I think I speak for the entire bridal party when I say that this morning was a complete shit show. If you weren’t hungover to hell and back, you were still drunk. Unless you were Rebecca Price, who probably took a bath and painted her toenails before 7 a.m. Or perhaps Khloe, who left early to get back to her baby in Toronto. I didn’t know that it was Khloe’s first night away from the baby. Apparently, that’s a huge milestone? I don’t understand how babies work. I guess you become attached to them, or something.
I wasn’t planning on it, but I had passed out in the master bedroom of the suite last night. I was going to take the fold-out couch in the living room, but apparently, my subconscious had another idea. Oh, well. This worked out for me. It was a king bed. When I rolled over to my right, I saw Kate passed out beside me. When I looked over Kate’s shoulder, I saw her sister Olivia at the other end of the bed, wrapped up in the chiffon bed skirt. Looks like I wasn’t the only one who drank last night. Thank God!
Still in bed, I grabbed my phone off the cluttered nightstand and began sifting through an alarming amount of missed messaged from the girls. Everyone was asking where I went last night, which confused me as I thought Natasha had told them we were leaving the club. Looking back on everything, I should have known better than to trust Natasha with that responsibility while she was drinking. You’ve got to have eyes on the back of your head with that girl. Well, me too, I guess. Just another one of the many ways Natasha and I are similar. When we’re ready to go, we’re ready to fucking go! Everything was alright, though. One by one, we each began getting ready for another long day.
As I had assumed would happen, Rebecca Price came into the suite this morning with the other girls. Fully clothed, face done up, and itinerary in hand, Rebecca reminded us that we had an 11:45 a.m. brunch reservation and needed to leave at (insert ungodly hour here) if we were going to make it. Fuck. It was too early for this shit. I was still in bed at this point, lounging naked in a bathrobe. Clearly, I was about to break my rule about being vertical before 10 a.m. on a weekend.
It was time to get moving. I popped a cocktail of painkillers, vitamins, and caffeine pills, downed an espresso, chugged some water, cracked open a Gatorade, and put on a Mariah Carey album. While Kate and her sisters were getting ready, I slipped behind my little curtain near the window and sparked up my pipe. Hey, I’m on vacation. I’m not sure if the sisters knew I was high, or have just come to assume that I’m always stoned, but neither of them said anything about my smoking.
Showered, dressed, and bloated as all hell, I successfully made it outside the hotel with the rest of the group. Much to my surprise, everyone then turned to me for directions to the restaurant. Shit balls. I was too high for that! This dispensary weed is no Backyardigans. In fact, this is the stuff that makes you forget your own name. At this point, it would have been easier to find Hillary Clinton’s 33,000 deleted emails than my correspondence with the brunch venue. Nonetheless, I focused as best I could. Following a lot of scrolling and Googling, I found the address and we split into our taxis.
Nine times out of ten, I deal with hangovers better than the majority of the population. Well, at least in the morning. As I sober up and arrive at my usual depression and suicidal thoughts by the end of each day, that’s a different story. However, I can often avoid those Hangover Blues by getting stoned or drinking more. Maybe “avoid” isn’t the best word. “Delay” is more like it. Sooner or later, I know I’m going to have to face the music. That being said, if I could delay my Hangover Blues today, I was going to. And I did. I was very high.
Fortunately, having Natasha around almost guarantees that you will not be the most hungover of the group. This is so true, I would be willing to bet money on it in Vegas. Kate was still drunk at brunch, which wasn’t much of a surprise. If anything, Kate’s prolonged intoxication made for some really good laughs. Riley was next level hungover, though. Perhaps even worse than Natasha. It was bad. In fact, it got to the point that Riley was becoming a bit of a bitch. I get it. You’re hungover. Don’t take it out on the restaurant staff, though. To be fair, the server was taking her sweet ass time with our order. However, we were also a group of eleven. There was only so much she could do.
Apart from some hungover grumpiness, the meal went well. Everyone enjoyed their food. Unfortunately, this was pretty much where our afternoon ended. Despite being in gorgeous Old Montreal on a bright, hot, sunny day, all of us needed to go back to the hotel and sleep. Even I was beginning to get the shakes. You could tell Rebecca Price wasn’t too happy about this, as it was affecting her down-to-the-minute schedule, but it was what it was. Majority rules, sweetie.
We wrapped up brunch, all feeling slightly more energized. Kate had a penis-shaped dessert brought to her, which I’m not sure she even remembers, and then we hopped in cabs and went back to the hotel. Except, I hadn’t fulfilled my “make an ass of myself” quota during brunch. As we were leaving the restaurant, I accidentally dropped my cross-body bag on the marble floor. The next thing I knew, all of my shit had been scattered across the lobby. This included my glass pipe, which shattered into a hundred pieces right in front of the host podium. Wow. What a great look.
Thankfully, I was not alone in my messiness. While waiting for our cabs back to the hotel, another bridesmaid had evidently reached her limit. Of course, I’m talking about Natasha holding on to the hood of a parked sports car, wearing skinny jeans and high heels as she held her hair back with her other hand and dry heaved into the gutter. God bless that woman.
We needed to get the fuck home. I shared a cab with Veronica and Riley, during which my hangover began reaching dangerous levels. As I discovered this afternoon, I don’t think the three of us had ever been around one another while hungover. When I was quiet in the cab, the girls thought I was mad at them. No, hunnies. I am just sleep deprived. Honestly, I become a completely different person when I don’t get enough rest. It is not a good look for me. Remember that Florida “I lost my phone in Target” moment a few years back? Exactly.
I’m not sure what the other girls did once we got back home, but I stripped down to my underwear and climbed right back into bed. Rebecca Price still had it in her mind that the group was going to do a four-hour pub crawl before dinner, but that was also shut down. Listen. I’m all for marathon drinking. Sign me up, sister! However, if you expect me to pull another all-nighter after a 12-hour binge the night before, there’s got to be some down time. Not only that, but Kate was barely functioning. The girl stumbled into bed right after me. If the bride isn’t having it, it’s not much of a bachelorette.
A few hours passed. I woke up while the others were getting ready, then slapped on a face mask as I had another espresso. I looked like the fucking full moon emoji. Ironically, my body had taken on a similar shape after all of the excessive eating and drinking, which had now caught up with me. Not only from this weekend, but from the entire damn summer.
To make matters worse, Khloe made the group matching bachelorette t-shirts. I realize this doesn’t sound like a bad thing. On the contrary, the design concept was cute. Basic black t-shirts with “blonde” or “brunette” printed in white across the chest. Not bad, right? Well, I’m not sure if Khloe was looking for a bulk discount or what, but the girl bought me a woman’s shirt. I’m curvy, but not in the same places as a girl. The t-shirt looked ridiculous. I was forced to tuck it into my pants, thus highlighting the goddamn spare tire that’s been inflated around my mid-section since this fucking foot surgery. I can’t even say my weight gain is “the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.” I say that so much, it’s lost all meaning. Still, it’s kind of true. Why, God? Why! This sucks.
We walked to dinner. After another great meal at a Bring Your Own Wine restaurant, the group returned to the hotel and changed into our club outfits. The theme for tonight was “rainbow colors,” because Kate apparently used to dress like a rainbow all throughout elementary school. Naturally, I opted for my Hawaiian shirt. A great club look, I know. Oh, well.
We had a lot of drinks at the hotel. I also blazed out the window in my usual spot with Natasha, Riley, and Veronica. There were a few passive aggressive comments made by some of the other girls during this time. I guess they could smell the smoke and didn’t want to be charged the extra cleaning fee, as if I would make them pay it if we got caught. And that’s a big if! Everything was fine.
With the drinks flowing steadily, purple taking me higher, and the adrenaline of being with all of my girls pumping through my body, I wasn’t paying attention to where we were going tonight. I was by no means blackout drunk, but the details of the night weren’t important to me. That’s one thing I love about having someone like Rebecca Price taking the reins. I get to sit back, trail behind the leader of the group, crack jokes, drink, smoke weed, and then just waltz into whatever club we arrive at. I enjoy the mindlessness of it all.
I have no idea where we went tonight. Based on a credit card receipt I just found, we apparently visited Apartment 200. Actually, I do remember that place. Sort of. We did a lot of shots, Natasha was hanging out behind the bar, and the bartender looked like he had won the lottery when we ordered twelve Jäger Bombs. I’ve got to hand it to these girls – they know how to fucking party! We all had such an amazing time. Abby was still feeling her newly single self, so obviously I was loving every minute of her antics.
I’m not sure at what point this happened, but after hopping between a few different bars, Natasha, Nicky, Abby, and I went off with a group of complete strangers to visit their house. If I remember correctly, which I probably don’t, it was a French guy, a really French girl, and a very tall Dutchman.
We walked for what felt like forever. When we arrived at the random house, we settled into the basement. I remember being there. I remember the setting and strange decor. I also fell asleep at one point. It was really late, and extremely boring. Why did we go off with these people? Like, what was the purpose of this? I’m sure I was hitting on at least one of the strangers in my drunken stupor, but obviously I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make a real move.
Eventually, we went home. Obviously, I was not keeping track of the time, so I don’t know how late it was. Although I remember arriving at the hotel with my key in hand, something went awry after I said goodnight to the girls. All I know is that around 6 a.m., I woke up in the hallway on a couch beside the elevators, wearing a hotel bathrobe with nothing underneath.
I’ll be honest. I’ve slept in worse places. The strangest part was how I managed to get a bathrobe. None of us could figure it out. Did I go into the hotel room and then leave without my key? What the fuck? None of it makes sense. I suppose it makes for a funny story, but that’s about it. At least I didn’t lose any teeth. Shit. I hate how that has now become the measure of my messiness.
Goodnight xo
My nightstand this morning. I don’t know why I had American money on me. Montreal, Québec
Brunch. Old Montreal, Québec
Embracing my inner full moon emoji. Montreal, Québec
Early this evening, I received notification(s) that Fran Drescher had liked and commented on the Instagram video I made of her on August 27. It was a moment, to say the least.
@yalittlenasty Instagram post from August 27.
“I’m Coming Out” - Diana Ross
“Still Available.” Montreal, Québec
Entertaining – and expressing – myself while pon de strangers’ basement. Montreal, Québec
Driving back to the hotel after our basement pit stop. Montreal, Québec