she’ll make you laugh until your nose bleeds. Best part?
Almost all every one of her bridesmaids was hysterical. And amazing. I’ve never had so much fun with a group of girls… outside of my own bridesmaids at my own wedding, of course.
For one thing? I got a manicure, professional hair style and professional make up. These were amazing because a) my feet were hobbit-esque; b) I would have been Humidora the poofy-haired bridesmaid without professional help; and c) Having someone else do my make-up makes me feel pretty. Additionally, the guy who did my hair was drop-dead fabulous and recognized immediately that I am all about the retro. Seriously. I don’t know how he knew, but he gets me in the chair and says “I’m thinking straight and smooth with a bump.”
YES! I was sort of hoping for a Bump It, but did Jackie O have to use a bump it? No she did not. My hair was washed, dried and ohmigod teased until I seriously looked like a character out of Mad Men. If I were in a Greek play the gods would have punished me for how often I stared at myself in the mirror. I told the guy I was putting him on retainer if I ever won the lottery and he was fixing my hair every day. He happily agreed. If you want to feel pretty, go see Taylor at the Ballentyne salon. He’s awesome.
So I was sporting my January Jones hairstyle and, of course, my Joan Holloway boobs and feeling very, very “Mad Men-esque” in my gorgeous navy bridesmaid dress surrounded by eight of the funniest and sweetest girls ever. I am fairly certain that at least two of the ‘maids were my sisters in a prior life because we just totally hit it off. Don’t you love it when you meet people like that?
Have you ever been Iced? Don’t know what that is? Let me clue you in. It’s a fun new “male” game where some guy buys Smirnoff Ice and basically hides it. If you stumble upon one or if he sneaks up on you and you make eye contact with him while he’s holding the Smirnoff you are forced to “take a knee” and chug the entirety of the bottle. I’m sure you can see where this could lead to hilarity, right? Now imagine nine groomsmen playing this fun male bonding game all weekend.
When we got to the “waiting room” after the wedding but before the ceremony, the best man was Icing out his batookis. I think he Iced four groomsmen in ten minutes. And then he made a mistake.
He ICED me.
WHAT? This is a MAN game, there was no need to bring me in to it. But I did what any self-respecting girl would do. I gracefully and grandly dropped to one knee in my dress, placed one hand modestly over my ginormous cleavage, and drank the hell out of that Smirnoff.
And then began to plot my revenge. With my soul sisters from another life.
Suffice to say that sometime in the middle of the reception, I found myself in a hotel-provided Lincoln Town Car, racing to Harris Teeter with another bridesmaid for a case of Smirnoff Ice. And I was barefoot. In a grocery store. With Mad Men hair. And Joan Holloway’s boobs. Are you with me?
IT WAS AWESOME.
We had the band pretend that there was a special “wedding party” dance. All the bridesmaids and my gorgeous friend, the Bride, lined up with our bottles tucked daintily in our bows. When the groom and groomsmen were all in attendance, there in the middle of the reception, surrounded by all the guests, we Iced the hell out of them.
Ten men. On their knees. Drinking Smirnoff Ice. While we mocked them.
*Sigh* It was beautiful revenge.
And you know what? I had a blast. Did I cry? You know it. Did people mock me for how much I cried? Absolutely. Did I remember what it feels like to just have fun?? Oh god yeah. And it was better than any therapy session, better than any pill, and yeah… better than a lifetime supply of chocolate. Okay, no. It was not better than chocolate.
And then I returned to my hotel room around 11pm where my son was, of course, still awake. So it was back to reality. And reality meant no sleep and a horrific return trip which included losing my prescription meds and having a mini-breakdown at least four times only to find them tucked into the diaper bag. Because where would YOU put your happy pills, right?
Yes, I’m exhausted. And I’m fairly certain I’m getting sick. And my legs hurt from dancing. And I no longer have Jackie Onassis hair. But I had a blast. And you can bet YOUR batookis that I will remember this weekend for a long time. It was just. that. awesome.
Thanks for a wonderful weekend, Monkey and best of wishes for a fabulous life with your Ironman.
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