Monday, June 9, 2008

Ali-Stock. Or why you won't find me in a bar wearing a sash.

I'm back, marginally well-rested, nowhere near hung over (I had to drive from Boston back to Connecticut at 2AM), and also nowhere near ready for tomorrow to be Monday.

The bachelorette party was fun, but remarkably low-key. It consisted of four of us and the bride-to-be, driving to Boston and going out to eat. The restaurant we went to is known for it's intentionally rude waitstaff (think Roadkill Cafe, if you've ever been to one of those), and huge paper hats they construct for you, with some kind of "clever" saying. Observe.

This all got me thinking of what type of bachelorette party I might someday end up having. Traditionally, it's the maid of honor's job to throw the bride a bachelorette party, I know. But considering my very bestest friends (there are two of them vying for the title of M.O.H... it's a difficult decision!) live exceptionally far away, and, knowing my own personality, I'll likely wind up getting hitched VERY spur of the moment, likely in Vegas, this doesn't really give anyone time to plan me a party.

But, you know, regardless. Katie and LaVonna, if you're listening... I would like a limo, champagne, strippers, and various debauchery that only Vegas can supply.

At a bar I used to frequent, I constantly saw girls having bachelorette parties there, and I found it pretty ridiculous. You go to the bar for a night out... not... your BIG night out. You get wild, you don't just have a few drinks and call it a night.

But, then again, maybe that's just me. My 23rd birthday party last year was a four day event that consisted of live entertainment (provided by my friend Drew), sex in public places (um... also provided by my friend Drew...!), karaoke, cookouts, sleepovers, swimming... My parents likened it to Woodstock, and my friends refer to it as "Ali-stock".

So there's no way in hell I'm spending my final nights as a single woman behaving myself in some damn bar.*

*this is, of course, assuming that anyone can actually put up with my bullshit long enough to decide I am for some reason wife material.