The second weekend of revelry was filled with joy and just one or two tears. I arrived in New York on Friday evening after suffering through four straight hours of a screaming two-year-old’s plane misery. Baby brother fetched me at La Guardia and, three Lana tracks later, we arrived at a liquor store six minutes before closing. Phew. Two bottles of wine purchased, we made our way through the winding roads of his new neighborhood toward the cottage in upper Brookville where he currently resides. Wow. Those who don’t understand that Long Island is heaven are simply missing out.
Pookie arrived on a train a few hours later and baby bro treated us to an exquisite sushi dinner. Post-food, we went to Walgreen’s and purchased a ridiculous assortment of junk for late-night snacking and a two-pack of foam bun rollers which would lead to plenty of entertainment. We imbibed, did hair, gossiped and even locked ourselves out. Then, we tumbled toward bed and slept until the shrill alarm alerted us that it was time to get up for Mom.
Our happy foursome drove in the rain to Manhattan where I had dress fitting number two. The seamstress was only partially horrified that I had lost an additional 13 pounds since we last met, for a total of 20. “No more pounds, please!” She said as she pinned the excess fabric. We’ll see!
It was about fifteen minutes after we left the bridal salon that Pookie and I, en route to the Essex House hotel where we’d be staying, realized my dress for the evening had been left behind. With empty stomachs and only 45 minutes to drop off our luggage and get down to Sally Hershberger for hair, we panicked. I needed a white dress! And fast. Like a jolt of sartorial brilliance, it hit me. We were steps from the Time Warner Center and in need of a slutty white dress. Duh! To BEBE we marched!
Pookie and I entered the club-catering retailer in a flurry of wet tresses (yes it was still pouring) and panicked eyes. “Bachelorette emergency!” My cohort declared. “We need a tiny white dress. Now!!!”
The bored sales girl feebly offered up two incredibly overpriced pieces of bejeweled polyester while Pookie and I scoured the racks. With arms loaded up in cheap fabric, we hit the dressing room. Four options in, I fell for a white ruched number with sheer lace panels that was sufficiently short and nothing I would wear in “real life.” Perfect! I threw my credit card and the frock at my maid of honor and off she scurried to make the purchase.
Hours later, after color and blowouts at SH (love you Justin!!), swank manicures and Veuve at the Parker Meridian hotel, and countless fits of bridesmaid laughter later, the fun was truly underway. Oh, and the rain cleared up. Yes!
More friends arrived and we guzzled champagne like Rockefellers until 8:45 when everyone who was dressed and ready headed down to the Essex House bar. You might be shocked to learn that I really don’t mind having all eyes on me (!), so along with three of my girls, I shamelessly strode into the bar, decked out the BEBE dress, a veil, a Bride pin, a Future Mrs. Gerson sash, red furry handcuffs and more makeup than a drag queen on the clock in Vegas. Loved every minute.
We sipped on elderflower and potato vodka until the rest of the girls were dressed and coiffed and then off we went to an impossibly chic dinner at ABC Cocina. (Thank you girls!!!) The meal was glorious. I had Pookie and my friend Kate make our menu selections (highly recommended! Let someone else order for you – it adds even more surprise). At dinner, Bachelorette Dare cards were pulled out and the next thing we knew, strangers were serenading us, notes were being passed, and much laughter ensued. I knew Josh would be pleased to take in the scene when a man in his mid-forties approached our table and scolded us for being so tame. See?? You can be a bachelorette and still keep it classy. I swear.
Lots of dancing at Macau Trading Company was followed by a few scary cab rides, painful feet that ended up bare, and penis pancakes with insanely wonderful cheese fries at Bubby’s downtown. The last girls standing stumbled out into cabs and took off for our various beds.
Swaddled in the crisp, cool linens of the Essex House bed I shared with Pookie (it bares mentioning that this is the first fancy hotel I have a cognizant childhood memory of, so its grandeur and comfort are steeped in nostalgia), I drifted off to sleep. On Sunday morning, we showered and packed, then headed for brunch with the group at Sugar and Plumm, a fantastic restaurant on the Upper West Side. Two massive coffees and a gluten-free crepe later, I found myself looking around the table in awe. While I secretly snuck texts to my sweet fiancé, feeling the endless love of friends both old and new all around me, I realized with bold, pure conviction, I am an incredibly lucky girl indeed.
So here is how to be a bachelorette, and maybe just a person. Look around. Take it in. Be grateful. Give it back. Don’t tell yourself you don’t deserve it, but rather, be the person who does deserve it. We have less than five weeks until the big day. And I will soon be someone’s wife! These last moments as a “single” girl are fleeting, but my friendships are not.
And my love for Josh is worth every compromise, every bump that lies in the road ahead, and so much more. When we say, “I do” in a few short weeks, the fun is not going to end. It will be just beginning. And I’m lucky to have truly amazing friends and family by my side for the adventure.
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