Monday, July 6, 2009

The Bride's Last Stand

Another one bites the dust.  Getting married I mean.  And what does one do before one gets married?  Goes out for a night on the town, that's what.

Planning a stagette is quite an arduous process - I am fairly certain I sucked at the beginning.  My first wedding didn't have one (I don't think), and the second one was planned by the other bridesmaids (who did an amazing job), but by the third and fourth I think I got the hang of it.

To plan an amazing bachelorette party I like to think of themes that would incorporate what the bride loves or stands for.  One bride is a huge 80's fan who lived in Japan - so we made her wear a horrible 80's prom dress, served her sushi and took her to a karaoke bar.  Another wanted something quiet and subdued, so we planned a sleepover where we watched only Clive Owen movies (her alternate husband).  Then I copied that idea for another bride and had a pizza party with a Hello Kitty theme complete with a game of truth or dare. I even planned one in Cuba with a trip to a pirate bar that had stalagmites (the bride is a geologist).  

Anyways, planning a last party for your best friend is a delicate art of planning little details to surprise the bride all the while appeasing a group of women who can be a tad on the . . .  demanding side.  Everyone has an opinion.  Everyone wants to pay less or pay more.  Everyone should just shut up.

This weekend, the theme was 'Old Hollywood Glamour' at the horse races.  The maid-of-honor did an AMAZING job of making each girl a lovely fascinator (think Brits at the Royal Ascot or Carrie on her wedding day).  The MOH even got us a fortune teller to simulate the card reader in Portugal who told the bride she would find her groom in exactly a year (and she did!).

A group of girls dressed to the nines with birds on their heads surrounded by stags (clearly this is supposed to be a guy thing) equaled trouble.  The sad part is, I think my days of trouble are behind me.

I won't lie - I had quite a few years of debauchery and tomfoolery.  But from this weekend, I suspect that perhaps those days are long gone.  These are the signs:

#1 - The taste of alcohol makes me ill (this was a sign to my mother that she was pregnant with me.  But seeing as I am practically as celibate as Mother Theresa and I am not really expecting the second coming of Christ anytime soon, we can eliminate that as a possibility)

#2 - Wearing high heels all day made my feet hurt so bad I had to take my shoes off like a grandma - in the club.  I sterilized them with Mr. Clean later.  Also, I had to take an Advil for my sore hip and knee joints.  Sore hip and knee joints!  Clear sign I am not the girl who used to dance until the ugly lights were turned on!

#3 - When men approached me I got all nervous and stupid.  When they would try to be cool with a line like, 'Having fun tonight sexy?" I would smile and say, "Super thanks!" and walk away.  I think I used to just glare and roll my eyes.  Now I'm polite?

#4 - Dancing.  When I realize that I am simply bouncing my knees and shifting my shoulders  a la my mother dancing, I know I have become to old for the bar.  

#5 - When a girl wearing a crown congratulates the bride and then tells us it's her NINETEENTH birthday, it's time to go.  I actually said to her, 'You mean, you were born in 1990?????"  She giggled and said yes.  I nearly threw up.   I remember that year.  I remember the New Year's into that decade!  I was born two decades away from this kid! GAH!  When the freak did that happen?

Don't read into this and conclude that I am a tired old hag.  I'm only 29.  But I am a 29 year-old who at the end of the night made more sighs and gasps getting into my bed than Blanche Devereaux did in the entire series of Golden Girls.

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