If you have been a frequent reader of this blog, you will know that I am getting married in October of this year (2008). And if you have noticed in the previous blogs, the issues (minor as they may be) we have run into haven’t been between us, it has been with friends and family… but I think that drama is part of the experience. Looking from the outside, one would assume all of the drama comes from the female trenches, but surprisingly, there seems to be an uprising within the groomsmen. Any good captain will tell you that when there is mutiny in the air, you must act quickly and without hesitation…
The issue stems with my preference of bachelor party activities: I don’t want strippers and I don’t want to do a bar crawl. This has made some of my friends quite unhappy. Now don’t get me wrong, I am no prude (which I think is what is pissing off my friends) – we have done plenty of guys nights and bachelor parties with private stripper rooms, we have gotten so drunk we have coated the inside of limos with our bodily fluids, we have had the bar brawls… but that is the problem: we have done it all – a lot.
In September of 1999, my cousin Anthony got a few of his buddies together to explore the cranberry bogs of the Pine Barrens in good ol’ South Jersey. He called it his bachelor party. Sure there was a night with strippers and drunken antics that happened a few weeks later, but for me, the real party happened in the woods, around a camp fire, telling stories and walking around in complete darkness. I have so many fond memories of that weekend (getting to meet some of Anthony’s buddies that I hadn’t met and now look forward to seeing every chance I get) that actually shaped some hobbies I do quite a bit now (that might have been my first weekend camping ever).
At some point in male social interaction evolution, the concept of male bonding took on a homosexual connotation and made good heteros everywhere show their “bro-love” with manly activities such drinking beer, doing shots, smoking, and degrading strippers fearing anything else would look “gay”. Lets break this down:
- Smoking – I don’t smoke – anything. I used to smoke cigars on special occasions, but it makes my mouth taste like ground up asshole and I don’t really enjoy it. Yes – I did it because it looked cool, and I just don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks anymore. I am going to take this a step further. I have a lower opinion of you as a human being if you smoke cigarettes. Especially if you are under 40. We all know what that shit does to you, why would anyone do that to themselves? Because you look cool…
Sure you do.
- Drinking – Let me ask my friends to take time out of their schedules (schedules that are a lot fuller now that most of these guys have wives and babies at home) to go out on a bender; A bender that will cost not only money, but will take days to recover from. I have come to the conclusion that people binge drink in groups so they can see their friends get so drunk they do shit they don’t even remember and it can be rubbed it in their faces for the rest of their lives or until they stop talking to the group. Admit it – you pray they pass out at some point so you can do very homosexual things to your pal that five beers ago you would call “ultra-queer”.
Those blackouts will lead you right into the open arms of…
- Strippers – I loves me my naked ladies and all, but really what is the point? Lets all assume that I am a decent human being (I know it is hard), do you think I am really going to get any “champagne room” action going with a stripper on a night celebrating my impending marriage? No? Then what is the point? I don’t want to walk around the rest of “my night” with blue balls. So if the strippers aren’t doing anything for me, the question begs to be asked…
Who’s is this party for?
I can call up two paths of logic for the typical bachelor party:
- Path One – Your friends get you so drunk that you ending up sticking something you shouldn’t in that stripper and suddenly all of your buddies camera phones are broadcasting live in vista-vision. Smells like a hell of a setup to me. I know my friends aren’t assholes, but you have to wonder what the motive and logic is to plan such an evening
- Path Two – Your friends know you aren’t going to do jack with the strippers but that doesn’t mean they don’t want to see some titties. Single guy Bob hasn’t been laid in a while so perhaps an extra 50 will get him some relief. Married John’s wife hasn’t been feeling in the mood much since little Johnny came on the scene, John would like to see breasts that are happy to see him (or at least his money) some time this year…
Path 2 is sounding juuuuust right.
So now I get it, this night is about them just as much as it is about me. 
I can dig that, but I’m still not going to allow myself to be beaten on stage by a girl who has been gang spackled by the Philadelphia Eagle’s defensive line (for those of you who didn’t get that reference, here is a simple formula to help you understand: Pro Football Player + Stripper = Making it rain dollars on them hoes Pacman Jones style).
All hygiene concerns aside, I’d like to think of my bachelor party as a natural progression of my social evolution: A little more refined, and a lot more meaning. For those who have issues, I say trust me, we will have a good time. Those who are looking forward to it, you should, because it is going to be something I hope you will (and can) remember for a long time.
ADDED NOTE:
So it is a few days later and I had a conversation with my cousin about this post. Anthony’s logic regarding bachelor parties is that isn’t about you. He disagrees with the idea, but feels it is about everybody else.
But it seems to me that every facet of this wedding has to consider somebody else’s feelings (and I am not talking about Allison). Mind you have I haven’t necessarily given into other’s whims, but I am starting to buckle under the weight of considering everyone’s opinions (its not one wolf that takes you down, it is the pack). Perhaps these people are the raw materials and the wedding is the formula to creating a new family. Like any good experiment it kicks off with a massive chemical reaction.
Enough bitching. It is what is is.
