Back in July, I wrote a vague post about how much blogging rules and everyone was curious about why I wrote it.
I can now tell you what I was on about. See, that day or the day before I'd received an e-mail from Diana. She was looking for some advice on planning a pub crawl in Northeast for Sarah's bachelorette party. And I was more than happy to help. But she also had a request -- she wanted me to be the surprise mystery guest.
Me? Really? Ain't the interwebs grand?
Anyway, I was thrilled and terribly honored to find out these ladies wanted to meet me. I can't even wrap my head around that. Why anyone would think I'm worth hanging out with is beyond me. It's like grad school -- people were always having parties and I never went. I was a part-time student, for one thing. School and my fellow classmates were not my life. But I did finally go to one party at the end of my last year there. That night, a couple of girls told me they were so glad I finally came out to a party. They'd been wanting me to come to their parties all year.
Me? Really? I barely even knew these girls.
So, yeah. I went and had a blast, even though I ended up pussying out early because my allergies have been borderline out-of-control lately and I'd had a headache for two days (still have it!). I never even felt like that much of an outsider, which just goes to show you how lovely these ladies are. And I never had any second thoughts about showing up and going out with them. By the way -- best bachelorette party I've ever attended. Totally hipster friendly and nary a fake cock in sight.
We did dinner at Town Talk and then headed out pub crawling. Nye's was delightful, as always. I was talking to a bunch of dudes there and eventually got into a conversation with one of them that came around at some point to me growing up on a farm. It was time to leave and this guy was all, "You are the most interesting woman I've ever met in Minneapolis. You're a farm girl who can drive a tractor, but there's still an alternative sense about you. You're really rockin' those pigtails." Actually he said that to my tits, which was where he'd been directing most of his conversation. Eyes up here, Sparky.
It's weird to have someone distill you down to your essence after talking to you for a few minutes. I'm a small-town farm girl turned Minneapolis hipster. That's me.
At the U-Otter-Stop-Inn, we did karaoke and I danced with an adorable bearded 23-year-old while Sarah sang some Patsy Cline. Wha? I can honestly say that was a first. Oh, those 23-year-old boys were the cutest fucking things ever, with their beards (which I totally felt) and western shirts. Okay, I think it was just the one I danced with who had the western shirt.
I took off after the Otter and I didn't even get to say goodbye to Sarah. I feel bad. I had an excellent time and would absolutely hang out with them again. I only hope I made a decent first impression and they don't think I'm an asshole, what with the drinking and excessive cursing and my various other assholey qualities I might have displayed.
You ladies rock and Sarah, I wish you the absolute best in your marriage.