As the sun dipped beneath the now snow-capped mountains, we lounged at the adorable boutique hotel my girls had picked out for me: The Curtis in downtown Denver. Themed floors, elevators that whistle at you, and a restaurant called the Corner Office all make this hotel incredibly retro and kitschy. Our floor theme? The Perfect Pair (adorned by the photograph of a little boy with bubble gum all over his face in our room).
I don’t have any fun pictures of the hotel except for the one below, of all of us standing in front of a sixties-style wall.
Claire, Jess, Alexandra, Me, Anne-Cecile, Kimberley, Sarah, and Jen
This is when we were told we didn’t look like a bachelorette party. Apparently, fuzzy zebra and hot pink apparel is what brands a bachelorette nowadays. But, my bachelorette had a theme: Class, Not Trash. Thus, there were no penis straws, cakes, or our embarrassing paraphernalia to be found.
Another one of my other favorite lines of the night?
Upon asking one guy to guess who the bachelorette was, he replied: “I can’t guess who it is–you all look so desperate.” What was funnier was that he thought this was a pick-up line. And even funnier was when my FSIL (at the time) started calling him “Eric” after she noticed he was a mini version of Eric Nies from The Real World (and later, The Grind).
We initially took a cab to a restaurant called TAG in Larimer Square. Run by four young guys, let’s just say it was not a disappointment to my table of ladies.
Anne-Cecile, Kimberley, Jen, Claire, Jess, Sarah, Me, and Alexandra
At one point, my FSIL threatened our waiter with an ass-whooping for flirting with me. It might have been because the girls dared me to ask him if he was wearing any underwear.
[Side note: The food here is fantastic. Sure, they have roasted bone marrow on the menu, but the scallops are to die for. As is the Tabasco-spiced martini. That’s all.]
From dinner, we moseyed on over to a champagne bar two doors down. Here is where the saying “Menver” (aka Denver) became true. Not a female in sight. This, however, was not what you would call, “a good thing.”
It started out very innocently.
Me with my MOH Jen and a glass of the bubbly
A little more champagne
Soon, there were men stopping by, one-by-one, to chat with our table. Since 75% of the girls out with us were single, this seemed perfect. Only, wait until you get a look at the, um, men.
It started off not so bad…
But progressively got worse…
And, well, worse…
No one told us Hugh Hefner was going to be there.
This set us off rolling with laughter.
Tears-streaming-down-our-faces, stomachs-hurting type of laughter.
The champagne bar couldn’t possibly get any better. So it was off to a bar down the road called The Front Porch.
As we walked in the door, passing the bouncer our IDs one-by-one, I heard my name from the bar. One of Mr. CB’s groomsmen and his girlfriend happened to be there.
We had a few drinks here. And then a few more. A few girls went home. And a few stayed.
These four (Anne-Cecile, Me, Jen, and Sarah) closed down the bar
As last call came around, the guy in the picture above (Red Sox hat) told us my bachelorette party was lame. He then offered to strip for $5 an hour. Unfortunately, it wasn’t very tempting, so Anne-Cecile offered him $1.25 for 15 minutes. Apparently he showed us a nipple for free, or so I was told.
And then before I knew it, the lights were on and we were being pushed out of the bar and into the street to find our way home…
How did we get here?
Was your bachelorette party all you wanted and more?