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Bachelorette invades the Q.C.
Seeing as how Charlotte is now a destination city, thanks in part to the booming nightlife, my best friends from elementary school came from all over to invade it for a bachelorette weekend. Out of the 16 girls occupying the house we rented on Lake Norman, I was the only single one. Go figure.
But that just means I know how to host one hell of a bachelorette party.
Night 1: We took a PonTiki (a pontoon boat tiki bar) which is essentially the water taxi service for the Denver locals' lake bar The Landing. But that night we turned it into a floating dance party. (While we arrived by boat, another patron came and went on his big green tractor.) The Landing is known for its ribs, ostrich burgers, mechanical parrot ... and motel above the bar. Well, they eliminate drinking and driving.
Night 2: While the girls were eating crabs, I was laid up in the other room doped up on Benadryl. I almost feel like a bad friend for being allergic to shellfish. When my friends came in after dinner, they started picking on me and rubbing an inflatable penis in my face ... so I flipped them off, and then proceeded to pass back out with my middle finger assuming the position.
Night 3: Charlotte Party Charters worked around their busy prom schedule to pick us up and deliver us to Mez for dinner. But unlike the prom-goers, we were allowed to drink on the bus. After dinner we went to Butter. There we noticed our table was drawing a lot of attention from the crowd, but that had more to do with the fact that Michael Jordan was two tables over from us. That made no difference to the bride, though: "I don't care if he's here ... he shits just like the rest of us -- I'm just happy to be here with you all."
Afterward, we departed to the bus where we had our own dance party. And for a late-night meal, we went to none other than The Men's Club. For $10 you get a breakfast buffet of tits and grits. I don't think I ever saw any boobs though -- I barely looked up from my plate.
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