Goin' To The Chapel

Tradition calls for the Best Man to throw a bachelor party for the Groom. Having never been one to balk at tradition, I am just going to go along today and enjoy the day my future step-sons, James (my Best Man) and Drew (Groomsman #1), have planned for me. 

Quite honestly, it will be nice to enjoy a day in which I don't have to plan anything. 

There have been some ground rules established for the day's agenda. They are, in no particular order:

1. No strippers. 

Let me just say I'm a firm believer that no party plans should include a tetanus shot.  

I have nothing against a young woman putting herself through cosmetology school by working a few extra hours dancing for strangers. More power to her, I say. Like Donna Summer sang, "She works hard for the money. So hard for the money." She's just not getting any of mine. 

2. No porn. 

I've never understood the whole bunch-of-guys-in-a-room-watching-dirty-movies thing. It's a little creepy, if you ask me. 

3. No petting zoos. 

I think that's self-explanatory.

4. No mystery shots. 

I've never been one to drink something without knowing what it was or where it came from.

Must be some left over issues from when my parents hired that wet nurse. I don't know. 

We will probably end up in a bar at some point. Have no worries, dear Reader. I'm not a drinker. Ask anyone who knows me. They'll tell you three things. 

                 1. He sweats easily. 

                 2. He gets drunk on one hard cider. 

                 3. He snores. 

A picture is worth a 1000 words, isn't it?

I may have one or two drinks tonight. Partly because of my low tolerance to alcohol but mostly because I hate the way I feel the next morning. Hangovers are no fun and when you suffer from headaches every day, the last thing you want to do is add fuel to the fire. 

Or tequila. (To KILL 'YA!)

I drank tequila once. ONCE. I woke up in a garden shed hugging a bag of fertilizer. We dated for a month or two, but I just couldn't handle the bullshit. 

5. Bungee jumping.  

I'm old. I'l break in half like a graham cracker. 

6. No ink. 

I have tattoos. 

I appreciate really good ink and there are some really talented artists out there. 

Having said that, there will be no "Hey! Look! A tattoo parlor!! Let's see if what's-his-name still works there" moments today. I would hate waking up tomorrow with a Justin Bieber tramp stamp.

And finally...

7. No Jackass-like ball shots. I like my boys and would prefer that they got through the day without getting punched, slapped, kicked or pelleted with golf balls. It reminds me of the advice my grandfather gave me. "Take care of your man-jigglies," he said, "and they will take care of you."

He also said "Never call a woman toots (unless you've paid her for the privilege)" "Never pet a stray dog that has foam on its lips," and "Never vote for a man running for President named Skip."

Okay. The rules have been set. All I can do now is sit back and enjoy the ride. 

Let the festivities begin!

Just in case anyone needs to know, my blood-type is B-Negative. 

Ironic, isn't it?

Je. Matzer~Goin' To The Chapel

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