Hit me with your best shot

Think of all of the traditions that you know. Some are reverent, and some are antiquated. Some, we know the meanings behind. Some, we can barely remember who started or perpetuated.

Bachelorette Parties fall into the basket of irreverent. This tradition flies in the face of romance, saying "Even though you've met the man you love, you still need to take one final night to get as much attention from every other man on earth. You have to stretch your legs, show your boobs, and fly in the face of commitment and love. Show your true colors, get it out of your system, and party like its your last night on earth."



And thus we accepted the challenge. We 8 women embarked on the Orlando scene on Saturday night armed with condoms, pins with sayings like "I dated the groom", "always a bridesmaid" and "drunk bitch", penis necklaces, feather boas, and a scavenger hunt with things like #12: find the cheesiest guy in the place and ask him to dance, or #17: kiss a tatooed man.



So we drank and we drank, and we flirted like it was our job. We put Christianne on stage several times, injected her with giant jello sringes, and forced her to ask multiple groups of men for their underwear.



And after we had partied for hours, and continued the after party in our room, and played charades with people from Chris's past, and tried to "pin the hose on the fireman", and eaten pizza and laughed until our stomachs hurt, we went to bed.

And as I got ready for bed, stepping over the remnants of a great hotel party, I looked over at my sister-curled up in her "bride to be" rhinestoned shirt and her pink velour pants. Clutching her cell phone, dialed to her fiance, she smiled knowingly. Maybe traditions like these really show us how great it feels to be loved.