(This is a long one, so grab a cocktail or a coffee and get the kids settled in front of the television)
So after leaving the yacht, we were all buzzed, but on the coming down side of that. So we were hot, tired, kind of headachey, but still silly.
We all went back to Catfish's condo, which is a small area for that many girls. We cluttered her couch and chairs and ottoman and most of her living room floor. Catfish tried to force us all to drink some weird wheat grass/alfalfa/green sludge stuff and tried to push B-6 vitamins and weird , healthy crap on us to prevent tomorrow's hangovers. A whole different tune from the good old days when she was pushing an interesting assortment of recreational drugs on her party mates. (You know you made me do it. Always twisting my arm. Asking me twice. You heathen, you.) Yep, we're getting old.
I had forgotten to bring my present on the boat (imagine that), so Catfish opened it while we were there.
I got her a Land's End tote bag with her new name embroidered on it (Remember the EMFLTB? For the newbies, that's my Extra Mother Fucking Large Tote Bag. Not even kidding, I could put the kids in there. Catfish doesn't have kids and therefore has no need to bring a week's worth of supplies to the beach, so I got her a medium or a large or something. I don't remember. I would guess it's a medium).
I also don't remember what that second thing is. Lotions? Lubes? I don't know. This was back in November, for heaven's sake. The book is "If...life's book of questions". When we had the 10 day hurricane party here with LK and family, we went through a lot of that book. It was really fun and interesting to have to think about those things and to hear your friends' responses. The other book is a St. Lucia travel guide since she was going there for her honeymoon.
There was one other gift though...
You have to keep in mind that at this point of the day, Catfish is pretty drunk. What you can't see in the gift photos, is that she's posing like a porn star in every single one, so when she gets this one out of the bag, she really starts hamming it up, reading it seductively, doing the Vanna White display of the box, posing with it with a slutty look on her face...the whole nine yards.
At this point the girls are getting loud. Even the suspected porn star Latina was looking at me and saying, "Oh no you didn't! You did not go there. You went there...she so went there..." Everyone is squealing "Open it! Open it" and "What is it??" and "OH MY GOD".
Slowly and dramatically, Catfish opens the box...
and we all collapse in drunken giggles and shrieks and squealing that even the opera singing neighbor had to have heard.
I have to confess that it is a re-gift. The day after my wedding, almost 7 years ago, we were at my parents' house opening gifts in front of an assortment of people, some family friends, I think my grandpa was there, maybe even my aunt and uncle? Anyway, Mr. Ashley begins opening this present and from a vantage point we don't have, gets an eyeful of what the box says.
"Um, I'm just going to open this one later, " he mutters, while turning bright red.
"No, what is it? What is it?" I insist peeking over his shoulder. At this point everyone is curious and he timidly pulls the box out of it's wrapper, exclaiming that this is inappropriate to open in front of a crowd. I had to know what the hell these guests were thinking, so I took a quick look inside and about died laughing.
I've been waiting for an opportunity to get rid of those naked little bastards ever since. I have been dreading the day I catch one of the kids brushing their teeth with one of these things. So I was overjoyed when I realized that this was my chance. Of course, Mr. Ashley wanted to keep them for some bizarre reason, but his vote doesn't really count. They belong in a kid-free household and need to be passed along.
At this point it is really getting late and we had dinner reservations at 10:00pm. You read that right, 10:00pm. With no nap in sight. This is a normal time for these people to eat. I was wondering what state I would be in by that time and traded in the champagne for my dear old friend caffeine.
After deciding that Catfish's adorable place with one tiny bathroom would be insufficient for a horde of ladies to get ready at, we relocated to the MOH's larger condo to get ready for our big night.
Wouldn't you know that while we were there, I took off my beautiful diamond pendant necklace to put some cheap costume jewelry on, I put it in a small ziploc bag...and I haven't seen it since. So Catfish, could you ask MOH again (I asked her at the wedding)? And any psychics out there, please email me with its whereabouts. I think about it every single day, nicest piece of jewelry I owned. WAAAAH.
Anyhoo, it has been a long time since I've gotten ready with a gaggle of girls. Everyone running around, sharing mirror space and lip gloss, offering opinions and compliments. It was fun, but also a little tiring and once again, I was doubting my staying power.
We hammed it up for some photos downstairs and began our short walk over to the restaurant. At this point I am really flagging. This is more activity than I do in a month.
I'm not quite sure how it came up, we were probably talking about penises for some reason, but at some point Catfish mentions that my boys aren't circumcised. To which Skipper turns to me, wrinkles her nose and says "Ewwww. Why not?"
I roll my eyes and give her my reasons and she goes on to tell me she's a pediatric nurse and blahblahblah and she's not trying to be judgmental but...
You have your biased research, I have mine.
Can I also point out that this is not the first time I've had this conversation? How do people think this reaction is acceptable?
Can you even imagine if I turned to someone and said, "Oh my God! So you strapped your helpless newborn to a table and let someone cut off a part of his body? Ewww."
Call me tactful, call me a people person, call me overly polite...but I would NEV-ER. I don't care what you do with your kids genitals, please afford me the same respect.
I was really irritated with her at that point and was relieved when we got to the restaurant so she could stop stumbling along beside me, trying to remove her foot from her mouth.
This is us at the restaurant. I'm the one with the knobby knees, Catfish is next to me in the brown leggings, the awesome boots and the sweater she later had to burn.
and yes, the pregnant chick is holding a penis straw. We were putting the ass in class tonight, my friends!
Catfish excitedly tells me that I will LOVE the restaurant. It's called Sardinia and it's Italian. She knows I am a bizarre and picky eater and I don't do anything weird or anything fancy or any baby animals or any seafood and I am prejudiced against many cultures when it comes to food. When we went to Greece on our honeymoon, I lived off of cheese pies and Snickers bars. Not even kidding.
So I'm hopeful about Italian. Italian is easy and not weird. Nothing too crazy, right? Easy to order, right?
So I open my menu and see...ox tail stew...braised baby lamb...roast suckling pig...all kinds of seafood...all kinds of stuff I don't even recognize as a food group. Oh my. There was some sort of steak but it was ginormous. I finally settled on goat cheese ravioli and settled in for some people watching.
The girls were funny and in this environment, our differences really showed through. They're all talking wine regions and how absolutely divine the fresh basil on the scallops is and I'm wondering what little kid did today that resulted in him being covered in poop.
There was a well dressed, obviously gay (I don't know why it was so obvious, but it was), older gentleman sitting right next to us, eating by himself and trying to be subtle in his observations of us.
There were various couples and foursomes, young and old, all put together nicely, all obviously the type that dine out at 10pm on a regular basis.
There was a big family, obviously all related but consisting of 2 separate families. I could tell they weren't on vacation (don't ask me how, I just could tell they were Miami people) and they had a little boy who was probably 6 or 7. They had just sat down. At almost 11pm by now. So I judged them for that right away and felt bad for the poor kid who looked bored out of his mind as his parents drank cocktails and talked real estate. I know, I know, not my place to judge, but I do it anyway.
Our waiter and the manager both lingered around our table as often as possible and were genuinely Italian, as in from Italy. They had been South Beach-ized though, so they'd probably been in Miami for a while, however they still had the thick accents and mannerisms of where they were from.
One of them pointed to the penis straw lying next to my plate:
Him: Is this yours?
Ashley: Yes, that's my penis. Why? Do you want to touch it?
We later insisted on seeing the manager and claimed that we had found a penis in our pasta and we had not ordered Penii pasta. He apologized profusely and promised that he had told the staff to keep their penises out of our food, but they obviously had not listened.
After two bottles of red wine and a lot of food, we were all tipsy again but tired. There was some debate on what to do next. You could tell that everyone could have happily crawled in bed but no one wanted to be that tired and old and boring.
We decided we had to at least go out for one drink, then we could see what happened from there. But where to go? There was some discussion of going to the new club that the Miami Ink guys opened, but everyone quickly decided that we weren't in the mood for your typical, cheesy South Beach scene. We were too tired and too drunk (read: too old) to be dealing with standing in lines and flirting with door men. Been there, done that, loved every freaking minute of it.
Someone suggested a fun place called Automatic Slim's, a club with a trailer park theme that plays mixed 80's tunes. Some other already drunken friends were there, so we hailed a cab and headed in that direction.
Here is our cab driver:
I'm not sure what the deal was with him, maybe English wasn't his first language? For some reason he did not find us amusing in the slightest. He mostly ignored us/seemed annoyed with us. Weird.
We were highly entertaining too, saying things like: I can use my penis to scratch my leg, quit poking me with your penis, do me a favor and hold my penis for a minute, let me take a picture of you licking your penis, I bet this guy is jealous of my penis, etc, etc.
When we asked if we were the funnest people he'd had in the cab so far tonight, he held out his hand for his money and leaned over and opened the passenger door, jerking his head in the direction of the club. We took that as a yes, and headed on inside.
The club's theme was really cool and very well done. There was an Al's liquor sign, an old style bowling alley sign, cheesy trailer park signs with the plastic change-able lettering, the bartenders were trashily dressed, pretty girls that danced on the bars and flirted with patrons. Off to one side there was an old airstream trailer you walked through, into a viewing room with a big screen tv.
The booths were the vinyl type you'd stick to in a Denny's and in no time we were up on top of them dancing. The DJ was great and the mix of music was really odd, but fun. He'd mix "99 Red Balloons" with "99 Problems and a Bitch Ain't One" and "Three Little Birds" with "Fergalicious". It was like being at an 8th grade dance but being old enough to drink. The music was great and easy to dance to and sing along with. We were waving our penises in the air, pointing them at people, dancing, laughing and drinking...drinking...drinking...
Things begin getting fuzzy at this point (thank God for digital memory, huh?) but I know we were having a lot of fun. I also know we were ruthlessly and mercilessly making fun of this bleached blond chick on the stripper pole. We were thinking that the club had purposely hired someone that would fit the trailer trash theme as their go-go dancer.
Here she is in the line for the bathroom. I was in this line, ohhh, 97 times or so. Let me also tell you now that Automatic Slim's only has ONE TOILET for women. This is a health hazard, in my opinion and should not be legal.
So at some point during all of this, the manager comes and gets us and tells us he is upgrading us to VIP. Okay, fun! He gives us "Cheap Bastard" cards which mean our drinks are free and leads us up to the stage. Alrighty. Kind of weird, but the drinks are free and we're drunk, so yeah.
Now we are an unfortunate 3 feet away from the stripper pole. At this point, we're still dancing on the booth and someone knocks over a drink, all over the table, the booth and Catfish's boots. A bar boy runs up immediately with a rag, Catfish reaches out for it, dries her boots off, and hands it back to him...as we're standing in a puddle of beer, it dripping off the sides of the table and the booth...she wipes her boots and hands it back to him. LOL. It's just so Catfish.
The girl we were meeting there was TRASHED when we arrived. Over the top drunk already. She hops up onto the stage and starts dragging Catfish over to the stripper pole, which has been recently vacated by trailer trash Barbie.
I laugh and take pictures and shake my head and am thankful for the fact that I am still enough in control of my faculties to know not to go over there.
She's having a blast though and is cute enough to pull it off and is a total weiner gobbler herself, so she was eating it up and her friend Skipper was up there with her too. Soon enough she comes back for more drinking and dancing on our booth.
Then her drunk friend is back and is pulling her back towards the stripper pole...but this time the stripper pole isn't vacant. Trailer Trash Barbie is there and she is beckoning to Catfish.
I can predict what's going to happen, but she's gone before I can stop her...
At first, I laugh and laugh and take lots of pictures. At this point, Catfish still has the "Oh my God am I really doing this?" face on and things seem relatively harmless.
However, I soon realize that this chick REALLY likes my friend. Not in a girl crush kind of way either. In a "I want to take you home and give you herpes" kind of way. Oh my. I sneak over and ask if she even knows that she's on a stripper pole with the chick we've been referring to as The Coke Whore for several hours now...and she looks at me and drunkenly slurs, "But she's reaaaaaalllllly niiiiiiiiiice." Okay, then, I'll just keep making sure I have evidence for tomorrow.
Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure this is the exact moment Catfish realizes that she's not wearing panties. DON'T ASK ME HOW, but I didn't notice this until the next day when we were going through pictures.
I'm pretty sure this is about the exact moment we decide it's time to go home. Trailer Trash Barbie told Catfish that she hopes her marriage is as wonderful as her own is (she's been married for 15 years) wishes her luck and we say our goodbyes.
We hop in another cab:
and proceed to have the following conversation:
Catfish: She wasn't wearing panties.
Ashley: She was too wearing panties.
Catfish: No, she really wasn't.
Ashley: Yes she was, Catfish, come on, she was up there spinning around on that pole.
Catfish: SHE WAS NOT. I know hairless pussy when I see hairless pussy and I definitely saw hairless pussy.
Ashley: Oh my God, no way. You are so drunk.
Catfish: Why are you saying oh my God? THERE WAS HAIRLESS PUSSY ON MY BACK. MY BACK. Sir? Sir?
Cab driver: Yes?
Catfish: THERE WAS HAIRLESS PUSSY ON MY BACK. I WILL HAVE TO BURN THIS SWEATER.
Cab driver: (Shocked silence)
Catfish: SIR I AM TALKING TO YOU. I had some nasty chick's hairless pussy on my back. Don't you hate when that happens?
Cab driver: (Smiling, but too stunned to talk)
Catfish: You're shocked I'm saying hairless pussy aren't you? Because I don't look like the type that would say that. Hairless pussy, hairless pussy, hairless pussy. Right on my back. You know...there aren't enough sentences with the words hairless pussy in them, I'm gonna change that. Hey cab driver?
Cab driver: Um, yes...
Catfish: Have you ever seen Taxicab Confessions?
Cab driver: Yes, Yes, I've seen that show.
Catfish: Well guess what? Tonight you're on Taxi cab confessions!
Cab driver: (raises eyebrow)
Catfish: Now go ahead. You confess something.
Cab driver: No, not me, I don't have no confessions.
Catfish: Come on, speak up. One confession, that's all we want. One confession and this ride's on us.
Cab driver: (confused, looking worried)
Catfish: Did you hear about the time I had hairless pussy on my back? I probably have Hepatitis now. Do you want to touch my penis?
Cab driver: Here's your stop.
Catfish: This was so much fun that this ride's on us. No really, put your wallet away, we won't let you pay this time.
Cab driver: No, no. You pay me the money. You pay me this money.
Catfish: You've been a great sport, hairless pussy.
(Someone shoves Catfish out of the cab, while another of us pays)
Well, we slept well that night. Really, really, dead to the world well.
The next morning we loaded the photos on to Catfish's computer and shrieked, screamed and squealed in disbelief and we saw that indeed, she had been right about the lack of panties...and the state of the beaver. Oh my. Those are some detailed photos. She screamed "WHY??" at me and I had to remind her that I had attempted a couple of rescue missions and how very niiiiiiiice Trailer Trash Barbie was.
The next day Catfish sent out a group email with one of the more graphic photos, titled "Today I realized..." and captioned with "you are not my friends." STILL laughing my fucking ass off over this night. Sometimes, a photo is worth WAY MORE than 1000 words.
I sent her this back in return:
and this concludes our tale of the FUNNEST BACHELORETTE PARTY EVER.
(and yeah, I know funnest isn't a word and I don't care)