The Bachelor Party

Two nights ago, I had the distinct privilege of taking part in my first bachelor party ever. My friend from high school is getting married today, and that was our last hoorah before he moves up to Gunnison for a lifetime of being told what to do. Nice, John.

A lot of stuff happened Sunday night that would have never happened, had the participants been sober. But that's the whole point of a bachelor party, anyway, isn't it? I'll give you guys the highlights.

First, we started off at Hooters. Not as good as advertized. Oh, don't get me wrong, their chicken wings are incredible, but the rest of the experience was just too weird. Our server looked no older than my younger sister. In fact, most of the Hooters girls were 18 or 19. And they looked even younger. And they were serving tables full of dirty old men. I didn't like it. I ate, like, 15 wings. At the time, I figured that was a mistake, considering what was planned for later that evening.

After Hooters, we got into a limo that was stuffed with tons of alcohol. I got to try some different drinks I'd never had before. Bourbon tastes like paint thinner. Vodka tastes like rubbing alcohol. Rum is kinda good, though. After the short drive in the limo, everyone was already affected by the drinks, at one level or another. (Most of them had started at Hooters.) We arrived at our destination, a dance club called Cowboys.

Let me just say, right here and now, that dance clubs suck. Well, let me take that back. Cowboys sucks, and it makes the other ones look bad. They play country music most of the time, and expect people to line dance. After a certain time of night, they switch over and play a majority of hip-hop and top 40. Still, despite the dichotomy in their own playlists, they require certain rules to be followed at all times. You've got to have your shirt tucked in. That's not that bad. I still remember how to tuck a shirt in from when I was a little kid. No sweat. Also, your pants have to be pulled up to your belly button. This guy at the front made me lift up my jacket, I guess to show him I hadn't brought any booze or guns into the place. He also made me yank my pants up. Apparently, wearing clothes the way they'd been specifically designed to be worn is a strict no-no in the land of the cowboy. Jackass. It wasn't a total loss, though. We got to watch the drunk groom-to-be sing karaoke to Puddle of Mudd's "She Hates Me." Man, that was priceless.

My friend (who shall remain nameless) was dancing with a girl when his gum fell out of his mouth and landed in her hair. He kept dancing with her, all the while trying to get the gum out of her hair. When the song was over, he split, not bothering to tell her about the new addition to her head. Later another one of my friends got her number. She never found out who it was that dumped gum into her hair. She's going to have to get a whole new haircut because of my friend, and he didn't even bother telling her.

I couldn't tell you how many times I got told that I "f*cking rock." (My friends tend to get slightly more liberal with their use of language when they're intoxicated.)

I laughed out loud when I heard this exchange (not because I was drunk, in fact, I didn't get drunk all night; slightly buzzed, yes, but I know my limit):
"Dude, you're my favorite."
"Your favorite what?"
*Pause* "Uh... I don't know man, but you're my favorite."
That happened not once, not twice, but THREE TIMES that night.

We came *this* close to getting busted for public intoxication, public urination, and minors in posession of alcohol. All at the same time. When one friend decided he couldn't hold it until he walked into the gas station, and just let 'er fly right in the middle of the parking lot. There was a cop about 60 yards away. I have no idea how he didn't see it.

I decided that I love to patronize drunk people. I got to play the responsible one once the limo dropped us off. One guy immediately fell out the door. Another ran straight into the middle of the street and began puking his guts out. Yet another started screaming at the top of his lungs that he needed to get to Sears RIGHT NOW. It was a mess.

Once we got into my friend's parents' basement, it started getting sad. One guy ended up passing out with his face in a trash can. Seriously. We've got pictures. He saw the flash and said, "Andrew, I know what you're doing, and I hate you for it." Then, he passed out again. Three others clogged up every drain in the basement bathroom by puking in the bathtub, the sink, and the toilet. At one point, every one of them was asleep or passed out with their faces hanging over a drain. One guy fell asleep with half his body laying outside the bathroom. Another fell asleep while trying to crawl up the stairs. The one who kept screaming that he needed to get to Sears finally got his way when my friend's younger brother drove him all the way down to the mall. From Monument. Round trip, taking road conditions into account, that probably took nearly an hour. Ungrateful bastard. He was sick the next day at work, though, so I can't be too hard on the guy.

The next morning most of the guys were still at least a little sick. Some more than others. We had to go to the church to set it all up for the wedding. I was fine, but for some of the others, it was bad news. I'm one of only a few people who has a clear memory of everything that happened that night...