I finally did it, you guys. I got a manicure.
It was a whole year ago that I first expressed my desire to get one. As a 26 year old grown ass woman, it was downright weird that I’d never had my nails done. This is something a lot of people do on the reg, or at least on the semi-reg. When I went to Bloomington for Liz’s bachelorette party, planner extraordinaire Carrie booked us all a mani/pedi appointment. “This is my chance,” I stage-whispered to myself. That’s a lie; I didn’t really do that. But I was excited to get the full manicure/pedicure experience, mostly because I love saying mani/pedi. It sounds like some sort of delightful lady language that I can just barely understand. Manipedi.
So the best thing about getting your nails done did, by far, is all the nail polish. OPI is really killing it in the pun department. For my fingernails, I picked out a pinkish-reddish shade called Conquistadorable (even though I paint my nails some weird colors on my own, I wanted something work appropriate this time), and for my toes I went for a purple shade called Lourve me, Lourve me Not. OPI also had a German-themed collection for fall, which tells you a lot about how weird nail polish themes are, and how they might be running out of whimsical ideas.
I loved getting a pedicure. I loved soaking my feet (even though, as usual, I alarmed people with how red my feet get. They seriously are always like that, even from everyday activities like “walking” and “standing for a long time”). I loved reading an article in Allure magazine by Jennifer Lopez’s former makeup artist. I loved getting a foot massage. My pedicurist even turned out to be a big comedy fan, so we talked about the Hannibal Buress show she’d seen recently. And you guys, my feet have never looked so great. Mine is not a family that places an emphasis on foot care (we’re more of a “walk-around-outside-without-shoes-and-now-your-heels-are-irreparably-cracked” family), but I think I need to break the chain. I’m gonna get pedicures all the damn time now.
The manicure was nice, too, but it was a little less exciting because I was deep into a sandwich coma by that point and I don’t remember much about the experience. Overall, though, I loved it. Even aside from the mani/pedi, it was a great weekend. In my opinion, the ideal bachelorette party features copious amounts of girl talk, and this one really delivered. There are very few things in this life that I love as much as girl talk, light or deep…seriously, talk to me about your makeup routine or use me as your therapist and talk about your fear of intimacy, I don’t even care. I just love girl talk. To be honest, I’ve been feeling pretty crappy over the past couple of weeks, and it was nice to be reminded that there are some very good things going on in my life and in the lives of the people around me. Over the course of the weekend, we also had sushi and sake (my first time! It was delish, even though I do kind of agree with one of the girls’ assessments that “It’s like drinking wine, but then also like drinking nail polish remover”), went to the aforementioned Garfunkel and Oates show, had drinks at a bar (where I tried a Moscow Mule solely because of its name), and watched Joan Rivers while eating sprinkled penis cupcakes. Bachelorette parties, you guys. They can be kind of the best.