The Bachelorette

This past weekend, I made a whirlwind trip to San Francisco for less than 48 hours for a combination bridal shower/bachelorette party to celebrate one of my high school friends. I went back in the archives to see if I discussed her engagement when it happened last summer, but I only mentioned it briefly in the context of a whine about being single, so here we go: she's marrying an Aussie she met on New Year's Eve in Budapest---very romantic! He was living in London, she was living in Spain, they fell in love over Skype and while traveling together to many exotic places. They've been living together in London for the last few years, and they're just adorable. I love her and am so happy for them.

I was stressin' about the weekend, as you know, but of course I ended up having a fabulous time, as I knew I would. I'm so glad I got to celebrate with her, as I can't make the wedding. SINCE IT'S IN FIJI. You think I couldn't really afford a weekend in SF? Try a trip to FIJI.

The weekend began, well, not as planned. I set my alarm early, giving myself plenty of time to shower, and finish gathering my shit, and get to the Buff's so we could carpool to SB, meet up with the rest of the crew, and head to SF. Except...it didn't go off. Because I set my weekday alarm. I happened to wake up exactly at 6:50am, which was precisely the time I needed to leave to get to her house by 7:15. I literally knocked on her door exactly on time. No shower for me.

We got to SB early, met up with the girls, and crammed ourselves and our stuff into one of the husbands' bigass SUVs. Thank god for married folk and sharing! We had an awesome time road trippin' up the coast, gossiping and laughing and singing along to the weekend's theme song. We stopped at Denny's for a wholly unhealthy feast of pancake bites and breakfast burritos and milkshakes, then immediately all fell into food comas once back in the car---except, of course, the driver. Before I knew it, we got to our classy hotel in San Francisco (after we looped around the block once when we missed the entrance, blasting Miley and Kanye and dancing our asses off for the amusement of strangers on the sidewalk) and the staff treated us ever so nicely. Like we were adults or something. Seriously, highly recommend the Stanford Court, they practically encouraged us to party.

We freshened and prettified, and the bride arrived, and off we went to the bridal shower. It was held at a beautiful, amazingly decorated apartment on the water, right near...one of the various piers, 30something, with the following, unedited view from the roof:

The bridal shower was so sweet and wonderful, with delicious food and lovely conversation and fun games and copious wine and it was all very, very classy...just like me.

After all the older and younger and more conservative of the guests went home or back to their hotels, those of us with naughtiness in our veins changed our attitudes and our clothes and got ready to go out on the town. There were shots. There was face paint. And we were ready. 

Of course, the bachelorette was a vision in white as is customary, from her dress, to her veil, to her sparkly white wig, and we her loyal maids (not all official bridesmaids, but maids for the night in spirit) were bewigged in neon bobs.

Like SO:

And me?

I LOVED HAVING PINK HAIR. I was so sassy. I got to be someone else. It. Was. Fabulous. I never wanted to take it off. Now I know why Katy Perry dyes her hair so much.

We went out and danced and made friends and drank and squealed and were generally obnoxious. It was a grand ole time. I don't even know what we did half the time, but it was splendid. 

At the very end of the night, as we waited for cabs, I was standing off by myself on the side of the street. An extremely drunk British guy came up to me and said, with what seemed like complete sincerity, "Is that your real hair?"

"Do you think this is my real hair?" I replied with equal sincerity. 

"...no?"

"Good job!" It was like I was talking to a puppy. A drunk puppy. 

"What color is your hair?"

"What color do you think my hair is?"

"...brown?" His hopeful guesses were pulled out of his drunken brain verrrry carefully.

"GOOD JOB!"

This went on for a while. I could not stop my playful bitchiness, until my friends found a cab and I ran off with a screamed, "Bye, I love you!"

The cab took us past Taylor Street, which of course made my narcissism very excited.

Once back in the hotel room, we ordered a 3AM pizza, feasted on Doritos, and then passed out happily.

Of course...the next morning, not so happy. But that doesn't need to be recapped. Eventually we all made it home safe and sound, including the bride, with our memories to comfort us when...other things were not so comfortable.

I hope my friend greatly enjoyed her American bachelorette. She also had a British hen party, and will have another in Sydney. Such the melting pot wedding, this is.

So...who wants to buy me a ticket to Fiji?