Goin' To The Chapel

So I survived. 

I didn't wake up with a tiger in my bathroom, a naked Asian in the trunk of my car, and so far Mike Tyson hasn't punched me while singing In The Air Tonight. I wasn't tased or tattooed. 

I guess though the chances of any of that happening were extremely low. 

You see, my day yesterday was not spent bar-hopping and drinking and doing shots and memory loss and girl's named Cheyenne grinding into my lap.

Much like with October being the new June, bachelor parties have become something all together new. It is common now for most bachelor parties to take place a week or even weeks before the wedding. 

I wonder why. 

Maybe because of idiots like this. 

I'm not much of a drinker anyway. I'm a light-weight. I did my drinking in my 20's. Believe me. I'm good for a while. Besides, I wake up every morning with a migraine. The last thing I need-want-is a hangover. Does anybody really enjoy throwing up? Besides the Olsen Twins, that is.

I had no idea of what to expect yesterday. Everything was planned by my future step-sons James and Drew. 

Side note: Drew and James have decided that after the wedding they will call me Step-Dude. Which I think is pretty freaking awesome. 

James and Drew planned a fun day. 

It started with video games at a Putt-Putt amusement center. I don't care how old a guy is. Give him a machine gun and robots or zombies to shoot at and he is a happy man. We also played those games of chance that reward you with little red tickets. The whole place is like Vegas for the little league crowd. Crazy-eyed eight year old's running around, clutching handfuls of red tickets, like handfuls of spaghetti, begging their parents for more tokens. 

Those red tickets, in turn, can be turned in for valuable prizes. In the end the 5 of us accumulated over 4500 tickets and I walked out with a yellow plush monkey and some rad jewelry. 

Then we were off for a round of miniature golf. I must say that out of 18 holes, I did manage to sink 5 holes-in-one and shot a consistent Par 2 for the remaining holes. I don't know what's sadder: being really good at miniature golf or being really bad. I've never played...I don't know...what would the opposite of miniature golf be? Life-size golf? Never played a round of real golf. The only Bogey I know walks into the fog with Renault as Ilsa flies away into the night at the end of Casablanca.

After our round of golf, we headed over to the go-carts, which was ironic because my car didn't. Go, that is. I got stuck with a no-go cart. Those electric shopping carts grocery stores have on hand would have been faster than what I got stuck with. This car was so slow and I was so behind the pack, that eventually it looked as though in the lead because they looped around the track and we were right behind me. 

Then my future brother-in-law put me into the wall. 

I should have known that was going to happen. Mostly because he said, right as we were climbing into our little cars, "Hey. I'm going to put you into the wall." It's how he says "I love you."

I was rescued by Derrick, who ran over and pulled me off the rail and got me pointed in the right direction. How humiliating. I can only imagine the stories he'll tell when the Chess Club meets on Monday. 

Go-carts are fun and so are video games and miniature golf. Every once and a while it's okay to be 11 again. even if it's during your bachelor party. 

We had lunch at HOOTERS. 

I've never been to HOOTERS before. I didn't know they served food there. Honestly. All I can say is the food was pretty darn good. Fried pickles? Go figure! Yummy. My burger was big and juicy and I couldn't finish it all. 

Speaking of big and juicy...

I know why they call the place HOOTERS. One word: boobies. I get it. I get the joke. 

It's all in fun, I guess, and for a bachelor party, it was the closest I was going to get to a strip club. What I didn't expect was a bunch of girls who looked like high school juniors (a few looked like they couldn't wait to get to high school-the hostess looked 10-I am not exaggerating) It was a little disturbing. I guess I am old because the only thing I kept thinking was "Do your mommy and daddy know you're dressed like that?" and "Go put a sweater on. Right now young lady!"

Our waitress, Mindy or Cindy or Tiffany or Sparkles or Britney, whatever, was sweet. Deer-in-the-headlights sweet. She had this nervous giggle and blank expression every time we made a joke, or ordered our food or asked where our fries were. I was so tempted, several times, to say "Quick! What's 10 X 10?" I know that's mean. 

The waitresses did sing to me. Yes. HOOTERS has a bachelor party song. The girls pulled me to the front of the restaurant, formed a line on either side of me, and clapped and sang-believe me-a challenge for some-one of those annoying restaurants chant songs that everyone else eating has to suffer through. And the girls were so into it! Not! One, when asked to join in the fun, actually said, "No. I'd rather not." 

It was just like high school all over again.

I can only imagine the uniforms at HOOTERS, more like fabric swatches really, are one-size fits all.  

After HOOTERS we drove over for 3 games of laser tag. 

LASER TAG is the bomb! I don't care how old you are or what you do for a living, laser tag is awesome fun. 

We had a blast. 

A BLAST!!!

There were about 22 of us in this big area that has towers and ramps and walls and obstacles. The room is lit with black lights so there is this psychedelic glow. Especially if you wear white. Poor Drew was dressed in light colored clothes from head to toe and looked like Radioactive Man. 

We played with other adults and lots of little kids.

There are established rules set by the laser tag place. These rules include no profanity, no physical contact, no crouching (When's the last time you saw that on a company's wall? NO CROUCHING!) and no covering your sensors. There are more rules, but hardly anyone pays attention to them. People cover their sensors, remove their sensor packs and lay down. Once the game starts, though, no matter what strategies you have worked out with your team, all go out the window.

We ran and we ducked for cover and we got shot and we fired from secret places in the dark. We yelled and we sweated and I'm sure the two older of us are walking a little slower and a little stiffer this morning that the two younger ones. 

Here's a few things I've learned about laser tag and myself.

1. Six year old girls turn into blood-thirsty killers when playing laser tag.

The pigtails and chubby cheeks and Hello Kitty t-shirts are just a smoke screen. I swear that the one little girl who shot me several times had painted her face with war paint. Granted it was My Little Pony glitter war paint, but it was war paint none-the-less. Is it possible to have an adorable war face?

2. Don't trust anyone. 

Anyone. 

ANYONE.

Drew shot me about 25 times. Is that any way to treat your future step-dude...dude?

I did manage to accidentally shoot Joe several times. 

Remember the go-karts, Joe? Payback is a bitch. Revenge is a dish best served cold...and in black light. 

3. Dungeons and Dragons geeks take laser tag very, very seriously.

4. People will still shoot you, even if you choose the name Santa Claus for a laser tag nickname. It's such a mean world out there. Maybe I'll pick Baby Bunny next time.

5. I'm a decent shot. I'm a better target. Sad, but true.

6. When someone in a laser tag game tells you "I've got your back" it means that they will follow you and then shoot you in the back. Several times. 

Laser-tag is fun, so much better than playing army-man when you're seven, and it was the perfect way to end our day together. 

I had a great time. 

Thank you James, Drew, Joe and James. 

Now..can someone please explain to me...who decided that SASSY would make a good tramp-stamp?


Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

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