The Zadge would have posted about all the shenanigans from her Girls’ Weekend sooner except she was too busy drying out her liver.
See, this was the first time in about seven years that the Zadge’s college posse had all been together and that alone was reason to celebrate. The girls traveled from all over to get to Old Vicky – “JY Jam” from Italy via Connecticut, “Sanlandia” from Portlandia, Orgeon and “Crazy Jane aka Everyone Tells Me I Look Like Connie Britton” from Virginia Beach:
Three words really sum up the weekend.
But lest you think the girls were mere sloths all weekend, just sitting around stuffing their faces and boozing it up, you should know they engaged in some intense physical activity as well.
Like Advanced Daytime Shopping While Buzzed at Pricey Boutiques. Burns approximately 500 calories an hour.
And Hungover Hiking:
There were only two low points of the weekend.
One, of course, involved Harry.
When the Girls opened the door to Old Vicky late Friday night after hours of revelry, they were hit – and I mean hit – in the face with the worst STANK you can imagine.
Diarrhea. All over the dining room floor. And you have never seen house guests suddenly so tired. ”Aw Zadge, I’m sooo tired. I’m going upstairs to bed. Sorry you have to clean that up!”
The second low point was much, much worse.
During the girls’ Hungover Hike, as they reached the summit, they met a guy with a Bull Terrier that looked like this:
Turns out the guy had rescued the dog just five weeks earlier from a dog fighting ring. Although he had him on a leash, he didn’t mention to the Girls and Harry and Bugs as they walked past him that the dog was a vicious killer. And without any warning, that dog violently attacked poor little Bugs.
It was the worst thing the Zadge has seen. The dog clamped his elongated muzzle down on Bugs’ right eye and started violently shaking his head, pulling Bugs’ fur and skin off of his face. Of course, the Zadge immediately ran over and jumped in the middle of the attack, smacking the dog in the face and screaming at him. (His owner was trying to pull open the dog’s jaws to free Bugs’ eye.) After what seemed like an eternity, the dog finally released Bugs.
And the Zadge was sure that her dog was either dead or permanently maimed. She picked up little Bugs, ran away from the attacker and bent down to check her baby. And low and behold, his eye was intact. And apart from a one inch gash above his eye and a smaller one below it, Bugs was perfectly fine.
The Girls, however, were not. The Zadge was in a state of shock, almost frozen. So she didn’t unleash the Big Can of Whoop Ass she usually carries around on the attacker’s owner. JY Jam, never a big dog person, was all “Holy Shit, one more reason not to get a dog.” Sanlandia, herself a yellow lab owner, thankfully kept Harry from jumping to his brother’s aid. And thank god for Crazy Jane because she had it together enough to pull out HER can of Whoop Ass and open it all over the dog’s owner.
As Bugs trotted down the path, tail wagging, as if nothing had happened, the reality set in about what a close call it was and the Zadge snapped out of her state of shock. And she started hyper-ventilating, and had to bend over and grab her knees, and the tears streamed down her face. The Girls all comforted her and rubbed her back. She caught her breath, stood up, thanked the Girls for their help and said:
“Oh, God, we need a strong drink.”