Beach Bachelorette

If I was Mary Poppins I'd jump into this picture right now. Shall we?

My friend BermudaBabe is getting married two weeks from today. At this time two Saturdays from now, I will be at home in Conn., hanging out with my parents and FoxyLady, eating some donuts and scones my dad bought at the local grocery store, showing off our beautiful fuchsia bridesmaid dresses, helping my mom pick out her wedding outfit, and attempting to put on some makeup to match my new Montauk tan.

I love weddings. If I could, I would go to a wedding every weekend. I'd make the perfect wedding crasher. I love food, I love to dance, I love to sing, I love to drink, I love cake and most of all I love the people weddings bring together. Weddings are always a reunion of sorts: of families, of college friends, of high school friends, of co-workers, of teammates, of past lovers, of current lovers, the young and the old. Ridiculousness always seems to work its way into a wedding weekend, and as the Las Vegas slogan goes, "What happens at weddings should stay at weddings." I've kept a wedding journal and I believe someday it will make a hysterical movie or book. We have "The Nanny Diaries." Next up will be "The Wedding Diaries." Don't worry guys, I'll change your names.

Since I graduated from college a little over six years ago, I've attended fourteen weddings. That's an average of 2.3 weddings a year. To some, that number seems astronomical. I remember when I first started dating Swimster, he took a look at my fridge filled with wedding decorations and he wanted to run for the hills. It was coated in wedding wallpaper of save the dates, wedding invites, shower invites, bachelorette party invites, rehearsal dinner invites and there may have been even the rare baby shower notice.

Of my closest friends, about half are married. This was highlighted when I wrote my Christmas cards last year. I had to address most of them to Mr. and Mrs. So-and-So and it made me feel like a make believe grownup. The wedding wave has died down this year, and who knows when I will get the next middle-of-the-night phone call from a friend who's usually in bed by nine. There are no wedding bells in my future, and I don't think I've ever caught a bouquet. But you never know, lightning could strike.

I wanted to share a few fun pictures of BermudaBabe's bachelorette extravaganza. FoxyLady and I organized it and we were joined by a few good friends from our YMCA swim team growing up. I recommend all the places documented below. We are still days away from the official start of summer, and the Hamptons and all points east are not nearly as crowded as they will be a few weeks from now. Take advantage of this "off season" and get out there.

Here was our itinerary :

*Hop on the 5:09 train to Montauk on Friday after work. Like most Fridays at work, I was worthless. Clippy, FoxyLady and I met at Penn Station around 4:45 and we grabbed a few 24 ounce cans of Bud Light for the trip. Unlike Grand Central, where there's a big board of train times and track assignments, the trains at Penn don't get train assignments until at most ten minutes before departure time. So everyone stands under the board cranking their necks to see who can be the first to spot the track number the moment it pops up. Once that track number appears all hell breaks loose and it's a mad dash to the track. FoxyLady was strategizing how we'd get the best seat. FoxyLady and I would bare the heavy load of our bags and Clippy was assigned to sprint detail. "Just run and get us good seats and we'll find you!" Had the train actually been on the track when we got to it, this might have worked.

The train was one of the best parts of the trip. The trains out to Long Island are double decker and though you do have to switch at the Jamaica stop sometimes, ours was surprisingly a direct train. I learned from a cute male passenger that there's a quicker, more efficient way of getting to the Hamptons. If you take the 7 subway to Hunterspoint Avenue, he said, you can take an express train from there. I have since looked up this great notion on the MTA Web site and it's telling me "the station combination you have chosen is invalid." Hmmph.

*Check in to our lovely beach mohotel, or the Atlantic Terrace. I can't decide what to call it so I'm calling it a mohotel. It was a step up from a motel, but it wasn't quite a hotel. This was the beautiful scene from our pool chairs. The pool area was surprisingly awesome and the pool was even heated. With a $105/night rate, a great pool and a spot right on the beach, the Atlantic Terrace is a great find. Behind me in this picture was the beach. I woke up both mornings and took jogs along the coastline.


*Head to Gosman's for dinner reservations. I had been before with my uncle and parents and figured it would be the perfect place to start the weekend. It's right on the water and it has great seafood. I'm cheating and using my pictures from Mother's Day weekend just to give you an idea. It was late and too dark to snap pictures when we arrived.

We got to Gosman's at around 9p.m. and the place was dead. Our server was friendly, though I could sense the entire staff was slightly peeved that a big party of seven girls just walked in. We were reminded more than once that the kitchen closed at 10.

The steamers are fabulous.

Over the Mother's Day weekend I tried the stuffed mushrooms and they were my favorite part of the meal. They were stuffed with lobster, shrimp and scallops and I wish I had just ordered a second round for my entree.

I know we were late diners at Gosman's, and I've been in that boat before where you just want to cash out and go home. But there was an elderly gentleman trolling the restaurant, cleaning up and mumbling to himself as he worked. I sensed that he was either the manager or the owner, and it annoyed me that he repeatedly tried to hurry us along so he and the rest of the staff could get home. I think the words, "Let's go ladies, I wanna get out of here," actually came out of his mouth. You just don't do that.

*Scope out some bars where the bachelorette festivities would be Saturday night. We didn't have very much luck with this, or the night life in Montauk. It's pretty sleepy and I'm wondering if it's always like that or just because it's so early in the season. Nobody likes to take credit cards in Montauk and that also bugged me. We went to a bar/night club and turned around and left because it only took cash. We ended up spending the majority of the night at Nick's before we headed home.

*Crash and wake up for a morning run.

*Eat breakfast.


When I saw the sign I was a little concerned. I wasn't feeling naturally good and I didn't feel like eating anything naturally good. I wanted pancakes, eggs and hash browns. But what we discovered inside the Naturally Good Cafe was a lot of yummy delights: breakfast quesadillas, fruit crumbles, warm and chewy sticky buns, smoothies and egg sandwiches. The menu read egg and "sausage" sandwich and I didn't know what that meant but I gave it a go. It was so good, I ordered the same thing two days in a row. The fake sausage was a thick and crispy patty and it had a falafel taste to it.


The cafe was more of a specialty store than a restaurant, and if you're claustrophobic best tell someone what you want and let them order for you while you sit in the garden outside. The aisles were really tiny and it was jam-packed with Montauk locals. We stuck out like blond hair at Tokyo Disneyland.

*Lay out by the pool overlooking the ocean, soak up sun, apply and re-apply suncreens and sprays, participate in drunk relays. All of us at the bachelorette, minus one, swam in college.

*Team break for lunch at the Clam Bar. The funniest thing about this was our friends decided we should eat lunch here, but there is more than one off-the-main-road clam shack. We pulled into the first place, we were out of our cars, walking up to order from the counter when our friend realized this wasn't the Clam Bar. So, after a few confused stares from various patrons, we turned around, hopped into the cars, and pulled over a few hundred yards further down 27 into the right place.

Lunch was great but the cost was not. Lobster rolls were $16 and after we all had some appetizers and beer it ended up being a $60/head lunch. EGAD! We shared steamers and laughed as someone in the party, who will remain nameless, (*cough cough* Clippy), learned how to eat steamers. They served some mean sweet potato fries and regular fries that we kept re-ordering from our server. My Red Stripe helped it all go down. The Clam Bar was another place that did not accept cards, but they do accept traveler's checks. A few of us who suffered from sticker shock ended up having to drive 10 minutes away to find an ATM to pay for lunch.


*Head home for showers and Meels' mojitos. Our friend Meels brought all the fixings for mojitos: club soda, mint, limes, sugar and rum. FoxyLady and I provided the penis straws. Yup, I said it, penis straws. They are a must-have for all bachelorette functions. The mojitos were toxic and fabulous.

*Get out the party props and decorations and dress BermudaBabe up in her tiara, boa, whip and butt pincher.

*Play drinking games and go out.

*Drink free shots with dirty names from cute bartenders.

*Avoid being called "cougars" as Clippy and I were so kindly dubbed the previous night. Don't you have to be at least 50 to be considered a cougar? Ouch.

*Dance with a pole, walk to the Point for continued fun, take the Pink Tuna taxi home.

*Wake up for another run in the sun, another "naturally good" breakfast, a couple more hours of pool time, head home.

*But not before a delicious sandwich from our hotel snack bar. What a pleasant surprise! These hot, grilled sandwiches were the perfect finale to a great weekend. Even if you're not staying at Atlantic Terrace, if you're on the beach in Montauk, find our mohotel and get food at the snack bar. My crispy chicken sandwich was better than any grinder I grew up with. It was chicken parm on a wrap and the wrap was soft and flaky.

FoxyLady tried the grilled cheese one with ham and tomatoes.


*Head home unwillingly, fight the Sunday blues, look forward to BermudaBabe's wedding and the next unforeseen bachelorette party. Where will lightning strike?