
We Are Not the Entertainment
Bachelor parties kind of crack me up. The fact that, as a woman, I’ve been to more than one bachelor party (and not as the floor show — see title) leaves many people scratching their heads. But bachelor parties seem to be one of those odd situations in which I have more often than is likely normal found myself inadvertently entangled.
Working in bars for so long, I’ve seen multiple bachelor parties roll through on a bar crawl, and of course one can hardly escape them in Vegas. But for those I’m just a spectator, merely amused by a bunch of dudes acting like drunk knuckleheads (really not wholly unlike a typical Friday night). The first bachelor party I actually attended was about four years ago while on a road trip. By myself. I had stopped in Denver for a night to see a friend from high school and after dinner dropped into the hotel bar to have one more glass of wine and read my book for a bit. Best laid plans. When a group of youngish, relatively attractive men came through the door I very specifically told myself “don’t engage,” and buried my head in my book. Naturally, they all ended up hanging out right behind me and when I heard one of them say “Manhattan Beach” before I knew what I was doing I had turned around and said, “who’s from Manhattan Beach?” Dammit. This presumably innocent question turned into more drinks, tales about how MB had changed since I lived there, more drinks, discovery of mutual acquaintances, shots, stories about first times surfing, and ultimately me at a strip club. Until 3 in the morning. So much for a quiet night in.
More recently I found myself at a bachelor party with a friend in Tahoe through some guy she had met on Bumble. I’m not sure which scenario is weirder. That was certainly one for the books as well as the inspiration for the title of this piece. Seeing as we were walking into a house full of dudes we’d never met before (admittedly not the smartest move ever) I wanted the fact that we were not there for their amusement to be perfectly clear. That would be where Katie and I learned the difference between strip club strippers and house party strippers. House party strippers found on Craigslist no less… I’ll confess, I’m bizarrely fascinated by strip clubs. Especially by really good pole dancers. That stuff is not easy. The girls that showed up at this house, however, didn’t do a whole lot that required any actual talent. And I’ll never eat another banana. Ew.
My flight from London to Dublin was filled with Stag and Hen parties (I’m still deciding if that hen thing is offensive) and my bf was recently at a bachelor party in San Diego. I told him about the parties in Dublin and some of the traditions that I witnessed and he was telling me about bachelor parties he’s been to, some being quite mellow and others I’d rather not hear more about. That’s when I started to wonder where the whole idea of the bachelor party began. According to this article, it dates all the way back to ancient Sparta, which is not something I’m keen on telling most of the men that I know as they are likely to start fancying themselves ancient Spartans. On second thought, that could prove amusing… Anyway, these early gatherings were more of a feast where the comrades-in-arms would toast the groom and he would, in turn, confirm his undying allegiance to his fellow soldiers. Very “300.” Evidently the more modern incarnation of the bachelor party began with PT Barnum’s grandson in the late 19th century where the boys got rowdy over a nude belly-dancer. This is also about the time the tradition of girls popping out of cakes begins to take hold — a practice which also has its roots in the ancient world. I guess the lack-of-originality bug does extend beyond Hollywood blockbusters.
Spartan soldiers held a dinner in their friend’s honor and made toasts on his behalf — with, one assumes, a Spartan sense of decorum.
In relating my bachelor party tales I’ve come across more than one woman who finds the whole practice disgusting and/or disrespectful, not to mention a whole lot of gals who simply don’t trust the boys to be on their best behavior in what is often a compromising situation. In truth, I can understand how some would see it as an antiquated practice and, based on some of the things I’ve seen, I can’t wholeheartedly disagree with those women. But I’ve also seen groups of men out celebrating their buddy, celebrating time with one another, far more interested in humiliating the groom-to-be than in disrespecting the bride or their own significant others. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of letches out there who slip their rings off their fingers or suddenly stop hearing their phone at the first sight of a pretty girl. If you’re one of the women who worries about this type of behavior from your man at a bachelor party, I’m afraid I have some bad news: your dude is a douche all of the time. You just haven’t caught him yet. Perhaps I’m naïve; perhaps all men are dogs and need to be monitored at all times. If that’s the case, please don’t tell me about it. That sounds like a miserable way to live. I prefer to trust the men I love — if I can’t, I can’t be with them. Not to say that I haven’t been deceived by the occasional sociopath — I don’t know a woman who hasn’t. I just can’t live my life constantly worried about whether the man I’m with is trustworthy; I have to make the decision and go with it. That may sound a little holier-than-thou but hey, it’s the spirit that gets me invited to bachelor parties.
