11 years ago, my girlfriends and I were screaming things like, “Vegas, baby!” and, “Whatever happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas!” and maybe even a little bit of, “Take it off!” It was my bachelorette party. I was 29, most of my friends were in their 20’s or early 30’s, and I believe my sister was 36 at the time. It was an amazing time, but I know my sister and perhaps 2 of the other girls that were pregnant didn’t have the rip roaring good time us drunkies had.
Fast forward to the present, and I’m 40. My future sister-in-law, Lauren, so very sweetly invited my sister-in-law, Megan, and me to her bachelorette party in Nashville this past June, which has become the new capital of bachelorette parties. Most of the girls going were in their late 20’s/early 30’s, so I was a bit hesitant because Megan and I would be the old ladies of the group. Now, I’ve never been accused of being a kill-joy, and even if I’m not down to party, I’ll take one for the team and try to be a joiner and just have a good time. And since it was really nice of her to invite us, I put my worries about being an old, unfashionable hag aside, and Megan and I decided to go. Being about 8-12 years older than everyone else, Megan and I were in for a big lesson on fashion, social media, and time management.
The “Nashty Weekend,” as I, and sadly only I, like to call it (it just never caught on), started with a cool airport experience with Megan. Megan is a world-traveling working mom, who let me into the United Lounge, which is this amazing club house of free samples. Well, it’s not really free because she has to cover the annual fee, but she brought me along as her guest, and I felt fancy. This place has a bar, snacks, and even soup and cheese. Is this a stay-at-home mom’s dream or what? I mean, it’s still an airport, and through the window I see the simple folk that I usually role with (as in, all the time), but I was still enjoying this odd opportunity for a non-traveling person to have a tiny taste of the finer things (like free cheese and free soup).
Most of the people in this lounge looked like seasoned travelers, business people dressed in mostly business casual attire. And here I was, dressed for a Nashville bachelorette party in booty denim shorts, a summer hat, and cowboy boots, carrying an old ass backpack that is at least 13 years old. So the experience was extra hilarious because everyone there knew I didn’t belong. If my outfit wasn’t a dead giveaway, my frequent trips to the free food line was a pretty big tell too.
Was I a little embarrassed about being in there when I looked so out of place? Yep. Did I enjoy it when people were staring at me? Maybe a little bit, as I did look like I was wearing a Halloween costume in the middle of summer. Would I do this again? Totally. I mean, who cares if for a day or two I got a taste of the perks of a frequent flyer? It’s an interesting experience to see a different perspective of a very different lifestyle than mine. I knew just from sitting there for an hour or so that, while I enjoy free soups more than anyone, that lifestyle of constant on-the-go travel is not for me. But maybe it has at least shown me that I wouldn’t mind at all perhaps upping my travel game, traveling more, or maybe allowing myself an occasional fancy treat. Like soup.
We left the lounge with me grabbing a handful of free mints for the road, and we were on to our next adventure. Our flight was just a sweet, sweet midday nap, something I rarely get. I was already so grateful for the trip, just to have a break from the everyday hustle and bustle of corralling small children to and from activities. We had decided to join the party a day later because of our schedules, so we had to find housing separate from them. They were staying in a neighborhood just outside of the city at an Air BnB. Since Megan is a self-proclaimed hotel snob and said she only stays at Marriott hotels, we decided to stay in downtown Nashville at a very nice Marriott-owned establishment. It was a super cute hotel with old-fashioned decor and in a great area. 11 years ago, I would have thought this hotel was “too bougie” for my taste, but now I felt like, “Oh hell yes, I deserve this.” We settled in and started to get ready for the night. I put on a dress that I bought at Target about 3 years ago and about 5 lbs lighter, so Megan was on-call that night to let me know if I blew any buttons off my dress. She put on a cute denim skirt and top, and we both pulled on our cowboy boots. We were two smoking-hot mamas (said ourselves in the mirror, which was sadly the only time we heard those words again that weekend).
We called for an Uber and waited at the lobby. Suddenly, we see a storm just rip through the city, people running for cover, hotel valets bringing their posts and signs in. It didn’t seem like a wise decision to get into a car at this point in time, since the storm sirens were sounding off and it seemed like a mini tornado was just around the corner, but we already did our hair and makeup, so we just got into our Uber anyway. The Uber driver begins the drive, and we start heading into a pretty sketchy area. Now we are lost and the sirens are raging on. I begin to think, “Ugh, I’m going to die in cowboy boots? Didn’t see that coming.” We finally find the right house, and the worst of the storm also seemed to be behind us, so things begin to look up again.
We were greeted by young drunken boys that were renting the house next door, with them hollering, “Hey ladies, why don’t head over this way.” I quickly reply, “Order a pizza and we can talk. No pizza, no talk.” I was hungry apparently. We enter the girls’ rented place for the weekend, and it is a really nice house. Everyone in the group seems nice, friendly, or at least willing to shake our hands. And even if they weren’t, who cares, we were there for Lauren. They hired a chef to make them a nice dinner, and my first thought was, “Man, things have changed from Vegas buffets and then straight to the clubs back in the day.” They were really classing things up, and I’m just not familiar with putting the words “classy” and “bachelorette party” in the same sentence, unless the sentence was, “Wow, that stripper’s banana hammock was really classy.” The dinner was delicious, better than a pizza that those boys next door did not order.
The single girls in the house began to mingle with the single guys next door, but a stubborn fence kept them apart. None of the youngens knew how to open the fence and they struggled with it for a good 10 minutes. I put my boots on and opened that fence in 10 seconds, putting my supermom powers to work. That’s about all the wingman work I did for the weekend. I gave the girls a look like, “Okay, fence is opened now, go get laid.” Again, I’ve been out of the bachelorette party scene for a while, so I don’t even think that’s a thing anymore. Or maybe it is, but this mom will never know.
I had forgotten how long it takes a group of ladies to get ready to go out, but I was reminded that night that it was quite the process. Apparently, no one packed their Target outfits except for me, and no one was sporting the local cowboy boots look except for me and Megan. But it was all good, we owned the look. Lauren and her girls were dressed to impress and ready to party, while I was already drunk off of one drink from dinner and Megan was falling asleep as it neared midnight. We made it to 2 bars, chugged our drinks, did a little dancing, and then headed back to the hotel. Yeah, we played the tired mom card and called it a night.
The next day, while Lauren and her friends were recouping from the night before, Megan and I walked through town, did some day drinking at a few spots, and I watched Megan shop (I’m not a big shopper…see multiple Target references above). Then we headed back to the hotel in the late afternoon, tucked ourselves into our cozy beds that we didn’t have to share with anyone, and watched a cheesy Lifetime movie. I swear we were at a bachelorette party; just resting up to prep for another night past our bedtimes I guess. The movie was longer than I expected (one too many scenes of endless staring into the possible future), so I washed my pits really quick in the sink, slapped some new makeup on over my old melted makeup, and put on another dress, this one from Ross from the clearance rack. And guess what, no one brought their Ross clothes either. Megan said she’s never even stepped in a Ross store before. So I guess I was cool, but not cool like Fonzie; more like, “You shop at Ross…coocoocoocoool.” I was fine with it, as I believe it was already established that I was not the fashionable, chic, or technology-savvy one in the group.
Megan and I checked out the speak easy that was in the basement of the hotel. Super cool atmosphere, definitely somewhere I would have liked to stay longer, had the Lifetime movie ended sooner. We didn’t want to be late for dinner, so we split a dirty martini (extra dirty…because I like to say that and I also because I like olives) and pretty much downed it. Needless to say, in no time, we thought we were hilarious and quite possible the best people that ever walked the town of Nashville. We got to dinner 5 minutes late, and we were a little nervous that the group would be upset, only to find that just half of the group was there. The atmosphere seemed slightly tense, as the punctual group waited for the late group, and Megan and I sat there and watched the drama unfold. Our martini buzzes were slowly transitioning into sleepy time feels when the other half of the group arrived. A nice dinner was had by all, and leave it to me to ensure that clean-plate-club rules were followed (i.e. I finished the bread and other people’s leftovers). Listen, there was plenty of stretch in my Ross dress, so I had every intention of getting my eat on.
During and after dinner, Megan and I watched a shit ton of photos being taken, from selfies, to pictures of food, to full body photos, to picture of the table from one side and then the other to ensure everyone got their good sides in, and the list goes on and on. There was FaceBooking, Instagramming and Snap Chatting happening all around us, and I kept thinking, “Ladies, eat your food before it gets cold. Also, are you going to eat that roll?” Now, everyone likes pictures, especially if you are looking especially fly that night, which everyone did. And I do remember taking lots of pictures with my handheld digital camera at my bachelorette party too, mostly while wearing penis paraphernalia, so I’m certainly not judging. It’s just a new time, a time when posting pictures is fun, and I was soaking it all in. I guess I’m just more of a words person than a picture person (says my double chin).
After a few more post-dinner pictures (which meant I really had to tuck my shit in), we headed to a bar. Megan felt her inner clock ticking away and her bones were telling her it was nearing midnight. We had a drink with the group and then headed back to the hotel before we turned into pumpkins. She fell asleep right away, while I decided to fit in one more Lifetime movie. I’m a party animal.
For our final day, Megan and I went for a nice breakfast before the group all went to a vineyard for a wine tasting. Thank goodness we had a chance to eat because this here one-drink-wonder would have been hammered off my ass from just the tasting. In fact, I even gave a lot of my wine to Megan because I didn’t want to be drunk on the plane ride home. Lauren and her girls, on the other hand, didn’t have time to eat, so they were pretty toasty by early afternoon. Megan had to leave early for a business trip, so it was just me and the youngens, and I enjoyed being the outside observer. They were tipsy, laughing, and loving life, as they should at a bachelorette party. It took me back to mine, minus the penis straws, tiara, and bride-to-be sashes, when my girls and I were having the time of our lives and living it up. And then I thought about my sister, the older one of our group that weekend at my bachelorette party, the stay-at-home mom watching us make asses of ourselves. I now know what she was thinking that weekend we were in Vegas, how this was fun a few years ago, but she didn’t miss this scene much anymore because life gets better in a different way. I get it now.
A part of me during this Nashville weekend felt a tiny sense of longing, missing easier days when following a schedule wasn’t the most important thing, that if you felt like taking a nap you could drop what you’re doing and sleep. It hasn’t been like that for me in 8 years. It probably won’t be like that until my kids are away at college. I also missed the days when I had that sexy, pre-mom bod that would dance on top of bars without worrying about spraining my ankles in heels or dislocating my hip if I dropped it low. But the longing feeling came and went like a flash, because like I said, life got so much better in the past 11 years. Now I can wear my pj’s, drop it medium low, and still have a people gawking at me, even if it’s just my husband and kids laughing at me, wondering if I’ll be able to get back up.
This weekend was a blast for me, a unique experience of watching a version of me from the past, and of appreciating my present self for who I am now and what my life is today. And maybe some of the girls who got to know me thought that they were seeing a version of their future selves a few years from now. Or maybe they were like, “40 looks rough. Better party while I can.” Yeah, definitely do that!
The Mundame 