And then I became Miss America and Wore an Adult Onesie

So basically this weekend was the best because: 1, I got to wear a sash the whole time, 2, people essentially followed me around pouring wine and champagne and shoving chocolate covered strawberries upon me, and 3, my friends are the best and I got to hang out with them. While wearing the aforementioned sash.

But when I started thinking about how on earth I was going to write about all of the craziness and bliss, I got intense writers block and was like "Someone bring me strawberries and champagne immediately so I can think properly!" And then my empty apartment didn't answer back and I realized that being spoiled for two days makes you kind of a monster.

So in no particular order, I'm laying it out for you.

We had a driver. 

First of all, his name was Juan, he wore a bowtie, and I actually just got stomach pains with the realization that we never got his picture! That was a bachelorette fail. However, Juan was pretty much the best and took us from winery to winery so we could appreciate all the magic that Connecticut had to offer us while keeping to a well-designed schedule. Well done, Juan.

Juan doubled as staff photographer and basically nailed it. 

I compared wine to hot sauce and didn't get kicked out of Connecticut. 

So it's possible that even though I was wearing a sash, my lack of sophistication wasn't completely hidden to the naked eye. 

Erica, the sommelier: "blah blah blah this wine is a one ounce pour."
Me to Beth and NK: "What's a one ounce pour?"
Beth: "Um....it's one ounce?"
NK: "Oh good, I didn't know how to answer that because I thought it was obvious."
Me: "I know that it's one ounce. I meant...well, is there another kind of pour?"

And then it was explained to me that there is a little pourer thingy (official wine term) that they use to make sure it's an even one ounce pour so that some drunken sommelier doesn't give you, like, the whole bottle. Which would be both tremendous and awful business all at the same time. 

Me: "Oh, so it's like hot sauce!"

And then Erica and the rest of the table just sort of sat there quietly hoping that I hadn't just compared wine to hot sauce and that maybe I'd just stop saying words. 

Get in line.  

I was mistaken for Miss America.

Obviously. And I really think it had very little to do with the sash I was wearing. 

Drunk woman at winery: "Excuse me, are you Miss America?"
Me, immediately : "Yes!" 

And then I stepped back so she could see my sash and also ask me for an autograph. But I think she became too shy to ask for my autograph and also probably respected that I was just trying to blend in and really can't be "on" all the time. I just want my privacy, America! 

NK: "Oh no, I have to text CB right now to let him know that he's so screwed."
Me: "I'm about to become unbearable."

I didn't get arrested but we tried really hard.

So, my future sister-in-law is basically the best around and makes me feel bad for everyone else who doesn't have her as a sister-in-law. However, she upped the ante for every bachelorette party for the future of marriage when she unveiled everyone's weekend survival kit filled with tums, Advil, mouthwash, mini bottles of champagne, treats, and other goodies that you may or may not need when you get back from a night out with Miss America. 

And she made us all do before and after mugshots with the tops of our boxes. Obviously. 

I have chosen to keep the after photograph
to myself because even I have boundaries.

(stay tuned below for more information on how to stay on the right side of the law.)

I wore an adult onesie.

So there's this thing called a romper, which essentially is a onesie for adult women. Or a fancier version of those old timey men's bathing suits, except mine wasn't water-proof (sadly). 

Anyway, they're adorable. And I decided that maybe the only opportunity in my life to get away with wearing a ruffle onesie was my bachelorette party, so I threw on a sash, zipped up my romper, and headed out the door. And THEN I got super excited when we got to the first club and there was a girl in the EXACT SAME ROMPER on the dance floor, so I obviously gravitated right on over to her. 

However, she was slightly less excited that we were both wearing adult-sized baby outfits and kind of wanted me to stop pointing at our clothing choice. 

NK: "I thought maybe you knew her or she was also a bachelorette or something and you just so happened to be wearing the same thing."
Me: "Yeah, she didn't seem as excited as I was about it."
NK: "She really didn't. She seemed like maybe she just wanted you to stop talking to her."
Me: "That's a pretty astute observation. That's exactly what she wanted me to do." 

But man, I really wish I would've run back into her about 4 hours later when I'd had to go to the bathroom twice and literally stood in the women's room stall of a casino with my romper around my ankles. Maybe she would've had some removal tips to speed up the process. 

Beth: "Why is it taking you so long to go to the bathroom?"
Me: "Because I have to take my entire outfit off! I'm zipped in!"
Tami: "Oh my God, that never occurred to me that you have to zip yourself out of it!"
Me: "Seriously. It needs, like, a zipper for the easy bathroom access. I think I should design one."
Future SIL: "It does not need that, oh my God. Then it really would be a onesie."

The police tried to bring us pizza.

I mean, if the police don't make a surprise appearance at your bachelorette party at some point in the weekend, I feel like maybe it's considered a failure and the state doesn't have to legally marry you until you right that wrong. 

So, we made sure that it'd be smooth sailing from here on out and got back to the room at what I think maybe was the middle of the night? And then decided that we should immediately consume pizza.

So one of the girls called, placed the order, and then we patiently waited and ate cupcakes in bed until we finally heard a knock at the door. 

Friend, opening the door: "Yes?"
The police: "Someone called 9-1-1."
Friend: "What?"
The Police: "Someone called 9-1-1. Are you ladies alright?"

And then our friend went into fix-it mode and explained that someone pushed the 9-1-1 button on the hotel phone by accident and we really just wanted some pizza. The police totally took it well and didn't arrest us but did give us a stern talking to and left. Which seemed pretty rehearsed, so I'm sure this wasn't their first time at the rodeo.

Future sister-in-law: "Wait, we called the police to order a pizza?"
Me: "I think it was an accident."
Future sister-in-law: "Ok...but then did we not order the pizza?"
Me: "I honestly have no idea. But the police were really mad!"
Future sister-in-law: "Oh they're fine. So really, though, I could use some pizza. I hope we called someone other than the police."
Me: "Uh, so do they."

(and yes, the pizza eventually arrived. And we didn't get arrested over it. Weekend Complete.)

***

There was a lot more that I couldn't properly explain - both because I have respect for myself and mainly because I'm still sleepy. But what I know for sure is this: I'll never be a good enough writer to properly express the level of extreme happiness and bliss I felt throughout the entire weekend. The planning, execution, thoughtfulness, and good company was more than any one person deserves or could ever expect, and so I basically hit the jackpot (even though I refused to gamble at the casino because that's just too much risk for too little a reward. I may wear a onesie, but I know my limits.) And for those who couldn't be there in person but sent bottles of champagne and chocolate covered strawberries and their love from miles away - it didn't go unnoticed. I'm a lucky girl.

Happy Monday everyone!