My mortal enemy

"Can we talk about you stealing Splenda, Kleenex, and shampoo from the hotel room?"

That's the first thing Susan said to me after all her other friends had gone home after her bachelorette party in Washington D.C. this past weekend.  I responded with a simple "No."  No need to discuss.

The weekend was fun.

Becca said "My mom's a pharmacist" twice.

Naomi tripped once.

I saw Dorothy's ruby slippers, Martha Washington's dress, Vermeer paintings, moon rocks, dehydrated ice cream, and a lot of pictures of Cincinnati Jews.

I ate a Nando's chicken sandwich, something I didn't think I'd do again until I went back to London.

A waiter sang "It's Now Or Never" to Susan at dinner and got the lyrics wrong.

Naomi and Melissa got an earful from me about eating shellfish.

We all played CatchPhrase in which we learned that, to Campbell, "sofa" is a weirder word than "couch."

We all played Apples to Apples in which we learned that, to everyone in the world, calling Helen Keller "frivolous" is hysterical...slightly better than calling Schindler's List "melodramatic."

Susan tried, on numerous occassions, to unbutton my shirt in public.  She was successful only half of the time.

We all learned that if you want to taste the devil, take a lemon drop shot.

Becca told me she has killed 32 rats.  And then she cut off their back legs.  And then she skinned those legs.  And then she snipped off the ends of the bone.  And then she rinsed the bone of their bone marrow.  And then she infected those bone marrow cells with the Hanta virus.  All while in a space suit reminiscent of Outbreak.

The name Dan Green was mentioned way too many times.  (I suppose this is the risk you take if you wear a helmet and don a "crustache" as Naomi put it.)

Susan and I watched Pineapple Express and didn't laugh.

I ate cookies.

My flight was cancelled.  And then it was cancelled again.

Susan turned off her car by pushing a button.

We all took turns reminiscing about our first and/or favorite memory of Susan Casper.  Mine started off, "The first time I met Susan, I thought she was a real bitch."  It's one of my favorite stories.

Hey Susan.  Happy Bachelorette weekend.  Next time don't dump your drink down my back.