Djyooouwanna kiss me ’cause isss totally my las nightoffreeeedom?! Wooo! Gamecocks rule, bitchez!

Let’s get this out of the way: I’m sure they’re all really nice girls. 
Let’s also get this out of the way: If you tell me that I need to lighten up and they just wanted to have a little fun and let down their hair and Crystal is a really nice girl and I’m such a bitch, I cannot guarantee your safety in the comments section.

Tonight, J, K, and L and I (I require all my friends to be consecutively alphabetized) are mustering at a U Street wine bar for a few drinks that happen to coincide with my imminent stroll down the aisle. This is not, I repeat not, a bachelorette party. It is, to quote the invitation designed by the lovely K, an “un-bachelorette party.” I’ll save you the screed about why I hate the traditional bachelorette party because this guy succinctly nailed it back when I was still in blogger preschool. No point reinventing the “whore party” wheel. Look, I’ve got no problem with people going out and getting shifahssed. What I do have a problem with is them doing it in a cheap white tank top laden with LifeSavers and the magic-markered introductory offer to “Suck 4 A Buck!” Also, if you’re going to throw up in a bar, it better be beer or bourbon, not something that looks like it would secrete from Strawberry Shortcake’s pores. 


“The extended pinky’s because I’m completely classy. But I’m totally funloving though. I have a really important job on the Hill. I mean, I went to Amherst. Wait, you’re not going to put this on Facebook are you?”



“Um yeah, the Hawaiian thing is totally creative, ladies, thanks. Even though my parents were Thai. Also, I was born in Lansing, but no, this is super sweet of you.”




“My older sister did a Paint Your Own Pottery bachelorette party. She is such a prude.”


Actually on this one, I have nothing but congrats for these two BFF brides who, despite being plastered with condoms, plastic penis paraphernalia, and the dreaded S4AB T-shirts, managed not to be the most mockable ones in the photo. 

And yes, there were at least a half-dozen pictures of bachelorette party honorees posing suggestively with cakes shaped like portions of the male anatomy at my disposal for this post. They’re not getting posted though. Because I’m completely classy.


5 Responses to “Djyooouwanna kiss me ’cause isss totally my las nightoffreeeedom?! Wooo! Gamecocks rule, bitchez!”

  1. jo Says:

    I agree completely. I’ve already warned my friends: no penis anything, no tiara. If they really push it I’ll wear something white or pink. But at the same time, there’s something to be said about doing something that you normally would not think of doing. Example, I’m thinking going to a Drag Show for my bachelorette party would be pretty kick ass.

  2. I-66 Says:

    Whatever, like you’re not letting down your hair.


  3. K Says:

    We’re doing this Bird-style. Class tank on full, natch.

    Can not wait!!

  4. freckledk Says:

    Have a ball! Stay classy, but put some bail money aside, just in case. That’s just good sense.

  5. Johanna Says:

    I think the only class-less point in the night was when I attempted to co-opt 1/3 of your Champagne flight. You were polite as polite could be, don’t get me wrong, but I could so tell your East Coast ass was thinking “You can take the girl out of Oklahoma…”

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