I know what you’re thinking.  What the eff is this blog entry, Ashley?  You’ve gone one whole paragraph without talking about booze or boys or reporting your car stolen when you really just forgot where you parked it. Ok, ok – just pipe down and give me a minute.  I’ll get to that part (well, the boozin’ at least).

I’ve been lucky enough to become close friends with Kate over the years.  You may have heard about her from being featured in People Magazine, on The View, or most recently, on The Today Show.  No big deal.  I got to attend the annual Kate’s Club Cabaret (the aforementioned par-tay) a few years back while I was with Jezebel Magazine and last year, as the publicist of the event when I was at 360 Media.  Both times: working.  This year: not working.  It was on.

The Cabaret was being held for the 2nd year in a row at the W Atlanta Downtown, definitely the perfect, swanky spot for the occasion.  Being the responsible girls that we are,  Liza, Chesley and I cabbed it together from my place and walked into the hotel to the flashes of paparazzi cameras everywhere.  And by that, I mean, one photographer asked us if we wanted to get our picture taken in front of the step-and-repeat and we said yes.

We hit the open bar immediately and hung out in the VIP area as all the guests started to trickle into the main ballroom…and then I heard the band start up.  The band was….drumroll please…US Beat. Only the best party band in the Southeast, maybe the country, MAYBE….the world.  I want to get married JUST so they can play my wedding and they’ll have to let me get on stage and sing with them all night because it’s “my day.”  Since they played Andrea’s wedding, I got to take a peek at their entire song list and could only imagine what was on tap for the night.  A little bit of Beyonce, some Gaga, and of course, a few hits from Journey.  After everyone had soaked up a couple rounds from the open bar, shit was going to hit the fan, er, floor.

Bert Weiss and Suchita Vadlamani hosted the event, and for the first time ever publicly, Bert said Suchita’s name correctly on the mic.  However, the second time, I think he actually referred to her as “Sushi.”  Never a good nickname for a girl.  Although, honestly, I think the whole “mispronunciation” thing may just be their shtick, but hey, whatever gets the crowd laughing and thinking they’re in on an “inside joke.”

After some more banter between the two, “the video” was shown.  The Kate’s Club video gets me every time.  I’ve seen it so many times, I can literally recite it, but by the end of it, I’m always a hot, crying mess and wishing I wore waterproof mascara (as if I owned any).  Hopefully, it made some of the ballers in the room pull out their checkbooks and donate to such a worthy cause.  My dream is that, one day, I’ll be able to make it rain all over that ballroom (or, at least get my significant other to whip out his checkbook).

Anyway, back to the dance floor.  I have to say, this night was the first time I REALLY got a glimpse at Liza’s moves.  And, I was impressed.

Apparently, Garrett Gravesen was impressed as well.

Last year, Kate started a tradition of getting up on stage with the band and singing Proud Mary.  This year, she asked me if she should do Proud Mary again or mix it up, and I considered suggesting Single Ladies, but held back.  That was my “steal the spotlight” song and I intended to keep it that way.

Here she is “rolling on the river.”

She’s the tall white one with the fierce look on her face.  In case you couldn’t tell.

They DID play Single Ladies and I did attempt some of the moves, although I’m out of practice.  Let’s just say that if Beyonce saw my rendition, she wouldn’t be impressed.

Once we felt as though the bartenders were giving us “I’m not sure if I should keep serving you” looks, it was time to head downstairs to the lobby, finish our beverages and wait on a cab.  While we were casually lounging and discussing our next stop of the night, we discovered a pillow with an “H” on it.  H…as in Hesseltime.  That large pillow coupled with the fact that I had on a tube top and short skirt (oops, sorry Dad) gave me an idea.  It was time for a photo shoot.

And, what’s a photo shoot without a “casually laughing” pic?

Oh, you think we’re idiots?  Well, go find a pillow with the first initial of your last name/blog on it and see if you don’t do the same thing.

Ok, you’re right.  It was the open bar.

Of course, it would have been nice to post this last week, but considering I’m a chronic late gifter (ie. birthday gifts usually take 3-4 months after the actual b-day, and I drag out wedding gifts until close to the couple’s 1st anniversary), I figured this week was appropriate (if not a bit early) for me.

So, my parents are pretty incredible.  My mom is probably the “hot one,” just because she is in her late 50s (is she going to kill me for this?) but she looks 35.  I’m not even joking and she’s had NO WORK done. None.  People think she’s my older sister when we go places together.  I like to make it known she’s my mother when we’re out just for the reactions we get.  She’s f*cking aging backwards.  Like Benjamin Button.  Her friends (some of which ARE in their 30s) think that one day she’s going to pull off her face, The Mask-style, to reveal what she ACTUALLY looks like.  She loves to party, flirt with young guys (then send them my way), and tell crazy stories (that’s where I get it).  She’s my best friend.

My dad is a good-looking guy, but his looks REALLY took a turn in the right direction when Dos Equis began their “Most Interesting Man in the World” campaign, because he really does resemble that guy.  Someone told him this when we were in Key West and he even tried to act the part to get free drinks in the bars!  Like father, like daughter (although I don’t have a bad ass doppleganger that I know of).  He also actually IS interesting.  He retired early after 20+ successful years running his own biz, flies his plane for fun, used to race cars, has a couple old school LandRovers and a classic Porsche that he’s fixed up, skis in the winter, kayaks in the summer, and can drink Guinness and red wine like a fish.  Oh, and he loves to tell dirty jokes.  See, I told you?

Here’s the happy couple about to take over the beer pong table at Starboard on our recent family vacay.  They effing beat Cory and me, too.  I’m still not over it.

Look at them!  They are actually still very much in love, after 32 effing years.  It’s hard for me to grasp.  They still joke around like they’re in their 20s.  They still hold hands.  They still do…other things.  Sick.

I decided to ask them what the secrets are to staying that happy for so long.  Since they love to text, I asked them via text.  Here’s how that panned out.

Me: Dad!  Think about why you and mom have been happily married for 32 yrs and ill call you later

Dad: better try mom if you want something profound for the blog

Ummm….since when is this blog profound?  Seriously, Dad.

Me: something funny!

Dad: lots of wine, a large house with separate TVs

Me: our house isn’t that big

Dad: large enough to keep us apart and happy

What…a dick.

Mom was up next.

Mom: serious reasons:  love, humor and committment.  real reasons:  separate vacations, lots of good wine and spending lots of time in the kitchen cooking together

Interesting.  While they both noted “lots of wine,” Mom stressed the importance of time together in the kitchen, while Dad is trying to get away from her in the house.  Typical.

I confirmed later that Dad was joking…sorta.  I think he likes having a large enough house so he can sketch off at night after too much of that “good wine,” and by the time Mom realizes he’s gone, it’s too late to make fun of him for passing out early.  Just my theory.

All I can say is that I hope to have a relationship like theirs one day.

You just laughed, didn’t you?

Hey, it’s Jason*.  You should come to to Lewes tomorrow afternoon, we’re thinking about doing some waterskiing.

I…was confused.  I did meet a Jason that day but it was my best friend Cory’s boyfriend and he knew damn well that the following day was Suicide Sunday, NOT a time for venturing to Lewes (a “suburb” of Dewey) and definitely not a time for any sort of water sport.  What…was he trying to do?  Sabotage our day of fun?  And, how did he even get my number?  I  hoped that Cory wouldn’t decide to change our plans of a 15-hour Sunday boozefest to go do physical activities in the ‘burbs.  Needless to say, I went to bed pissed.

The next morning, as we were getting ready to hit the Starboard (and waiting on Cory to get back from Jason’s place), I had a flashback from the Cork the day before.  I totally met a guy and remembered him saying something about Lewes.  It wasn’t Cory’s Jason at all that was texting me; it was a guy I had met!  I got excited thinking that maybe I still had a chance at landing a DBB (see previous entry), but my excitement quickly turned to fear as I realized I had no recollection of his looks and may have a Sweaty situation on my hands.  But, I was willing to risk it.  I texted him back:

Me:  Come to Starboard!  No waterskiing!

Jason:  Haha cool.  I’ll see what I can do.

After that, Jason was a distant memory as the champagne bottles, celery luges and typical Suicide Sunday antics took over….

By Monday, I had totally forgotten about the kid AGAIN, but he resurfaced.

Jason (6:13 p.m.):  Hey, never made it into Dewey yesterday, coming in tonight though!  I think we’re checking out Bottle and Cork first.  You around?

I felt slightly panicked.  This sounded like a reunion was definitely going to happen.  My dad and brother would never let me live it down if some 5-foot-4 dude that looked like Sloth from the Goonies showed up to meet me.  But, then again, having dad and bro on hand WOULD make it easy to scare the guy off.  So, I replied…

Me:  Yes! At dinner now, going to Lighthouse later for sure…

A few texts later, and it was settled.  He planned to come to Lighthouse and I waited nervously for a Sloth-meets-Sweaty lookalike to tap me on the shoulder, hand me a dozen roses and act like I was his long lost lover.

Who says I’m overly dramatic?

After dinner, we all congregated on the Lighthouse deck in the Adirondack chairs for some chill boozing while we digested.  Since my friends and whole family knew the story, they would spontaneously yell out “JASON!” to see if anyone looked and make the occasional lap around the bar to see if they could find him.  Around 11:30, when he texted that he had arrived and was looking for me, I decided I needed a buffer.

Me:  Go get a drink from the bartender in pink and tell her you’re Jason. (Said bartender is Cory).

But, before he could even get a drink from Cory, my friend Emily had scooped him up and brought him right over.  He sat down in the chair to the right of me, not realizing he was sitting directly across from my giant brother and that my dad was to  my left.  Poor guy.  But, truth be told, he wasn’t bad looking.

Cory came rushing out from behind the bar and demanded, “50 words, about you.  Hurry, I’m slammed.”  He immediately spouted off an abbreviated version of his life story and I picked up some key words, including “University of Richmond,” “live in Manhattan,” “finance,” and “grew up in Delaware.”  Not bad at all.  I discreetly high-fived myself .

We started chatting and he began to realize my family was surrounding him, watching his every move, but remained at ease.  He made reference to my dad’s resemblance to the Most Interesting Man in the World.  He even asked my brother about a friend of his who played football with Matt at University of Delaware.  Could it be?  Could this be my DBB, just a couple days late?

And, then it happened.  She came out of nowhere.  Like some sort of UFO, or vampire from Twilight, or a bad case of crabs after spring break in Cancun.  This average-looking chick with a high-pitched motormouth overheard my future DBB say something that apparently made her realize that she had his mother as a teacher in school, and felt that was an appropriate invitation to sit her ass right next to him and hold his attention like her life depended on it for the rest of the night.  I swear I even saw her pull down her shorts to reveal a tan line.  What, was she in 8th grade?  I was truly stunned.

She had truly swooped in like nothing I’d ever seen before.  I looked to my brother, to my mom, to my dad, all of whom were equally stunned.  I couldn’t tell if they had a love connection or if he just couldn’t get her to shut up so he could exit the convo.  As my mom would later say, “she got him tangled up in her web and he really couldn’t get out.”  Even Matt’s girlfriend felt the need to come up and tell me how this girl was one of the most obnoxious girls at the beach.  But, at that point, I was done.  I had already been dumped once this week and I didn’t want to sit around any longer while the second incident happened right in front of my face.

It was time to take the drinking up a notch (or 5).  We all headed to the bar and proceeded to have a great rest of the night, cheers’ing to my misfortune with key lime pie shots.  You win some, you lose some.  Although, this week, I was clearly the latter part of that statement.

At 1:28 a.m. I got a text from him:  Your dad was way too cool for me.

What…an excuse for a breakup.

There was only one thing I could say back:

You’re probably right.

*

*Names have been changed to protect the guilty.

This past Dewey vacay, I did not fare so well on the DBB front.  In fact, it was exactly the opposite of faring well.  I got dumped…twice.  Let me begin.

Towards the end of Saturday night, I ended up by myself (shocker) at Lighthouse and decided to hit the dance floor.  I immediately spotted a cute guy whose hips didn’t lie and we started to dance to what JUST may have been “Dynamite” by Taio Cruz.  My favorite summer jam.  It was a sign.  I ended up meeting his friends, they thought I was cool and liked my onesie,  and we all exited the bar together after last call.  Now, in Dewey at the end of the night, you have a few options:

1. Go home (yeah, if you’re a LOSER)

2.  Eat pizza (if you don’t have any plans to make out, of course)

3. Hit up a late night party and play beer pong until the sun comes up (if you can find one of these coveted soirees)

4.  Go to the beach and “talk,” make out, skinny dip, whatever, until a rent-a-cop finds you and runs you off

I ruled out options 1-3 for obvious reasons, so my new boyfriend and I decided to trek down to the beach and hopefully, have an intellectually stimulating conversation while listening to the waves crash.  Right.

We’re walking to the beach and are about halfway there, when he stops, turns to me, and says, “I just can’t do this.”

I’m sorry, what?  Can’t do WHAT?!  No one had even made a move….yet.  There was only one explanation.

“Oh, you have a girlfriend?” I asked.

“Well, I’ve been dating this girl for about 2 weeks,” he explained.  After that bomb, I stopped listening.

Two weeks?  Either this girl really had it going on, or I was losing my touch.

I tried to hold my head high as I walked back into the Lighthouse and found my friend, Emily, who works there and was busy counting her tips.  I was also staying with her, so it looked like I’d be waiting for her to finish counting her tips while I explained how I just got dumped, then we would walk home together.  And, that’s exactly what happened.

What…a loser.

And, that was just the first time I got dumped.

TO BE CONTINUED….

DEW…start the weekend with some of the best nachos on the planet from Nalu.  I consider myself a nacho connoisseur (is that just code word for fat ass?) and these are definitely in my Top 5 Of All Time.

Yes, those are the signature pickers creeping in.

*

DEW NOT...attempt to pick up guys on the beach if you plan on stuffing a loaded hot dog in your mouth while wearing a bikini.

*

DEW…Play SHOT LOTTO at Grotto’s with Snaggle, Grotto’s star bartender.

Game Rules:  From the cups marked “Liquors” and “Mixers”, 3 people choose a slip of paper – 2 liquors and 1 mixer.  Snaggle will mix up the shots and then you will take them and try to keep them down.

I guess in this case, Chianti was the “mixer”….?

*

DEW NOT…let Snaggle convince you to play DOUBLE SHOT LOTTO.

*

DEW...order magnums of champagne at the Starboard on Suicide Sunday (ie. all-day drinking fest that commences at approximately 10am) and utilize the celery stalks from the world-famous Bloody Mary Bar as “celery luges.”

*

DEW NOT... try to grab my (or any other fiesty girl’s) champagne bottle or she WILL bite your hand.

The “victim” after I released his hand:  “has she had all her shots?!”

*

DEW…prepare yourself for 16-ouncers all weekend long at ALL the bars.  These ain’t your grandma’s drinks (unless your grandma is an alcoholic).

*

DEW NOT…leave your late-night pizza plates under the bed (unless you like the smell of garlic and old cheese in the morning).

*

DEW...spend every sunset at the Lighthouse or the Lighthouse Cove with a double Ruby Red vodka cocktail in hand.

*

DEW NOT…compliment this Lighthouse Cove bartender’s mustache.  Yes, that’s the one-and-only Matt Hesseltine, the biggest person in Dewey (and clearly, an aspiring Mexican porn star).

*

DEW...take sake bombs at one of the swankiest restaurants in town (well, technically in Rehoboth Beach), The Cultured Pearl.

Preferably with your dad (who kinda resembles the Most Interesting Man in the World, right?)

*

DEW NOT...miss the table completely at beer pong or you will have to do 10 push-ups.

Look…at that form.

*

DEW…violate the characters in the wall murals at Starboard.

*

DEW NOT…get eaten by a shark.

*

DEW…feel free to regress back to college spring break, be it with a triple kiss, beer funnel, or heck, just drinking well vodka.

*

DEW NOT...plan on recovering for at least a week.

*

And lastly…

If you DEW have a dog named Dewey and can’t bring him on vacation to his namesake, at LEAST make sure he gets to take a vacation of his own.

Photo courtesy of Greendog

CHEERS!

*

Saturday morning, I woke up in the hotel room I was sharing with 3 other girls (for the record: 1 Single lady and 2 “Teeterers”) and a recap session from the previous night automatically ensued.

“Sorry for waking you guys up last night,” commented Teeterer #1  from the other bed.

I felt a story coming on.

“You did?” I asked, totally not remembering and fully prepared to hear what I missed.

Turns out the other Single in the room and Teeterer #1 had brought home the 2 hotties from Coco Deville that they were dancing with when I left, and the foursome came up to the room where I was in one bed and Teeterer #2 was in the other.  They asked me to please move into bed with Teeterer #2 (I remember none of this) and I happily obliged, got up and walked around the room talking nonsense for a good 5 minutes.  Sleepwalking or drunken stupor?  You be the judge.   I also failed to notice (read: remember) the 2 pro football players that were with them.  That’s right.  The guys they brought home were Miami Dolphins players.  And 22-year-old new recruits at that.  You go…girls (or should I say “cougars”?).

The best part?  The 4 of them (yes, the 2 Dolphins, the Single and Teeterer #1) all slept in the same bed.  Luckily the whole situation stayed PG-13 (Or so they say).  The Dolphins DID give it the ol’ college try (literally), but the girls kept it classy.  It’s impolite to engage in anything more than a make-out sesh when you’re in bed with another couple.  Rules to live by, folks.

The day was off to a good start.  And to top if off, we remembered that we were supposed to be switching rooms since our shower stopped working whilst getting ready the night before.  The other Single (clearly still on a confidence high from her 22-year-old conquest) called the front desk and asked that we be upgraded to a suite.  Done. And Done.

It was pool time.  We slipped into our bikinis, grabbed our beach bags and what was left of our dignity, and headed up to the rooftop.  For the record, Plunge is THE place to be in South Beach on a Saturday – all the beautiful people are there, trying to look and act their sexiest, the DJ is playing trendy house music, and the vibe is far from College Spring Break.  Until we showed up.

If chicken fighting at the Gansevoort on a Saturday afternoon is wrong, then we didn’t want to be right.  Oh, and the bottom half of those chicken fighting towers ARE Canadian.  They showed up, after all.  Team Canada was definitely leading the battle of the Bachelor Parties.

After all the strenuous exercise, we headed up to the bride-to-be’s room to take a breather (read: make cocktails), yet somehow the said “rest period” turned into a Crossfit workout.  Just do yourself a favor and watch this video.  At the very least, you’ll get a laugh at my expense.  Which I fully welcome.

What…a gymnast.

We trekked back down to the pool, more debauchery (including a little game we called “Spin the Straw”) ensued, and then it was time to set up for the lingerie shower…IN OUR SUITE!  We couldn’t have planned it better if we tried.  And, we told Andrea we had been DOWNGRADED to a smaller room, so she was totally surprised when she walked into our large-and-in-charge suite complete with a cheese and crackers spread from the Walgreen’s across the street and more penis balloons than Party City on a good day.

We popped a few bottles of champagne, surprised Andrea with a video of her fiance (more on that later and NO, not that kind of video), gave her all her lingerie, made her try it on, etc, etc, etc, and then we heard a knock on the door.  Could it be? Oh, yes; it was the stripper.  Not a professional.  In fact, he was a member of the Team America bachelor party.

Did we plan this?  Well…I tried.  But, I didn’t think it would actually come to fruition.  Must have been the magic of the Magic City.

Post-striptease, the rest of Team America came up to our suite and it turned into a full-on hotel party.  You know, like the kind you see in rap videos (minus the Hypnotiq and girls in thongs) – loud music, popping bottles, and a total of THREE warnings (and threat of being kicked out) from the hotel staff.  Team America was really gaining on Team Canada for their party skills.   But, we WERE planning to meet up with Team Canada at “da club” for our last night in SoBe so we had a feeling they would secure the lead.

We hopped in a cab and headed over to Mynt Lounge, where we saw throngs of people waiting to get in, per usual SoBe fashion.  I took a deep breath and prepared to work my magic (or rather, beginners luck).  But, then the unthinkable happened.  We got out of our 2 cabs across the street from the club, I caught the bouncer’s eye while I crossed the street with the other girls in tow, he gave me a nod, and the velvet rope…was lifted.  We had no idea what was happening but we went with it.  We were in.  (I later read this on Mynt’s web site: If there’s one club on Miami Beach synonymous with exclusivity, it is Mynt Lounge.  During its seven-year reign the definitive Über lounge on the 2100 block of Collins has earned a reputation for the tightest door policy and most fabulous crowd in the Magic City.) Seriously, WTF?

Mynt was much more our speed than LIV – it was smaller, played better music and had a more laid-back atmosphere while still keeping the “club scene.” Team Canada had a table and bottle service so we partied with them all night and someone snapped a pic I like to call “The 9 Faces of Alcohol.”

I noticed girls starting to trickle out as the night wore on, and by the time I actually looked at my phone for a time check…it was 4:45 a.m.  Whooopsiiiiie.  Where…did the time go? I took a break from the “intimate conversation” I was having with a Team Canada player and looked around, hoping to see at least 1 girl from our group.  I saw 2:  Teeterer #1 and another Single.  Phew. As the 3 of us girls and the 3 Team Canadians we were hanging with departed the club, the Single had a genius idea:  “Let’s go skinny dipping!”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

So, we did.  And, the rest of the details will remain in the SoBe Bachelorette vault.  I will say, that somehow, out of the 3 of us, I was the only one that seemed to notice the sun coming up and hotel employees coming out on the beach to set up beach chairs for the day.  It was time to go.  I ran out of the water, dressed at record speed at the very break of dawn and walk-of-shamed it back to the Gansevoort.  The other 2 girls did not.

As Teeterer #1 came into our room at 8:30 a.m. straight from the beach, I gave her a proud slow clap.  She deserved it.  The fact that 2 of the girls had to get out of the ocean wearing nothing but their birthday suits, gather their things and get dressed while old couples took their morning strolls on the beach and dog owners ran with their pooches made the weekend complete.

The bachelorette was epic.  I can’t imagine another weekend that could top it.  Oh, wait…the wedding.  This weekend. In Atlanta.

Good thing we’re very far from a beach.

We were enjoying our meals and beverages when a couple of guys approached our table.  I don’t remember exactly which party addressed the other first, but let me just explain that bachelor and bachelorette parties have a 6th sense for each other.  When you’re on a bachelor/bachelorette party, you can immediately sniff out a member of the opposite sex in the same boat.  So, our groups were immediately drawn to each other and started up a convo.  Turns out there were 15 of them (good odds for our 12) and they were from Canada.  They asked how many single ladies (put your hands up!) we had and we explained that we had 4 singles and 2 “teeterers” (I think you can decipher the meaning of that one).  We realized we needed to discuss this in more detail, so we set up a meeting time and place for each group’s spokespersons to meet.  The meeting would be in approximately 15 minutes at a table about 10 yards away.  I was the appointed spokesperson (obviously) and forced Fran (remember, the crazy married one?) to accompany me.  The guys’ 2 spokespersons were also a single and a married.  This was really panning out.

The Leadership Conference:

During the Conference, we had each of our singles come by the table and strut their stuff.  We didn’t whore out our girls they way the guys did, making them shake their butts and smile on command.  I wanted to, though.  It started to rain again (those damn servers knew what they were talking about) and we all reconvened under an awning.  Aaaaand a video was made.  Please pay attention to every detail, including the “pantsing” (boys will ALWAYS be boys) and at the end, when we realize something VERY special that our bride and their groom had in common (girls will ALWAYS be girls).

We bid adieu to the fellas who we will now refer to as “Team Canada” and made plans to meet up with them the following day at our pool (their night was booked as was ours).

Back at the hotel, we surprised Andrea with her veil, penis straws and outfits:  all of us wore black because we knew she planned to wear white. She was seriously surprised at the attire coordination.  Taverna Opa was our dining destination and we had heard it was a crazy place that involved lots of dancing on the tables.  Sold.  Upon walking in, we didn’t detect any craziness, but sat down and hoped for the best.  We ordered a family style dinner, so food would just keep coming out and we would all share.  Right around our second course (which was enough food to be the main course), the lights dimmed and a belly dancer entered the room.  She got up on a few tables and I tried to gauge the situation.  When was it appropriate for US to start dancing on the tables? We didn’t have to wait long to find out.  Enter:  bottle of sparkling champagne sent to our table.  And by sparkling, I mean, there were lit fireworks coming out the top.  Time to start table dancing.

I spotted a group of guys 2 tables over and my 6th sense kicked in.  I approached them, confirmed they were a bachelor party of 15 guys (obviously our lucky number), and walked Andrea over to get up on their table and box out the 2 skanks that were already up there dancing.

This was officially the craziest restaurant I had EVER been in.  Glasses were breaking (OPA!), napkins were being thrown in the air every 5 seconds (clearly, this restaurant wasn’t “green”) and we were dancing and sweating up a storm like we were in the club and it was last call. Our main courses had arrived and no one even took a bite because by now, (9 pm) it was time to take shots, not eat lamb.

But, we WERE cautious to dance around the plates.  Notice the strappy sandal.

After dinner, it was time to hit the club scene, which most of us don’t usually prefer, but hey, when in Rome.  We made a pit stop at the hotel first to drop off the meat.  Why even bother?, you ask.  Because it was $200 worth of meat, per our bill.  We were at least going to drunkenly enjoy it later.  We ended up at LIV Nightclub in the Fontainebleu Hotel (supposedly the hottest spot in town) where Bachelorette Party #2 (who we will now refer to as “Team America”) claimed they had a table and bottle service and had enticed us to come.  We walked into what was apparently the hotel lobby and entrance to LIV and it was like nothing I’d ever seen.  THRONGS of people waiting to get in.  You would have thought it was the line outside of Wal-Mart at 4 am when Tickle Me Elmo came out.

I made the observation that Team America was nowhere even close to getting into this club, so I took matters into my own hands.  Now, I’m not going to say that I’m hot (at least not on this blog), but the 11 girls I was with are all certifiably hot.  And, I feel that I carry an air of importance (read: bitchiness) and confidence in situations like this, so I felt like we couldn’t lose.  I pushed through the crowd and somehow made it up to the velvet rope and doorman who literally had lines of girls and guys 10 deep clawing at him to get in.  I made my move.

“Hey,” I said as I lightly grabbed his elbow.  He looked at me like I was crazy….but maybe just crazy enough to listen to.  “I have 11 hot girls with me.  We’re ready to go.”

The rope lifted, I waved my arms (just a little frantically) to all the girls to get their asses up to the velvet rope ASAP and we marched in.  And that, ladies and gentlemen…is how it’s done.  Although I’m still not sure how the hell it happened.

We partied in LIV for a while, got some VIPers to let us dance on their tables, and overall had a good time, but mega-clubs like that just aren’t my style and I think the other girls felt the same.  Once I start drinking, I can barely keep track of myself, let alone 11 other girls.  I need small spaces with good music so I can drink, dance, and not get lost wandering around, wondering where the hell everyone went.  That has happened…a lot.  So, we all agreed to head back to the club in our hotel, Coco Deville, where we had been ASSURED by our hotel manager friends we would not have to wait in line.

I pushed my way up to the front of the line through another crowd of waiting people, but this time, it wasn’t so easy.  Whether the bouncer wanted to teach me a lesson or just didn’t think I had “the look,” he wasn’t so quick to let my posse and me in.  So, we had some choice words, he gave me the “step away before I call the cops” look I recognized so well, and I was about to turn on my heel and break the news to the girls we weren’t getting in, when BAM! He changed his  mind.

“How many girls?” he asked.

“We have 11 in black and ONE in white,” piped up little Kelsey from somewhere behind me.  Clearly, that would become a quote for the weekend.

“And there are NO guys with you?” he inquired skeptically.

“Nope,” I answered.  Sorry fellas, but it’s a sad truth in the South Beach club scene.    Either be a girl, whip out the big bucks, or wait in line to get in (AKA another reason why Miami is great to visit, but I couldn’t live there).

The velvet rope lifted and we were in.  Try as you might, bouncer boy, but you can’t turn down hotel guests in their own hotel.

This scene was much more our speed.  Hip hop music as opposed to house.  A much cozier space.  Hotter guys.  It felt like home.  We danced it up until our feet couldn’t hold us up any longer and started heading back to the rooms one by one.  I was the third to last girl to go up.  There were 2 girls left (1 single and 1 teeterer), both dancing with guys that could only be professional athletes or buff actors (picture Kellan Lutz in the Twilight Series).  Maybe I left because I realized I was too drunk.  Maybe I left because I couldn’t pick up a Kellan Lutz of my own.  I don’t really remember.  But either way, we were to wake up with QUITE a story from the last 2 girls left in the club.

TO BE CONTINUED…

I took an earlier flight on Thursday morning than the rest of the Atlanta girls, so I  arrived in MIA an hour before them.  Upon retrieving my bag (note: I was the ONLY girl in the group that checked a bag) I proceeded straight to the airport Chili’s (all class, all the time), downed two vodka sodas, contemplated ordering nachos before realizing I would be in a bikini in T-minus one hour, and updated my Facebook status accordingly before meeting up with them.  I was proud to see that some of the girls had been drinking heavily on the flight, but I was already aware that would happen per Fran’s (the crazy married friend) email earlier that week:

Clearly, the DJ was playing “All I Do Is Win” when this picture was taken.   “And they hands go up, and they stay therrrre!” It was one of theme songs of the weekend.

When our OTHER theme came song – “OMG” by Usher – I got a little excited and starting dancing without regard for my surroundings.  Shocker.  I was standing behind a chair at our table, started to get low, got halfway down, and then….

BOOM.

I hit the floor….

…and was sitting in a puddle (rain, vodka, who knows).  I started laughing so hard I couldn’t get up.  Then, before I knew it, two men grabbed me under my armpits and pulled me up, someone rushed over to mop up the puddle and the girls frantically tried to find and turn on my FLIP cam to at least get some coverage of the aftermath.  I just want to clarify that this wasn’t in some secluded corner.  It was right in the middle of a crowd.  The DJ even said to Fran: “your girl in pink just fell.”

The worst part: I was trying to dance all sexy when this happened.  Lesson. Learned.  I continued to dance after that, but I didn’t dare get low again…until the next night.

The party was JUST beginning.

Well, then I shouldn’t have gone to Bottle Bar for a 3-course meal.

A few weeks prior, I got the chance to preview the space while it was still in the construction phase, so it was cool to see it in the completed state.

Now picture it without all those tables which come out as they transition from dinner to late-night on the weekends.  You know that moment -  you’ve had a leisurely dinner with friends, you’re on your 4th or 5th cocktail, the conversation is starting to get crazier….then the DJ starts.  And, you nix your plans to hit another bar and end up staying in the same place you started all night.  That must be the goal at Bottle Bar.

I, of course, brought Chesley as my plus-one to the dinner and our eyes glazed over as we checked out the food menu.  Oh, and the drink menu.  I’m a big fan of places that offer a good $6 glass of wine, especially when it’s a trendy spot where you may think, upon walking in, that $15 cocktails are the norm.  What…a pleasant surprise.

After drink orders, we decided on the Cheese and Crab Fritters (I’m always down for any kind of “fritter”), Calamari, White Wine Mussels and Fries, and I ordered the Lamb Burger with Goat Cheese for my entree.

What diet?

And for the record, I haven’t stopped thinking about that burger since.  The chef, Ian Winslade, knows what he’s doing over there.

Since dessert was included in our “tasting” we had to go for it, even though I was starting to feel uncomfortably full.  Bring on Great Grandma Hattie’s Sticky Toffee Pudding and the Black and Tan Cheesecake.  I was officially stuffed, but more importantly, I needed to know who this Great Grandma Hattie was.

One of the best parts about Buckhead Bottle Bar?  It’s right next to Park Bench, Chesley’s and my old stomping grounds.  Had it been a weekend night and/or I didn’t have a 7 a.m. flight the next morning, we may have headed over there to dance on stage with Francisco and try to work off some of those fritters.

I’m sure that will be the plan next time, but I might have to skip Great Grandma Hattie and drink my dessert calories instead.

I just wanna be poolside with a Capirihinia in hand, burning the shiza out of my shoulders while playing spin the straw!!!

Just so you girls know – I still have NO voice!!!!!  All my over-reacting screams really did some damage to my pipes!

I just ate a giant burger and tater tots. Apparently I’m still hungover.

I’ve been nannying since 8am and at one point said in my raspy man voice I am really sorry girls but this is just not gonna be a fun day for you. And then I put my head down on the couch and fell asleep for an hour and a half. Their parents are going to love me. I also showed them pictures of the trip….they saw 49 pics out of 360.

I really don’t think I can wait till the wedding to get more deets on Ashley’s 6:29 am text “ just went skinny dipping”

They should make a movie about our trip.

And don’t forget to include the CPR gone bad Saturday night that resulted in chipped teeth and Fran using her glass nail file as a dental tool.

I’d like some Firefly on the rocks now please.

OMG why is my a$$ out everywhere in about half of Nicole’s pics?!!!  Apparently when you called the stripper for the night, it was ME.
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And, just a relatively sober pic that I feels sums up just a little portion of the weekend….

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To be continued….