Bender: A Story of a Bachelorette Weekend | Part III

So, after having downed four large OJs the morning of the bridal shower (Hi, my name is Francie, and I’m an orange juice-aholic), I was feeling pretty darn good and ready to face the ladies who got to see table-napping, wine-slurping, crotch-revealing Francie the night before. By this time, we had ushered Carolyn to her car to get ready at home. I put on my outfit, which was a bit tight due to a case of the McD’s triple burrito bloat (some guys like curves, I guess…get over here, Grimace!), but whatevs. And then we were off!

We left early to make sure we arrived on time, but I soon realized that Kristi’s sleep demon left remnants of mind scurvy because she had no idea where the bridal shower was. “Um, Krust? Pretty sure this is not the way to get to the shower.” “Yes it is, it’s at Carolyn’s parents’ house,” she retorted. “Um, no it’s not, it’s way out in BFE (if you don’t know what BFE is, let me Google that for you).” Sam, being the dutiful friend she is, fished out the invite, and sure enough, it was out in BFE, at her cousin’s house out south.

Kristi has lived in KC all her life, so she knew where to go. But you see, here’s the ‘ish: the house is located on Foster. But there are like 10 Fosters. We drove around in circles and soon hit the corner of Foster and Foster. Pretty sure the city planner drank as much as I did the night before and thought it would be super hilarious to confuse stupid people…or those with that oh-so-special day-after head smog. So, us being women mustered up the strength to – gasp! – ask for directions! After a few more twists and turns, we ended up at the shower.

We were late. I was thinking, “Dammit, Carolyn is going to be pissed.” Little did I know that Carolyn was in her own special place at that moment – the place you visit where it’s great when you’re crapping, but you hate it when you’re up-chucking. Carolyn emerged and looked like she had been bitch-slapped by Kristi’s morning demon. “Yeah, so those breakfast burritos? They’re no longer in my stomach,” she uttered. You see, she was still drunk in the morning, so her hangover was a bit delayed. I patted her on the back, told her to feel better, then took a long look around. While not everyone from the bachelorette party was there, many were, and I thought, “All of these girls have seen something they shouldn’t have. Or should have, depending on if they swing that way.”

Anyway, I made my apologies, acknowledged my a-hole behavior, and we proceeded to drink punch, eat fruit pizza (Cookies? Good! Cream cheese mixed with sugar aplenty? Good! Fruit? Hell, fructose will help with the hangover, so also GOOD!) and mini chicken salad sandwiches, and open Carolyn’s presents.

This picture was taken by Danielle Ross, the queen of all that is photography. If you ever, EVER post a picture taken by her and you haven't given her credit, she will cut you. Thanks for the great photo, Miss D. I'm starving.

Wait, what?!? Well, you see, Carolyn still felt like complete donkey doo-doo, so we all agreed to each open a gift for her and read the card. It was actually kind of fun, because everyone got to get involved. And I felt like I was at a poetry reading. I thought about going Beatnik, but figured the awesome rhythm and voice inflection might stimulate Carolyn’s gag reflex. Plus, Allen Ginsberg is ugly. I refrained.

So, we were there for a couple of hours (Carolyn only excused herself once!), bid adieu, then headed to Sam’s house because Kristi had to go to a wedding that night. You’d think we’d plan for a chill night, right? Nope. Earlier that day, Sam had said, “So, I kind of committed to something for tonight with my parents.” She has this way of saying things. It’s like “So, I’m going to make you clean toilets in a frat house, but I’m going to smile and speak in this really high, angelic voice so you think it’s super awesome.” Works every GD time. “Oh?” I ask. “So, hope you like jazz!” she said, overcompensatingly enthusiastic. Here, I was thinking that Sam’s parents are in their 60s-70s, so after having drunk my face off, I now have to sit through a session of some awful Kenny G/Muzak-inspired garbage they call “smooth jazz.” Something my BF warned me about. I’m like, it must be karma for being a full-on douche nozzle. Plain and simple. And I agreed to it, because I needed to be punished.

Well, much to my surprise, her parents took us to Jardine’s, which always has GOOD jazz. So, my visit to the 7^th circle of hell was put on hold…for now. We got there, I ate crab cakes (God bless you, East Coast. You have proven that having crabs isn’t always a bad thing.) and a fabulous salmon dish, had a few drinks, and listened to some of the best jazz I’ve heard in years. So, all in all, fantastic evening. And at this point, I thought about Don because I had made a good decision. But the weekend hadn’t ended. Read part four for the final segment of the epic weekend.