In keeping things topical, I want to comment on something we saw last weekend during Rob’s bachelor party (which, incidentally, was a blast).

So I’m standing at the bar, trying my best to get the attention of any of the myriad of bartenders flying around, in order to buy Rob his umpteenth shot of the night (it ended up being a Kamakazi for anyone interested). A woman standing next to me at the bar turns to me and starts talking. She’s with two other women, and the biggest reason that I even noticed that was because they all had various… um, phallic paraphernalia. They also each wore a nametag depicting a stereo-typical stripper name; I had the pleasure of speaking with “Exotica” and “Bubbles”. Even at this point, I could possibly have ignored the entire situation had they not asked me if I was wearing boxer shorts and, more to the point, if they could have them for a scavenger hunt.

Not surprisingly, they were there for a bachelorette party (of which there happened to be many in AC that night). In trying to get the conversation away from my boxer shorts, I started talking about our respective agendas for the night. What followed was a more detailed schedule than that of the recent Democratic Convention (intentionally omitting any political views I may possess here). Everything was planned down to the minute, with all sorts of “extras”. These extras seemed to all involve random men for one reason or another, be it getting phone numbers and boxers alike.

Our agenda was much more simplistic. Atlantic City: Dinner, Drinking, Gambling. Not necessarily in that order. We didn’t head down there with any idea of which restaurant, bar, or casino we’d end up at. And more importantly, we didn’t have any cute bachelor party games planned; Rob did not get a pair of rubber breasts to carry around all night and I most definitely did not ask for anyone for her bra.

Which brings me to my point. Bachelor parties are typically held in the poorest light. Guys, either attending or being the reason for said party, typically get some form of crap for what may have transpired on that night (to give credit where credit is due, Meg has not expressed an ounce of concern about what may emerge from the delusional mind of Lucas for my bachelor party). Yet last weekend was an example of what I seem to see more and more; bachelorette parties appear to be much more risque than their male counterparts. So before getting up in arms about what Joe Bachelor may do at his bachelor party, I ask that brides-to-be first wait to see what the maid of honor has in store for their bachelorette party. It’s probably not as PG-13 as you make it out to be.

By now I’m sure I’ve mentioned that I’m in my college roomate’s wedding at the end of July. As such, I’m naturally going to be at his bachelor party, which happens to be this weekend. The plan is to head to Atlantic City for the night: dinner, gambling, drinking, drunken walk back to hotel. It’s the first time all of my Villanova friends have gotten together for a big drink-fest since college, so we’re all extremely psyched for the weekend.

During all the planning and discussing, I got to wondering exactly why we were doing all this. Sure, I’m excited to see everyone, but at the end of the day I’m left wondering what the purpose of a bachelor party really is. I’ve heard some people joke (I hope they are joking at least) that it’s the bachelor’s “last night of freedom”, which is a total crap answer since it’s not like the guy will be acting like he’s single; he’s simply out without his bride-to-be. Like I said, this is the first time since college that we’ve all gotten a chance to go out together, but realistically we didn’t need one of us to get married, we just needed a break from work/grad school long enough to get together.

So this brings me back to my original question on the purpose of bachelor parties. For now I’ll save comments on the bride’s extracurricular activities; I can’t tell you the difference between a bachelorette party and a wedding shower, all I know is that the bride ends up with an ass load of gifts and the bridesmaids end up flat broke. If anyone has a better idea of what the bachelor party is supposed to accomplish, I’d be much appreciative for the guidance.

1.) Go On Honeymoon
2.) Change Phone Number

While Meg was researching all of the support players in our wedding (photographer, videographer, some-other-ographer), she was pretty thorough. That was very effective in getting us good deals on these already overpriced services (although why we have to feed these damn people is beyond me).

However, in the process, our phone number has managed to be circulated to every wedding related service in a 25 mile radius. Let me tell you, these people are persistent. Despite our sincerest efforts to convince these people that their services are not required, they insist on following up with weekly phone calls to ensure that we still don’t need them. Before signing up for caller ID so we can avoid them entirely, my responses grew considerably more intense:

“We already have a photographer.”
“We already got married.”
“The wedding is canceled.”
“I became a priest.”
“She left me to move to [insert South American country here]”
“The bride was eaten by Godzilla.”

Each response was met with “Thank you anyway. In the future, please consider our company for your [insert service here] needs.” Only to be followed up the next week with “We just wanted to make sure you didn’t cancel your other photographer and decided to look for a new one.”

So a word of warning to the newly or soon-to-be engaged. When talking to these people, give false information to many of them. Make a yahoo/hotmail/gmail address specifically for the spam these people will send you, so once you’re married you can just stop checking it. Give them your parents’ address, so when you get married and move out, they are stuck with the junk mail. Same with phone numbers. And if by some chance you figure out the magical incantation to get these people to stop calling, please, by all means, let me know.

We just got home from our food tasting at Drexelbrook, and while I realize the subject of this entry does little to inspire faith about the cuisine we will be providing, let me elaborate. It’s rare that I break my diet, but when I do, I tend to go overboard. The food was amazing, and I ended up eating way beyond my normal exciting dinner of chicken and broccoli. So as I sit here ready to explode, I only hope I have a spare moment at the actual wedding to stop and eat.

As a credit to Drexelbrook, the setup tonight was way beyond my expectations. The first hour featured appetizers (I can’t spell the fancy way of saying that) and an open bar in what was effectively a mock cocktail hour. I didn’t think it was possible to actually see estrogen in the air, but it is in fact feasible provided you collect the proper amount of engaged women into a small enough space. The excess in estrogen made everyone especially friendly, and we soon found ourselves talking to another couple. It took no more than about 15 seconds for Meg and the bride-to-be to establish that they are both card carrying members of theknot.com, at which point the yapper dog “Isn’t that site just the best?” secret handshake drove me back to the aforementioned open bar. I was not alone, as the line to the open bar was filled with grooms-to-be all avoiding the Lifetime channel inspired conversations taking place at the tables spaced throughout the room. Greeting the other grooms with the grunt of a truly broken man that is only audible by men in such circumstances, I took my place in line.

After the cocktail hour we moved into another room for dinner. Each table was decorated with a different configuration of the various upgrades available. For the uneducated, when you pay for a reception, you get the “standard” accoutrements. You can then pay more to have them upgraded to something nicer. For instance, the “standard” centerpiece is a stick with a shoelace tied around it. Shell out some more money and you get flowers. Spend enough money and you can get centerpieces that rival the Parthenon. And don’t even get me started on seat covers…

Dinner consisted of samples of all of their offerings from fish to chicken to beef. The desert menu in particular rocked, with bananas flambe and this spiced rum pineapple thing. For those of you lucky enough to be invited to this debacle, feel privileged that you get to sample the menu.

Speaking of guests, my mom tells me she has her list for me (I’m going to see her on Saturday, so I’ll see the list for the first time then). Originally, we had said a wedding of about 150 people. Being generous to our families, we had roughly estimated that to be 60 for my family, 60 to Meg’s, and 30 for our friends. That does not include all of the rat bastard other people we have to feed, such as the wedding coordinator and photographer. So, with a rough estimate of 60 seats to fill, does anyone want to venture a guess on how many people my mom actually came up with for her list? Even better, does anyone want to guess how many of the names I’ll actually recognize?

Tonight did serve two other purposes. First, I am infinitely happy that we are not using the sample DJ they provided during dinner. I loathe DJs that pressure people to dance, and this guy was the epitome of this breed of fun-mongers. He went so far as to bring inflatable saxophones and guitars for the guests to use while dancing. I’m going to have to have a long talk with our DJ before the wedding to ensure this type of “entertainment” does not take place.

The other feeling I developed tonight was a general excitement for the wedding. Despite my incessant bitching about the cost of this one-day blessed event and the anal-retentive attention to detail that must be made in planning, the prospect of spending a day with my closest friends and extremely distant relatives that I haven’t seen since I was 16 is actually quite appealing. Once all is said and done I think it’s going to be a blast. In the meantime, I’m now looking forward to Rob’s wedding more than ever to hold me over until next May. Rob is the first of my friends to get married, marking the transition into the period in my life where I am attending one wedding after the other. So keep in mind that despite how I probably come off on this blog, I am actually very excited for our wedding to arrive.

… after all, once it’s arrived, it’ll be over, right?