>Thursday night I was forced to sleep with two ACTUAL dogs. Yes, me, the woman who despises house pets more than anything. I'm telling you, people and their pets will forever confuse the hell out of me. How do you just let some filthy animal in the bed... *remembers some bad decisions made after many drinks in the club* Oh. Never mind.
>Friday we got all prettied up and got Cathi to the "church" on time. And by church I mean butterfly conservatory in Deerfield. We took pics, danced, ate and drank only a little (but of course I OD'd on champagne because I don't understand what "drink in moderation" means, so I had a bit of a headache). Nina was there looking FAB as always, and we helped make the wedding rather colorful (see what I did there? LOL!) Afterward Cathi strolled from dive bar to dive bar in her wedding dress (and me in MY bridesmaid dress) dancing and basking in all the attention. It was pretty great!
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| The Rowdy Girls! |
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| Bridal Party |
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| Babies! |
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| Primitas! |
>One of Mike's friends is desperately in love with me, after only seeing and speaking with me for what--ten minutes? Yeah, he's sprung. Can you blame him? Massachusetts' white boys really have a thing for ol' Jaded, let me tell you! (I may or may not be exaggerating, but go with it. Ego and such...)
>Saturday, Cathi and Mike, still wearing their wedding garbs, took to the streets to cheer on folks running in some 10K road race that happens every year. And they made the local news! I stayed behind because listen--I have Caribbean blood in me. We don't do outdoor events in winter weather. Besides, there was a DR vs. PR World Baseball Classic game on (we won, of course!). I love Mike and Cathi but...baseball, son. Baseball.
>Later that evening, an Irish car bomb set the tone for the night. This little white boy came over to ogle at Cathi's pigtails (and breasts) and it turns out he was the very same white boy I made out with back in 2009. To hear him tell it, I "mouth-raped" him and then tossed him aside, leaving him wondering if he should call 911. Then he tried to give me bedroom eyes and said, "You're a good kisser, yo." Clearly, since he still remembered me. Meanwhile, I would not be able to describe him to a sketch artist at all. And then he went in for the grope.
I don't remember passing out on Cathi's futon at the end of the night (fully clothed), but I do remember feeding the jukebox ($5 got us 12 songs!), losing horribly at pool (I'm so rusty!) and apparently, I tweeted this literary gem:
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| I think I wrote this in Gaelic. |
Oh, Massachusetts. Just memories upon memories of foolishness.
*smooches...anticipating my next travel adventure*
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it will be soon and it will be FABULOUS!
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