My cousin Heather got married last night.  And you know what the ladies do before someone gets married, right?  Right, they have a bachelorette shin dig of sorts. Which is exactly what we did last Saturday night.  It was a small group, but all you need is a couple of crazies to make a night out a complete blast.  And we definitely had a couple crazies in the group.  I mean I’m including myself, of course.

We started the night at Gracie’s in downtown Salt Lake to grab a couple of drinks and some food before things really got nutty.  Some people may have had some pre-dinner cocktails so things were amped up right out of the gate.  Not that anyone needed to worry about having too much to drink when we were being chauffeured around in this bad boy.  Yes, those are giant horns you see on the front.  The “limo” is called The Boss Hog and comes complete with a pink-shirted driver who I will disclose frightening details about later.  For now, just take in the glory of this ride.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One of the ladies Jess and I had never met before made it clear immediately that she would be providing plenty of entertainment for the night.  When someone you’ve known for five minutes starts telling people she’s “fucking Irish and will kill you,” it’s only bound to provide good material for the rest of the evening.  And she didn’t let us down at all.

After Gracie’s we jumped in the Boss Hog and headed to Bar X for the most delicious drink on the planet; the Moscow Mule.  (Note: This is not an exaggeration.  If you have never had one of these before, go get one immediately)!  Anyway, drinking heaven was not the only thing that happened at the bar.  No sir.  There were other things, like maybe I had my abs molested by the Irish woman.  She may have put her arm around my waist and then things got awkward from there.  Let’s just say she may have had her hands all over my abs at one point while she said things like, “What the fuck?  Have you guys felt her abs?” In my uncomfortable state, I could only laugh, which provoked her more, because well, laughing causes one to flex their abs.  Which then caused Irish to say things like, “Oh my god, she’s laughing.  Keep laughing.”

From that point on I was referred to as “Abo” and was demanded to “nutritionalize” and help Irish get abs just like mine.  In case you’re not familiar with the word nutritionalize (maybe because it’s not a word), I believe it means to provide nutrition advice for one wanting to acquire nice abs.

After the molestation we sat down to enjoy our drinks while Irish tried to burn a string bracelet off her wrist in the candle flame on the table.  The two nerds in the group (that’d be me and my sister) shrieked in unison, “Oh no, don’t do that!” I know, we’re lame.  And Irish told us we’re lame when she looked up and said, “Is this the most dangerous thing you two have done?  Oh, you two are so cute.  Wait ’til I tie you up.”  Yep, you read that right.

Somehow we made it out of the Bar X without being set on fire or tied up and climbed back into the Boss Hog for stop number three.  The driver of the Boss Hog is Irish’s biological dad and seemed innocent enough until he revealed his true self to Jess and I at a stop on the way to the club.  Get a load of this… The old dude gets out of the rig, walks over to us and says, “This reminds me of when I was younger.” Which sounds totally innocent, right?  Wrong.  Wrong because the next sentence out of his mouth was, “When we used to kill people.”  What the fuck?  I mean we were like surely he has to be kidding, so we started laughing awkwardly as he got all dead serious, looked at us and said, “I’m serious as a judge.”  Not cool.

The rest of the evening was filled with a couple of boob grabs (Irish doing the grabbing, of course), great dancing and lots of laughs.  I know that a lot of what I just described sounds weird and scary, and yet I think we’re all going out again next month.  Hey, it might mean I’ll actually have something to blog about.