My girlfriends know me well enough to know that I couldn't bear to have a bachelorette party decorated primarily in penises. Nor could I ever envision myself stumbling downtown covered in a sash with a cheap tiara dangling on my head soliciting people for dollar bills while I throw lollipops at them. (Although it is funny to imagine just HOW DRUNK I
would have to be to do that.) I count myself lucky to have such stellar ladyfriends, some of whom flew from the opposite end of the country to be with me for my wedding.
Virginia has been one of my very best friends since the first week of high school, when I volunteered to carry her books across campus due to her injured foot. It was a rare moment of outgoingness for me, and I was richly rewarded with a friend who grew from a chatty, headstrong girl to a fiercely loyal, steadfast and nurturing woman. Ginny was my maid of honor, and the first and only person that I hoped would fill that role.
Kristina planned my bachelorette party, which involved a ridiculously delicious dinner at The Red Stag Supper Club followed by dancing. This photo doesn't foreshadow the kind of windmilling, booty-shaking, sweat-flinging that occurred later that night on the dancefloor (it kind of sounds like Ultimate Fighting, yeah? Instead of dancing? Well, we take our dancing VERY seriously.)
As the evening wore on, Portia and I started to feel...pinker.
My sister-in-law Elizabeth and I had never gone out dancing together before...and it looks like we are using Jazzercise as our inspiration.
Eventually we cleared the bar out with our high-kicks and whirling dervishes. Portia invented a dance that gracefully channeled a drunk guy throwing punches (no photo available, unfortunately.) It felt so awesome to have the space to move like this, and the privacy to act like little girls at a frantic slumber party, plus booze. (I swear, someone handed me a cocktail every 10 minutes!) But, despite all the boozing and bumping, I made it to the next morning sans hangover.
Virginia has been one of my very best friends since the first week of high school, when I volunteered to carry her books across campus due to her injured foot. It was a rare moment of outgoingness for me, and I was richly rewarded with a friend who grew from a chatty, headstrong girl to a fiercely loyal, steadfast and nurturing woman. Ginny was my maid of honor, and the first and only person that I hoped would fill that role.
Kristina planned my bachelorette party, which involved a ridiculously delicious dinner at The Red Stag Supper Club followed by dancing. This photo doesn't foreshadow the kind of windmilling, booty-shaking, sweat-flinging that occurred later that night on the dancefloor (it kind of sounds like Ultimate Fighting, yeah? Instead of dancing? Well, we take our dancing VERY seriously.)
As the evening wore on, Portia and I started to feel...pinker.
My sister-in-law Elizabeth and I had never gone out dancing together before...and it looks like we are using Jazzercise as our inspiration. 
Eventually we cleared the bar out with our high-kicks and whirling dervishes. Portia invented a dance that gracefully channeled a drunk guy throwing punches (no photo available, unfortunately.) It felt so awesome to have the space to move like this, and the privacy to act like little girls at a frantic slumber party, plus booze. (I swear, someone handed me a cocktail every 10 minutes!) But, despite all the boozing and bumping, I made it to the next morning sans hangover.
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