My head hurts, my body aches, I sound like I swallowed a frog, and my emails take a few extra minutes (and spell-checks) to write this morning.  All the elements came together for a redikulously ridiculous Bach party this weekend.

Where we told Carrie we were bringing her for her Bachelorettre party:  Montauk.

Where we actually kidnapped brought her: Atlantic City.

We underestimated Carrie’s sense of direction, and thought that maybe she wouldn’t realize we were driving in the complete opposite direction until we were halfway there… We were forced to drop the bomb before getting into the Lincoln tunnel after Carrie frantically informed us that we were, in fact, driving the wrong way.  Yes, thank you Carrie.  SURPRISE! We actually got the girl who doesn’t get surprised (though there were a few close calls).

Expectations: a relaxing weekend on the beach, complete with fancy cocktails (in real glasses), beach reading, and staying up “late” until 1:00 AM.

Reality:  a raucous weekend in a casino, complete with Absolut heavy, lemonade cocktails (in Solo cups),  pool dancing with people the shade of a mac&cheese crayon, and staying up… “early” until 7:30 AM.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t fit my DSLR into my clutch.  Scratch that.   Fortunately for me (and Carrie), I couldn’t fit my camera into my clutch.  I was lucky to even fit myself into our van after looking at all the alcohol we had smashed into our trunk like a well-executed game of Tetris.  I captured what I could, and what I deemed to be blog-apropro.  Those 7 hours a night that we spent outside of the hotel room or beach?  Well, it was a Bachelorette party after all, and some things are meant to stay on my iPhone  stay in our memories.  If we can remember, that is.

(I could not, for the life of me, understand why every muscle in my body was sore.  Until I saw this picture.)

Sunday morning.  Sorry I’m not sorry.

Please take note of the tear streaming down Lupo’s face.

I think this scene was recited no fewer than 1,300 times this weekend. 

We partied till it hurt.  What can I say?  We were very dedicated bridesmaids.  A few hundred dollars poorer, but I wouldn’t take back a minute of it.  Help me I’m poor.  J.K. Rowling.

We got home around 4:30, and I dropped my bags on my bedroom floor, and face-plated into my pillows and had dreams of… whatever it was that just happened.  I’m drowning myself in greens for the next week.

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