If it appears I'm dancing on top of a bar amongst a bunch of 21-year-olds like I just don't care, it's because I am.
If that looks like a blow-up doll laying on the bar in front of me, whose name happens to be Brad, it's because it is. (And let me just add that Brad was a HIT. At one point, he made it up to the DJ booth!)
And if that looks like the bouncer staring up at me seconds from telling me he NEEDS to dance with me NOW, well, you'd be correct in that as well. Though tempted by that grizzly beard of his, I did not accept his invitation to dance. (Come to think of it, he looks more like he's trying to tell me to get off the bar instead of ask me to dance...hm. I guess we'll never know.)
How I got up on the bar in the first place and how I didn't fall flat on my face, I'm still a tad hazy on. But I can guarantee that at the time, I'm sure I thought I looked exactly like someone from Coyote Ugly:
But it's also quite possible that I looked more like this on top of that bar:
It's also quite possible that I did about 679 of these Saturday night as well, because holy hell, my thighs are STILL as sore as ever. Like, an embarrassing amount sore. Like, I can barely sit down on the toilet to pee without holding onto something for support as I lower down.
Anyhoot, I must say Saturday night's bachelorette party was a bliggity blast. I sometimes forget how much fun a group of girls, complete with a naked blow-up doll, penis cake, and tequila shots can be. No drama at all. Just good ol' fashioned pin the Nacho on the Macho fun!
Hope your weekend was amazing too!
Oh, and wish me luck. I somehow have to run 4 miles today with these thighs of mine.
It's not going to be pretty, I tell ya.