You see, yesterday morning we were the picture of a couple of 8-year-olds who had never stayed at a hotel with an underground pool. We were up by 7:30, bikinis on, hair in perfectly messy ponytails, and ready to sprawl out our trashy magazines, listen to Rhianna, and talk about boys. And then we realized that it was 45 degrees outside and we put on our pouty pants and marched, cross-armed, over to Tommy's Grill where we enjoyed a greasy spoon kind of breakfast before easing our pain at the nearby DSW.
With a new pair of shoes each, we sauntered back to the hotel, ready to brave whatever elements awaited us in order to get attain the perfect shade of golden for the night's wedding. Of course, with goosebumps on our skin the thought of slathering on cold lotion with our cold hands was unbearable. I mean, plus the UV rays don't work when it's cold out. Duh. We broke open the bottle of gin Mamie accidentally bought the day before, took the to-go cups to the pool, and within thirty minutes we were in our own southwestern heaven. There was even a 12-year-old girl playing "Rude Boy" on her phone near enough for us to sing along and far enough away for us to discuss how fully appalled we are at the lyrics. Not so secretly we wished she would've had it on repeat. And if you ever happen to find it on my itunes it's because someone else downloaded it. Stop judging. Three and a half hours later we were fully fried. Cheers to a day by the pool.
Still a little tipsy and now jamming to some Luda on my computer, I was showered and ready for Jess to pick me up to go begin official bridesmaid duties. Mamie was "ravishing" (for the rest of us that's "ravenous") so we ordered a $31 pizza.
We're in Houston for the nuptuals that took place last night between my dear friend Erica and her most charming groom, Mark. It was a breathtaking affair on an absolutely gorgeous night in Houston. Erica was calm and collected all afternoon-- a perfect bride. Every last detail was
considered and the entire event was picture perfect... from the homemade-by-Erica cookies in the favors to the spray painted miniature clothespins that held their guest quilt. As a bridesmaid in the wedding I had VIP seating during the ceremony and was witness to a nearly palpable exchange of love and committment. To watch Mark look at Erica brought full on tears to my eyes. It's exactly the way each of us wants to be looked at. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Raggett on your blissful day.Enough with the sweet talk, let's get back to the Bitter Betty we all know I am. After nearly crying again when fathers were dancing with their daughters, we joined the dance floor for some Michael Jackson. It's no surprise that we were wishing it was Justin Timberlake, but we enjoyed it enough to do a little in place bouncing and then we were headed upstairs to the bar. This is when we were lucky enough to enjoy a brief but weighty conversation with a fellow guest at the wedding. Seriously, the whole conversation start to finish couldn't have been more than 2 minutes and 13 seconds, but in that time our new pal told us that she "turned thirty and began reevaluating her life," which is why she has decided to leave med school in her third year of rotations. If you're reading this blog, you know I'm in a near panic about my damn birthday in less than a month. If I wasn't so dehydrated from all of the drinking, sunning and crying I would've ordered a shot of whiskey. Instead, I tipped back some water, we collected our things, and we were snug in our beds by midnight.
We're being picked up in less than an hour so I must go. I know you're dying to know about all of the excitement of today, but you'll just have to wait until later. Our apologies.
Also, Mamie was supposed to write this blog, but she keep bailing. Perhaps if you comment that you'd like a different author she'd finally put that damn Shopaholic book down and leave her blogging legacy.
xox.
krb
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