Batchin’ it up
I’ve learned something through these past couple days: nobody, aside from friends of the bachelor, really cares what happens at a bachelor party. Have you ever known that guy who talks endlessly about the great party he went to the night before and how everything was the coolest thing he’s ever seen? Do you remember thinking that every story he has is exactly the same, with a different house as background?
Well, I don’t want to do that to you.
I was planning to launch into a long-winded description of my friend Ryan’s bachelor party, a party that another friend, Russel, and I had planned hastily under duress of the impending deadline.
Well, actually, that’s not quite the truth. The truth is that I, in some sort of drunken state a few months before, had admitted that I would be able to plan the party and that I would call Ryan’s brother, Eric, and get things figured out. I then forgot everything completely, and was only reminded about three weeks ago. Russel and I had to act quickly.
We planned a party at Russel’s house. We’re not the stripper and barhopping group that would partake in the stereotypical bachelor party, so I resurrected the best party idea I’ve ever been a part of: the bathtub full of cheap beer party. Yard beer. The idea is that everyone brings one twelve pack of cheap beer, like Old Style, Pabst, Grain Belt, etc. and dumps it into the bathtub. We made a chart in the interest of tracking each beer.
It was very fun. We didn’t do anything special, aside from watching the Twins beat the Yankees and playing a quick two-table game of poker, but I’d hope to say that Ryan had fun, and he didn’t have to buy any of his own cigarettes. My only regret is that I assumed that no one from Minneapolis would come down, so I didn’t bother calling.
Still, fun ensued. If it wasn’t for Ryan’s car getting broken into at the end of the night, everything would have been perfect. If it wasn’t for bad luck…