Before I was pulled on stage during my bachelorette party at Club Nautico Cabaret, and before my hand was physically grabbed and shoved down this queen’s bedazzled corset, PK and I battled an ant infestation in my car.
We were gussied up and about to go out for my second bachelorette party this year when my sister yelled from the driveway, “HEID. YOU’VE GOT A SERIOUS BUG PROBLEM IN YOUR CAR.”
Of course. Last month we gassed the house for termites and $900 later my car is crawling with ants. And when I say crawling. I mean CRAWLING. The seats, the floor, the side door pocket, CRAWLING with ants. Not only was it crawling with ants, there was a mound of ants on the floor, erupting. ERUPTING.
Rather than waste time screaming over this disgusting and poorly timed infestation – because of course we were already late for my bachelorette party at Leilani’s – PK ran to get me the hose and together we blasted the inside of my car with a pressure so fierce the ants had no choice but to begin fleeing in a mass exodus up the hose, up my legs and eventually my arms.
“THEY’RE ON ME! THEY’RE F*#@#% on me!” I screamed as I started rolling ants off my arms and legs.
“Drop the hose” PK yelled. “DROP THE HOSE.”
It was around this time that my bubbly neighbor Sherry ambled over to tell PK and I how adorable we looked in our clubbing attire, only to see me leaping like a gazelle across the front lawn, killing ants on my legs.
“I’ve got an ant infestation in the car!” I screamed.
“Do you want a bomb?” She asked.
“You have BUG BOMBS just lying around?”
“Yeah, I’ve got a bunch in the shed. Let me grab you one.”
So Sherry grabbed a bug bomb, PK tossed the hose, I ran my legs and arms under bath water, ran outside refreshed and ready to party, detonated the bomb in my car and shut the door, forcing us to take PK’s shiteous car to the club.
Kudos to Leilani, for organizing a perfectly hilarious evening of rom-com watching, quality snacking and drag queen groping. It was a brilliant bachelorette party and I’m forever grateful for what I can only describe as the most epic MOOBS encounter of my life. Let’s not forget how poetically I waxed on the topic of MOOBS seven months ago?
We got back to the house around 2:45 a.m. PK’s flight was at 7, which meant I had three hours to sleep before leaving for the airport.
But then Joe’s bachelor party rolled into the house at 5 a.m…
I took this photo at 5:30 a.m. The two men shall remain anonymous.
Ed. note: I meant to post this Sunday morning from the car wash, where I was sitting waiting for dead bugs to be vacuumed from my car. I meant to finish it, but now I don’t feel like it. I’m tired and lazy right now, so up it goes – as is. It’s 2 a.m. Thursday and Joe and I are at a Quality Inn somewhere near the Virginia border. I used my AAA discount to get us a nice room with a fridge for $65. The pug, who we smuggled in, is snoring next to me. Joe is a bit cranky from driving 900 miles and I’m warm and toasty from a long, hot motel bath. After spending the day writing an A&E cover story from the passenger seat of of a Honda Accord, I needed to soak my brain but good.
Anyway. We’re heading to Buffalo in the morning for Part II of our pre-wedding road trip.
BTW: OUR WEDDING IS IN THREE DAYS, and other than the titillating excitement of that, I’m fiending for tomorrow’s continental breakfast.
Here we are. Me, the pug & Joe at 2:06 a.m. in Mt. Airy, N.C., Andy Griffith’s hometown. Before I go, I leave you with one Joe-ism:
Ten seconds ago, I turned to my soon-to-be-husband and asked: “If I get up in time for the continental breakfast, would you like me to get you anything?”
“Yes,” he replied. “A chocolate muffin.”
“A chocolate muffin?”
“Yes. Not a chocolate chip muffin, but an all-chocolate muffin?”
“What do you think this place is? A french patisserie?
“Hey,” he says. “This place is called The Quality Inn, not the half-assed in.”
PS. I set my new manicure on fire over the weekend. Apparently acrylic nails are highly flammable.