I’m still trying to recover from Saturday night.
This “getting old” business sucks.
I remember when I could bounce back from a night of rubber dicks and rum and coke like that. Not the case in my old age.
The Passion Party was more fun than I could have imagined.
Fun AND? Educational.
“Never put anything in your butt that doesn’t have a cord attached.”
Write that one down, people.
I was a slightly mortified at the beginning of the presentation, because the very pregnant lady used the words “handjob” and “stuff my box” in the first 5 minutes and I was like “lady, DO I EVEN KNOW YOU? Howza’bout easing into sessually explicit talk?”
But, then, she gave me a stick with a generous sample of cream that would make my nipples tingle and I was like “I love you, now why don’t you give me a little bit of that stuff that will make my vagina burn up in anticipation of some sweet love makin?”
And let me tell you, that stuff? The “enhancement” gel that you put on your, um, you know, hahaa, clitoris ha! HA! It makes you have to pee INSTANTLY and it burns like a MOTHER. Had she said “Your twat will BURN THE HELL UP” as opposed to “it will feel warm and tingly”? I might not have been the first one to stick my finger out so I could go to the bathroom and rub it on my ha! You know what.
I was the first one to try the products and the first one to laugh everytime she said “balls” and “handjob.”
I was also the winner of the “put the penis in the vagina” game. I called dibs on the dick (a plunger between my legs) leaving my partner with no choice but to be the “vagina” (a roll of toilet paper.) The team to get the “penis” into the “vagina” the fastest would win. I looked my partner in the eye and said “We’re SO winning this.” I hate to lose. The teams before us took over 20 seconds to achieve “penatration.” It took me less than 5 seconds to get mine in. BOOYAH!
Apparently, I know how to navigate a penis. Who knew!
I did order a few things, but I will not tell you what because that is only for Pighunter to know, but I will tell you that um, I will never be able to look at a dolphin in the same way ever again.
After the Party for Vaginas was over, we all jumped in a limo that was OVERFLOWING with liquor to head out to clubs for a little dancing and hilarious little “dares” for the bride to complete.
We each had to write our own dare for her. My dare?
Shout as loud as you can “I LOVE MY VAGINA!”
I thought it was funny.
Our first stop was El Toritos for a little dinner, you know, to absorb the absurd amount of alcohol we were about to consume. As much fun as I had talking with The Girls, I have to say, I can’t remember a time I have felt so stupid and pathetic as I did at that dinner.
They are have a college degrees, they all have sucessful careers, they all own houses and have lots of money.
Me? I don’t have any of the above. I’m an uneducated, overweight, housewife who got married at 19 years, popped out three kids and spends her days figuring out ways to stretch HER MAN’S money so she can pay the bills. I wanted to run outside and cry and maybe, perhaps run into oncoming traffic.
I can’t recall I’ve been more ashamed of the person I’ve turned out to be.
I know, I KNOW, I’m lucky because I have a good husband and three beautiful children and there are people who would kill to have such a precious family. I’m not trying to demish their importance and value in my life.
But, apart from my kids, I really feel like I am nothing. I am ashamed that I don’t have a degree. . I’m ashamed that even if I wanted to (which, right now, I don’t because I refuse to leave my little girl in daycare and I do LOVE staying home with her) I couldn’t go get a good job because “girlfriend don’t have an edu-kay-shee-own.” (If you got that, then you totally watch King of Queens and DON’T YOU LOVE THAT SHOW?) (And, man, I’m way overusing the parenthesis tonight and I should probably look up the word “parenthesis” because my un”higher”educated ass doesn’t even know if I spelled it right.)
But ENOUGH OF THE DEPRESSING, SELF HATRED SHIT, ON TO THE DRUNKEN GOODNESS THAT IS “BARHOPPING!”
After the dinner in which I felt ashamed and had to rip farts to aleviate the pain in my stomach, we hopped back into the limo and headed for a little pub called “O’Douls”.
I have to be honest and say that I didn’t want to go because I expected there to be music with pipes and lots of white men drinking beer, but man, was I wrong.
Let’s just say they should change the name of that place to O’Mexican’s. I felt right at home because the mexicans? They are My People.
In the limo, I was ALL TALK about “the dares” we had for the bride. I was like “Hey, if you don’t want to do one, pass it to me and I’ll do it because I’m WILD AND KAH-RAAZY and I DON’T EVEN CARE!” HA! HA! They whipped out the “Start a conga line” card and I was like “Hell to the no on that!” You see, I was in the midst of My People and I refused to bring shame to them. Like, what kind of a Mexican would I be if I busted out in a conga line during “Lean Back?”
Can I get a “Viva La Mexico?”
We decided to move along to a different place where we could annoy men (to help my friend complete her dares) and drink of The Devil Water. We ended up at a place called “The Palms” or something like that, I don’t know, I wasn’t paying attention.
It was at this point in the night I became completely aware that I was “The Fat Girl” of the group and pretty much of the entire club and, once again, wanted to run to the bathroom and cry. BUT! Instead, I drank lots of alcohol and pretended to be totally ok with the big, fat body I was sporting.
I almost forgot about it when when guy approached me to ask me if I was single.
“No, I’m married.”
“Damn. Ok, but you’re HOT.”
“HA! HA! Right.”
*Whispers in my ear* “I’m going to give you my number anyway, beautiful.”
Isn’t that special? I kicked him in the vagina.
I decided to leave the group and hit the dance floor. The “underage” girl who got in using a cousins ID joined me and we danced our asses off with a guy named Victor who, for some reason, wanted us to find a way to get him invited to the wedding. I, in semi-drunkeness, was all “dude, don’t worry, you’re so there and I gave him my email address to prove that I meant it.
As if I have that kind of pull with my friends. I still think they only invited me because they wanted me to do The Worm if it got boring.
It never did get boring. The entire night was a blast, from start to finish and everywhere in between. Well, except the part where I wanted to kill myself because the only thing I can say when asked “So, what do YOU do?” is “Um, make tittymilk and stuff.”
Oh…OH! And the part where my friend got sick in the limo on the way home and DEMANDED that the limo driver pull over. On the freeway. At two something in the morning. When OTHER DRUNK PEOPLE ARE ZOOMING PAST YOU AT VERY HIGH SPEED AND YOU COULD POSSIBLY GET KILLED INSTANTLY IF THEY SWIRVED FOR ANY REASON.
Ok, and the part where I had to hold my friend’s hair up and pull it out of her face WHILE SHE PUKED because um, remember, I don’t even clean my children’s puke because I FEAR The Puke. But, everyone left and I had no choice but to take care of her, even if she was yelling at me the entire time. (“Leave me alone, Let me sleep here on the cold, hard floor! STOOOOPP ITTTT.”)
But other than THAT. Pure awesomeness.
It makes me wish that someone had thrown ME a bachlorette party.
I always miss out on all the fun stuff, man.
I’m still trying to recover from Saturday night.