Bachelorette

The crew: the Bride, Crispy, Special K, Vitamin E, Big J, and Shaffles. I earned the nickname "The Mean One" at one point.

The place: Foxwoods Resort Casino in Mashantucket, CT.

The reason: To celebrate my final days as a singleton.

We started out with two bottles of wine in the hotel room. Then we lined up for our resident makeup artist, Special K, who had brought an entire suitcase full of beauty products. Once prettification was complete for all, we headed for High Rollers, the fancy bowling alley. We had signed up for the Bachelorette VIP Package, which included appetizers, champagne, and a scorpion bowl the size of my head. Thus fortified, we bowled our little hearts out. After two bottles of champagne and healthy sips of the scorpion bowl, this is what I looked like:

"These balls are yellowwwwwww!"

Towards the middle of our two-hour session, I hit just the right level of drunk, and got strikes all the time. Then I lost my powers and everything became gutter balls. Weird.

And the night had just begun! We scurried off to the casino, where Shaffles and I each lost twenty bucks in two minutes at the slot machines. We debated going for some blackjack, but then wandered off to the Scorpion Bar.

Ah, the Scorpion Bar. The sticky dance floor, the athletic professional dancers, the sketchy men. We had a round of margarita shots and then switched to another scorpion bowl. Special K and Vitamin E kept going to the dance floor, and whenever I checked on them, they would follow me like ducklings for some reason. Ducklings doing a conga line, that is.

We partied hard, chatted with strangers, and eventually returned to our hotel room. I sailed past everyone and into the bathroom, smiling serenely. I locked the door behind me and barfed everything I drank. We all did our ablutions and passed out.

The next morning I wanted to die. I had a blinding headache, and when I chugged water, my stomach immediately hurled it back out. Shaffles kindly bought me a breakfast of oatmeal and fruits, which I picked at miserably before giving it to Special K, who had to feed her tapeworm, Fred. Then I barfed what little I ate.

I perked up a bit when we went to MGM Spa for massages. It was glorious. We had access to all spa facilities, so we spent some time in the hot tub after our much-needed whole-body rubs. We could have all the water, juice, fruits, and bath products we needed. I softened my stance against first world overconsumption. Being pampered feels good.

We all went for a quick lunch at Al Dente. This was when my friends realized they'd forgotten to get me a tiara. Vitamin E quickly went all arts and crafts on our paper place mats, and made me this headpiece:

I wore my tiara/horns with pride.

In any case, I had recovered from my hangover by then and was ready for Night Two: No More Drunkenness. The second evening was indeed different from the first, in that the dance floor was jam-packed, not sticky, and the douchebag levels went up by 2,000%. This is because we went to Shrine, which fancied itself a classy joint, but really wasn't. I mean, girls were taking pictures of themselves in the bathroom. WTF? Plus, later in the night, the bar charged five bucks for bottled water, because they stopped giving out tap water. WTF10000??? Our bartender had no idea what an Orgasm was (so sad), and when I asked her for something that tasted like a Buttery Nipple, she made me a Slippery Nipple...with Sambuca and Amaretto. Wrong! So wrong! It's supposed to be Sambuca and BAILEY'S!!!

The best (worst) part of the night came after we finally settled down at an awesome spot: in front of the fireplace out on the covered patio. Other people mingled at a distance, so we had a semi-private lounge, almost. That all changed when an admittedly good-looking Stepford Smiler plopped himself down right beside me on the bed-sized bench. He tried to engage me in conversation, but I could barely hear him, so I just stared at him blankly.

He changed tact. "I'm not here for you," he smiled, "I'm here for the heat. You can't hog the heat." I shrugged and gestured that the fireplace was for everyone. Meanwhile, Big J was trying to send mind signals to the bouncers to get rid of this guy. I was saved when Special K made me go to the bar with her to help carry back drinks.

Stepford Smiler sidled up to Big J. "Are you married?" he asked her. She nodded, but he didn't get the go-away hint. "I'm divorced and in a relationship," he overshared.

Big J tried to be nice. "How is she? Or he?" We had just watched the Amy Schumer show and there was talk of gays, so she was being open-minded. Also, he was dressed metro.

Stepford Smiler went on a rant about "How could you think I'm gay?" and blah blah blah. He looked around and asked, "Where's the mean one?" and then went on about how he wasn't a homo. The rest of our group arrived, squeezed onto the bench, and had our own conversations as he yammered on, still smiling breezily. Eventually, he wore himself out and left. We were all, "W. T. F."

I tried to go on the dance floor, but there were too many people, and I was creeped out by how some guys' eyes would brighten when they saw our group. I found out later that by that point, Special K had been subject to a surprise Frenching, and Vitamin E had had to smack the offending dude. They also told me that they went back to check out the Scorpion Bar (I was exhausted and went home before 2 AM, because I am old), where some guy went, "ASIANS!!!" when he saw them, and some other guy (maybe the same guy, IDK) said to Vitamin E, "Fellow black person! I feel we must dance!"

So yeah...that was our second night. I think we toasted to love over dinner, and to fwendship the night before. Huh. It was like the toasts came true or something, but not in ways we expected.

The comedy of the next morning was the buffet breakfast, when our very nice waitress kept printing out our check, only to find that another person from the group had joined and was getting buffet, so she had to print another check. She did this like three times. We left a big tip.

Then off we went into the glorious springtime sunshine, each with our own and our shared memories, and with one-liners from the comedy show to sustain us. I'd offer my favorites, but I'm feeling family-friendly today, so I leave you with this photo of a food item and an ergonomic appliance:

It's better not to ask.

I'm out. (drops mic)