Champagne Wishes & Cocktail Weiner Dreams

One eye opens. One eye closes. Both eyes open. Both eyes close. My bladder is an un-snoozable alarm clock and I’m forced to get to my feet. On my way to the bathroom, I survey the scene. Half empty champagne bottles, pizza boxes, and enough Red Bull to jumpstart a hippo on Ambien. It looks like Lindsay Lohan did a tour of duty in here. What a mess, and what a blast.

This weekend my bridesmaids hosted both my shower and bachelorette party, and I will be thrilled to have my wedding be even half as much fun as either event. They started the day off like busy bee bridesmaids, scooting me off to get a quick mani-pedi in order to transform my apartment into an elegant spread of one exquisite detail after another.

Here’s the scene: white roses, chrysanthemums and gardenias with a splash of pink on the lilies in the wall sconces. Grosgrain ribbons in dainty bows around the champagne fluke stems. Fresh shrimp, sushi, and a nod to our secret desire for grease on a plate of pastry wrapped cocktail wieners. All the eating, drinking, cupcake frosting licking and gift opening happened to their masterful playlist rocking our favorite tunes from the ultimate chick flick wedding movie: Shag.

Post shower the girls took me to our midtown hotel suite. The bathtub was bigger than Russia. We did some pre-party napping before they let me know that we are going to the prom, the 80’s prom. No, we weren’t crashing high school parties. Rather, the girls and all my other bachelorette guests had tickets to a bar in the West Village throwing a party with actors playing all of our favorite epic 80’s movie roles. Johnny from Karate Kid was the primary MC of the event.

The night proceeded with all the bar hopping, dancing and karaoke that three-and-a-half inch stilettos and hot pink leg warmers can tolerate. Losing a few b-maids before the end of the night, my last standing bridesmaid and I were excited to fall into bed after a bachelorette well done, but not before we saw the token of real friendship waiting to be devoured before our crash landing into soft down and softer thread counts.
We all know that true friends are the ones we can call at 4 a.m. crying over our personal tragedies, the ones who will tell us if our butt does look big in those jeans, and the ones who we can trust to just make it all better. In the final moments of my bachelorette I discovered one more to add to the list. True friends are the ones who at the end of the night when feet ache and heads pound will still go to the all night pizza shop to get you fresh baked ziti and a medium plain cheese slice; a delicious end to the perfect weekend. Cheers to best friends.