With our Hurricane motorhome covered in clever sayings and our cups full of cocktails, the Bachelorette and her brigade headed to the first Bachelorette Bash stop: karaoke. We arrived to find the Bride-to-Be’s name in lights on the marquee – so far, so good. Inside, the bar was set up with tables, reserved for us, around the dance floor. “I’m telling you, party planners,” Oreggano said as we ordered our first glass of wine. Sleepless was in awe with all of the celebrations. “You really didn’t need to do this,” she told us. “Of course we did,” I said and added, “You only get married a couple times.” First, second or third wedding, Oreggano and I will make the party so good you’ll want to do it all again.
We spent several hours at the karaoke bar – plenty of time to sing our favorite hits and shake our boas until the feathers covered the floor. “Oh my,” Sleepless wisely observed, “We’re leaving so much evidence.” It wasn’t just the feathers we were leaving behind. We were leaving glitter, memories, and her single life behind us as we walked out the door and headed to our next destination: to be determined.
Ice Cream Man had given Oreggano and I an envelope, addressed to “The Girls of Glitter Gulch,” to open and read aloud once we were all together. So, at the karaoke bar and as the party planners, Oreggano and I took it into a stall and opened it up for a preview. As the party planners, we had to know if our plans would need to be adjusted. After laying everything out on the toilet seat, we both agreed we could move forward with reading it aloud and adjust our plans to accommodate his love note.
We exited the loo, took the stage and the mic, and invited Sleepless to join us. Ice Cream Man’s package was full of innuendos about Magic Mikes/mics, as well as several Washingtons (those are one dollar bills for you high rollers), aspirin and bandaids. We quickly determined our next destination: strip club down the street, packed up our belongings, and headed to the motorhome for shots.
Also in our company at this point was a male blow-up doll. He had several names, but Juan was the ‘juan’ that stuck with him and his nickname soon became Juan Night Stand. We threw a t-shirt and boxer shorts on him, so as to avoid any trouble in public places, and proudly entered the strip club, Juan Night Stand in tow. Within minutes, they recognized we were a bachelorette party – could have been all the tutus, feather boas we were wearing and/or Juan Night Stand – seated us in the VIP section and brought us complimentary champagne. Our driver was quite pleased with both the service and the venue and quickly withdrew several hundred dollars for us to give the dancers. “Make it rain!” he kept telling us. Make it rain, we did. The dancers loved us. At one point, Sleepless’ soon-to-be sister-in-law came over to our dancer, exclaimed, “I love little titties,” and then made it rain. Not surprisingly, we quickly ran out of ‘rain’, grabbed the blow-up doll, and decided to make our way to our next and almost final destination: a country line dancing bar.
We arrived to find a bar full of exactly what we expected – plaid shirts, short skirts, Wranglers, boots, and bull riding. After observing the bull riding competition, Sleepless decided to give it a go. A minute or so later, we were back on the dance floor. Riding a bull is not like riding a bike – it doesn’t ‘just come back to you’ and they don’t provide a helmet. Luckily, her bucking off didn’t require bandaids or aspirin – but we had them if needed. By the time we were ready to leave we noticed we were short one girl – last seen dancing with a guy in a plaid shirt, Wranglers and boots. “It wouldn’t be a true bachelorette party if someone didn’t have a Juan Night Stand,” I advised. They all agreed and Oreggano made an executive decision to leave her behind. Later, we found out (from law enforcement) she willingly entered a cab with several men. We also found out the Bride-to-Be didn’t really know her, rather, she just came with one of the invited guests. “Good,” I told Oreggano and Sleepless and added, “I’d much rather we outsource that type of activity.”
As we drove toward home, we knew we had one final stop: That’s Not Chinese’s house. She and Unfazed had intended to attend, but opted out at the last minute. We rolled up in the ‘party on wheels,’ ran to her door, then knocked and sang out her name – to no avail. We went around back and did the same thing. Nothing. I decided to climb the fence, but gave up before even trying. We finally relented, ran back to the motorhome and called it a night. Leaving behind a little rain everywhere we went: feathers at the karaoke bar, one dollar bills at the strip club, a girl at the country bar, and a lasting impression with Unfazed who, unbeknownst to us, had opened the door and watched us run back to the motorhome. “Like little mice,” That’s Not Chinese later told us. Little mice is about right. We are nocturnal, enjoy nibbling on midnight snacks, totally would have snuck into That’s Not Chinese’s house if we could have found a way in (without climbing the fence, of course), and may, one day, be helpful scientific subjects. Until that day, we’re just going to keep making it rain!