This past three day stretch was what weekends want to be when they grow up. I’m exhausted and happy and feel like someone took my “Friend Bonding” bucket when I wasn’t looking and filled it all the way up. Over the brim. Maybe they even switched it out for a bigger bucket.
Lauren’s bridal shower was on Saturday, so Friday night brought Ana to town. We took her for sushi and she gave us kisses: your basic wolfpack transaction.
We ate our way through an enormous boat and then stayed up too late playing some high-tech version of charades. There actually is an app for everything; I now hold in reserve a video of the almost-groom doing “Tickle Me Elmo.” You know, in case depression ever strikes particularly hard or he tries to go into politics.
Lauren’s shower was beautiful, which is fairly predictable, because so is she and we all love her squills. (Even if she did pick the wrong toilet paper bride winner. We all make mistakes.)
Our bride swanned through the whole thing wonderfully, daintily drinking mimosas and opening all her presents with different Grateful Surprise faces.
And then she beat everyone senseless in the following ridiculous game: hold a clothespin between your knees and hop/jump/jerkily waddle across a few yards. Attempt to drop the pin into either a plastic cup (2 points) or a tiny paper plate (1). Use all feelings of awkwardness to fuel the deepest squats you’ve ever done in heels. Repeat.
Oh and she also made gluten-free cake pops that were genuinely one of the best desserts I’ve ever tasted. As in: I ate one and then Smash asked me to hold another one while she took a picture of it. And then when I didn’t eat it, I looked around for my medal of valor.
On Sunday we drank coffee around my table until heading off to a “trial” class at our local barre studio. “An advanced workout,” they said. “For people with dance backgrounds,” they said. And then we got there and part of the warmup instructions were to scout out your nearest exit…you know, in case the five-hundredth leg lift made you misplace your breakfast. We were complete noodles for the rest of the day, but we made. it. through! So we were proud, fulfilled noodles. Gratified spaghetti, if you will (or in case you were looking for a band name).
Later that night, we meandered over to KTown to follow up on Caitlin’s promise of Polenta Dinner. Turns out it was a completely sweet going away party.
Here’s the thing about going-away parties: they are the worst. They remind you how sweet your friends are, and make you question your choices. Why exactly are we moving away from people with these smiles…
…who sit you down at tables that look like this?
Oh right, New York. Well, maybe just for a second. (Look at the bottom; it’s like they know I’m planning to go full Sopranos as soon as we touch down at JFK.)
I just couldn’t be more grateful or excited or love these jokers any more. Pumped for weddings, tingly about moving, swoony about friendships, terrified of moving. In case you are looking for your emotions, I have all of them. Sorry.
(Most photos by Broersma Photography)