What A Difference A Drink Makes

I left you with a description of my geriatric version of “getting down”. At the time I believed all statements of my immense prude-itude to be accurate. I headed to the glittering streets of Nashville for my bachelorette party convinced that this place could not possibly, possibly!, do for me what a snack and a comfy couch could. Not to sound like a party pooper or anything, but as I broke free from hectic, last-minute wedding plans, I was sure this party was one foul toot away from getting flushed down the shitter. There was too much to be done at home, too many reasons I did not, in any way, shape, or spandex club outfit, want to engage in the sinful ruckus that is the downtown night life. I just wanted a nap. Just a nap and maybe a foot rub. I just…..

….ordered and gulped one cocktail called The EXTREME Heaven, felt the burn of it’s appropriate named-ness, and lost every shred of social decency I’d come so close to faking. Behold! ‘Twas the week before wedding and all through the town, not a creature could tame her, not even a cop. She boogied. She sang. She drank with no shame. She woke up Sunday and knew she’d have to type the story in third person. Her, I would not blame. I wouldn’t want to own that mess either.

Behaving... before Heaven got EXTREME!

"Celebrating your whoredom"- Friendly waiter

Gifts. And cheerleader poses. And Gifts.

Freestyle Corner Thumpin' Genius: "Gonna tell ya a story. It's congratulatory. It's bout one lucky dude and his girl named Tori."

John Lewis: Part Washington State Pot Farmer, Part prophet? Brother Lewis informed us that I have the Holy Spirit shinging from within while my friend is certainly crazy. He knows because he can smell it.

Note to self: Make a couple of friends who don't look like bikini models. Blonde, blonde bikini models.

And then this. From fine to 48 Chins in 30 seconds.

Hokey Pokey-ing... or pooping in public. It's a toss up, really.

Surely I was dancing to "Gangsta's Paradise". Surely.

The point in the night in which I discover I DO indeed feel the effects of hard liquor. Also, creepy Elvis was humming at me. I'm almost certain this was real life.

Sometimes don't challenge professional street hula hoopers to a hula-hoop-off when you don't know how to, um, hula hoop.

She's a lady.

Look, Ma! No panties! Enjoyed soaking up the view of Nashville's ladylike population.

I know what you're thinking. Shockingly he was not a stripper. Just a friendly bathroom attendant with a heart (and grill) of gold.

She's always so impressed with my skills. That's why we're friends.

Gugengigglemeister.

 I never did get to watch Golden Girls or knit or enjoy a luxurious lap around the shopping mall in my  1/2 pound wrist weights that night. I’d consider this a failure of a celebration if it’s weren’t for the extreme, heavenly celebrating we were busy with.

And now? A poll because…. a poll! The reader who comes the closest wins a big ol’ Bloggy Wedding themed prize!

QUERSTION: What body part could Tori not stop flashing all night?

Sounds scandalous, and maybe it is. Guess correctly and victory is yours!

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