So we pick up preggers and we’re on our way…or so I thought. Naturally, we hit a wall of traffic.
Then, I swear not more than 10 minutes into the trip, preggers is directing our driver to an exit that has a Chick-fil-a. Gizzy’s point to me was, “but Chick-fil-a is so good.”
Yeah, it is. But we’ve been in the car 10 fucking minutes, we have a two-hour drive ahead of us, is it so insane that I’d like to get somewhere before 10 pm?
So we finally make it to Chick-fil-a, me listening to pregnant talk. She pretty much related everything back to being pregnant. I could’ve started talking about penguins and she would’ve found a way to remind me she was with child. I was about to explode with anger, even with my vodka taking a slight edge off.
We arrive at our destination—a giant casino/hotel/resort/bar/place for Lucky to fuckin’ party. We get ready, go to dinner, and head to the club. Once we got there, I go to get us the first round of drinks (a non-alcoholic beer for preggers) to find out it’s ladies night and we drink for free. YES!
During the course of our outing (10 p.m. to 3 a.m.) we ran into four other bachelorette parties and two bachelor parties. One of the guys brought tons of attention to himself because, A. he was a big guy and 4. he had a giant whistle around his neck. Which, of course, I insisted on blowing. Why do I do that shit?
Anyway, there was this guy in one of the Bachelor parties wearing a black button-down shirt that he had unbuttoned, nearly to his belly button. He was putting on the Rico act, and it was funny after about 4 vodkas, but I’m not into the guido-type.
So anyway, we roll back to our rooms, ready to get some sleep before the anticipated day at the pool Saturday.
Saturday morning, we get up, pack some drinks and hit the pool. I was really enjoying just relaxing, chatting, and even a little bit of reading, but a couple of drinks in, I was ready to scope out the scene. From my chair, I could see a group of about 20 guys, who’d just ordered a tray of jello shots. Perfect.
So preggers agreed to join me, along with our bachelorette. On our way to the scene of the shots, Rico stopped us—hey hey ladies! It’s really hard for me to recognize people I met while wasted. Especially meeting them in the club, and now at the pool—but looking around, it was the same guys.
In the sun, and without the guido shirt on, Rico was pretty cute. So we sit down, rehash the night a bit, and then Rico pulls me to the side where the bar is.
We stuck by the guys for hours, just flirting and baking in the sun…and enjoying the drinks they bought us.
Hours in, I couldn’t believe how much Rico (his name is actually Wes, which I find hot) and I had in common. Despite me being two or so hours away from home, he lives in the same city as me, and works less than a block from my apartment. We even have some mutual friends…weird.
I eventually asked him why he was dressed like a tool the night before, and he assured me it was a joke. I hope so!
A few of the guys were coming and going into our conversation, and one of them had an arm full of tattoos, including one with his astrological sign—a pisces. I was asking him if he followed the characteristics of his sign and such, saying I am to-a-T a Cancer.
“I’m a cancer too…when is your birthday?” Wes asked me.
Silence. Wes pulls out his ID.
What the fuck!? I’m still kind of freaking out about this. I’ve never met anyone with my same birthday (he is older)—Buttons is July 8, my boss is July 3, and I’ve met people born on the 4th…
We left the pool around 6, decided to get ready for dinner, and maybe meet up with the guys. Wes and his friend Matt came to our room with drinks and walked us down to dinner before they went to the club.
Once we arrived inside the restaurant, we saw this table full of old dudes wearing plaid blazers. They made a comment about our bachelorette wearing a veil, so we stopped and said hey.
Before we knew it, they were sending over rounds of sake bombs—fine by me. Then, they joined us for one, told us to have a good time, and left to go to the casino.
But they left us a lil something on the table—a hundred dollar bill.
“It’s probably just for the sake bombs,” we all decided.
So we chowed down, drank the leftover sake and beer, before getting our bill. The bill was mostly paid for, from the plaid jackets, so we gave $50 to our waiter and decided to take the rest to the blackjack table.
Oh, but who was there? Plaid jackets. With $25 chips for us to bet with.
We won some, we lost some, and finally met up with the guys at the club, although Wes was nowhere to be found.
However, we all had a grand ole time, stayed out late again, and got sufficiently tipsy.
The next morning, I had to wake up early and hightail it back home in time for the bridal shower. I felt like complete shit, but when we checked out and started walking to the parking garage, who did we run into? Wes and friends.
We had already been texting that morning, but I was glad to see him (and get a little smooch) before the weekend ended. On the drive home, the girls asked me if I thought I’d ever see Wes again. Who knows…we will see!