Georgetown Gem

an epic weekend April 13, 2010

Filed under: Blast from the Past,Story Time — kekirkpatz @ 9:54 pm
Tags: ,

This is one of my all time favorite stories that I’ve written, and in honor of missing two of my most dear friends, I will post it, just for the memories… and laughs…

The wind blew through my hair as the sun beat down on my face. We were cruising through downtown Richmond on streets where row houses were packed like sardines and tree branches hung over the sidewalk to provide much needed shade. Songs I’d never heard were drifting through the speakers, yet I felt relaxed and comforted, like I’d grown-up listening to this southern rock band all my life. Beside me two of my best friends let me drape my arms over their shoulders and JB held my skirt down; I was in the bitch seat that didn’t exactly exist – one false move and I would have been not through the windshield, but over it. I’d never seen us all so serene yet still energized. We cracked jokes and recapped the night to one another as though the others hadn’t really been there to witness the same events. What we all innately knew, however, was that telling the best parts of the night over again would help us engrain those precious, magical moments in our memories forever. Nights like that you don’t ever want to forget. Nights like that are epic.

As the girls commented about what times they’d eventually passed out – the bachelorette the earliest at 3am, the maid of honor informing us she was up every hour because her stomach hurt – I caught our driver let a small crooked smile appear on his face for a split second. JB and I looked at each other and laughed along with him, knowing that our 4am adventure was something we hadn’t yet divulged to the rest of the group…

Earlier that day, after an hour or so trying everything in JB’s closet on, then throwing it aside to assess how our butts looked in this pair of jeans instead of the skinny leg ones, what heels made our legs look the longest and how exactly our hair should be styled with that particular shirt, we finally pulled up to A’s cousin’s house. A cute cottage house on the outskirts of Richmond, we were unsure exactly how alcoholic, sailor-mouthed girls like ourselves were going to be received. We were all well aware of how A’s parents acted when presented with similar situations and we didn’t want our raunchy and raucous behavior to be deterred on a night that we should be able to let loose. Our friend’s singlehood was on the brink of matrimony and those kinds of situations call for a heavy night of debauchery. We shouldn’t have worried one bit, however. Six trays of jell-o shots and three bottles of wine greeted our anxious faces as her aunt opened the fridge to find a place for our two bottles of wine and case of beer. Food platters were full and hot, waiting for our already stuffed stomachs to realize that a couple more pizza rolls wouldn’t hurt anything; we needed as much food as possible to absorb the insane amounts of alcohol we were about to subject ourselves to.

After applying just the right amount of makeup – not too much eye shadow that you look like a stripper, just enough bronzer to have a just-back-from-the-beach look, lip gloss to bring out full lips – and deciding a ponytail would be better than a French twist, our hodge-podge group began to get to know each other a bit better. Drinks were poured and our designated drivers, S and his friend B, joined us in the kitchen for some pre-party chatter and to scope out what kind of friends A hung around; they didn’t seem disappointed. Around 7:30 we decided we’d had enough jell-o shots (ok, maybe not enough, so we packed a couple bags and kept them in a purse all night to later be consumed while we tried to hold ourselves up in the bathroom stalls without touching the seats – talk about multi-tasking) and just enough wine, we wanted to head out to happy hour at Tobacco Company. Get to this establishment early enough and you’re rewarded not only with a shorter line to wait in with those one-inch-too-high-but-they-make-my-legs-look-too-damn-good-and-isn’t-beauty-supposed-to-be-painful heels, but also with $1.25 liquor drinks for the first hour. An hour later, and we had all downed more drinks than we could count and the place was starting to get more crowded than any bar in Lynchburg.

Next thing on the list was, well, the list. Bachelorette parties are never successful unless some girls are embarrassing themselves, so JB and I took the reigns and began the task of finding ten men to say “Hi Sexy” to, along with someone to stick money in our bras and defiling a bathroom stall with our phone numbers. Interspersed between the games, bathroom breaks and dancing in our seats, we took pictures that we all agreed the next morning shouldn’t be tagged on Facebook for the sake of our dignity. Of course, we eventually all ended up with guys around us, asking us to dance, which I most happily agreed to after all those drinks. Any songs we knew we screamed and jumped out of our seats, afraid to miss a single second of yelling lyrics like “Shawty got low, low, low, low, low” at each other while smacking asses and checking ourselves out in the mirrors to make sure we didn’t look too foolish as we stuck our boobs out a little further or snapped our fingers to the beat.

In the back of my mind, I was thinking about the moment they would come get us – not only was I excited to ride in the Mustang again, but I was happy that we had decided to stay at their house so we could have an after party. Around 12:30, it was time to go – a guy with white loafers was getting a bit too touchy for my comfort, and that’s a signal to any girl that she needs to leave quickly. The ride back was the most terrifying of my life, but sitting shotgun in a black Mustang with the top down going 80 miles and hour is also the most fun I’ve had all summer. The rest of the night consisted of games like “Fuck the Dealer” and beer pong, the sharing of stories that needed to be kept in the secret vault that only high school friends can open, and a lot of flirting on my part. At some point, after B came back dripping wet from jumping in the neighborhood pool, JB, S and I decided it would be fun to go to the pool also – but we chose to go sans clothing. Needless to say, being caught by the cops would have been awkward…

Fast forward to the next morning, and you’d find empty beer cans on the front porch, wet clothing drying on the bathtub and quite a few ladies wondering where the orange juice, doughnuts and “DAMN ADVIL” were. Despite the hangover though, I will be forever grateful that I got to spend that drunken weekend with ladies I love more than life itself. The memories I took from that weekend will always be with me, and I know we will have many more in our futures.

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2 Responses to “an epic weekend”

  1. Kristen Says:

    And that’s supposed to be “most dear” – but I changed it so many times, that I messed it up. Embarassing.

  2. Aly Says:

    This just made my weekend. I love and miss you so effing much!


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