Post-Bachelorette Party

I'm just now starting to feel normal again after Friday night. It wasn't even that I drank so much, but perhaps it was what I had to drink; whatever it was, I was sick that night.

But, still, it was so awesome.

First, we started out at a friend's house where the girls had planned some surprises for me. We drank fruity flavored drinks through penis-shaped straws, and I was awarded a special martini glass, which had a phallic-shaped weiner pokin' up through the middle. (A little disturbing to sip from.) We played some games -- one involving a banana, some petroleum jelly, and a condom (let your imagination run wild on that one) -- and we drank. I had several very potent Jell-O shots, a few beers and more of the fruity-flavored stuff, and then our limo arrived.

I had never ridden in a limo before, and I felt like a movie star! Most movie stars probably sip champagne though, and we were all sipping beer, but I still think we rode in class. It was awesome cruisin through town with all the ladies -- we were a bit squished, but it's better to have a limo full of friends than a limo absent any company -- and our first stop was a club aptly titled "La Bare." Yes, it was a male strip club.

I didn't waste any time getting close to the stage to shove fistfuls of ones into those men's g-strings, and one guy wiped his sweaty chest down my face, so after that, I needed a few shots. Unfortunately, some of those shots were Jagermeister, and I don't think I can handle Jag like I used to do (in fact, just thinking of it now, kinda makes me vommit a bit in my mouth). But after the shots, and another couple of beers, I was up on stage for the dance my friends had so kindly purchased for me (they purchased many other things for me as well, some of them unmentionable here).

My time spent on stage is mostly a blur of lights and naked flesh. I know I smacked that stripper on his bare ass, and there are pictures to prove that I had a good time up there. I certainly don't shy away from the spotlight! But from there, my condition began to deteriorate and the next thing I knew I was back in the limo with my head in a plastic bag.

We didn't even make it to the next place on the list.

I was cashed at 12:30 am. Usually I can last a lot longer than that, but I blame the Jagermeister; however, it probably wasn't all the Jag's fault, a little blame might be aptly placed on my own shoulders. Every time that waiter in the club asked if I wanted another shot, I just nodded my head. Anyway, my hubby-to-be met the limo back at my friend's house and he drove my drunk ass home, where I promptly passed out on the bathroom floor (my favorite drunken sleeping nook), and he carried in all my loot. Thoughtfully, he provided me with a pillow and blanket, and there I slept through the night, fully clothed, my hair still pinned back and all my jewelry on, until morning. It was the kind of deep, dark, dreamless sleep where you wake up and can't quite recall why you're starring at the white tiles of your bathroom floor and not the flowery sheets of your comfy bed.

After I lurched from the bathroom into the bedroom, I didn't rise until noon, and then I didn't eat until evening. I felt like death warmed over.

And now it feels as though it has been forever since I last ran. Today and tomorrow are not good days to get back into the swing of things either: Hurricane Wilma is threatening our area, so the gym is closed and the weather outside is beginning to deteriorate. By the time I get back into my running schedule I'll be like a newborn calf testing out my wobbly legs. Oh well, routines are made to be broken every once in awhile, and it's not every day I get to party like that. Well, at least not with a limo and male strippers. That's special.