I don’t ever recall a time in my life where I had a stretch with three such important events crammed as closely together as I am currently in the midst of. Last weekend’s Bachelor Party Extravaganza was one of those things I had been stressing about for some time. Sure, if you asked him, defcon_1 would probably tell you that it wasn’t that big a deal. I could have cobbled together a group of old high school friends for a game of full contact Scrabble and he’d of been fine with it. He’s just that way. But at the same time, he’s only getting married once (never been more sure about anything in my life) and there was no way I was going to let the moment pass without giving it it’s proper due. Problem is, I’m not much of a planner when it comes to fun-time events. I tend to just “go out and do”, a fact which almost bit me in the ass.
Friday night’s trip to F-1 Braintree came with a hair of being a complete disaster. It started when my car nearly overheated on the way down, stranding me, the groom, Topher and Chippy somewhere on 93. The fact that we had to drive 1/4 of the way with the heat blasting didn’t help matters, but we made it. Of course, if it wasn’t for the kid running the place overhearing our “why the fuck aren’t they fully staffed on a Friday night?” conversation, we probably wouldn’t have raced. I had inquired about a group outing a few weeks earlier, but not having a solid count of people, didn’t get much from the guy on the phone other than, if you only have a handful, we could squeeze you in. My handful ended up being 11, which was too much to squeeze on a Friday (why they didn’t tell me on the phone it was “League Night” I’ll never know). Yet while we bitched about the problem and made alternate plans, the guy came over and said, “we’re gonna hook you up”. I’m not sure if it’s a karma thing, but I honestly believe that my “hey, it’s no big deal” response to his initial rejection probably did me more good than a “you fuckin’ lied to me on the phone” would have. Good to know being a reasonable human being can occasionally pay off.
The racing was a blast. And Fish won. So it’s all good. Plus, the bizarre mix of high school, theater, and IB/gaming friends that sat at dinner (post racing) was pretty kickin’. I guess when you boil it down, we’re all just white guys from the ‘burbs, so there’s no reason we *can’t* get along for a few hours.
Saturday’s BBQ was a fine turnout, and an despite the excess food (seriously, what do you do with four pounds of macaroni salad?), seemed to go off without a hitch. Plus, I learned I can competently grill burgers and dogs, at least well enough not to make people sick.
As for the Foxy Lady, we accomplished what we set out to do. We harassed Fish’s poor libido and humiliated him in the process. I’d feel bad about the physical abuse he took at the hands of the two oiled-up stripper/wrestlers, but it was too funny, and at the end of the day he wasn’t permanently damaged (at least not physically), so I’ll allow myself to enjoy his pain. I have to admit though, the whole strip club experience has finally passed me by. Part of it was no doubt due to the “Best Man at a Bachelor Party” mind-set I was in, as every dollar I brought with me went to the Fish Fund, but even so, I didn’t really get much of a kick out of being there. Maybe it’s the fact that the strippers are now all younger than me that makes it less appealing. It was cool when I was in my early 20’s and they were slightly older women, or at least more my age. At 34, you start feeling like a creepy old man. Or maybe the girls just weren’t as hot. I’m not sure which.
So I survived the weekend. Nothing went horribly awry, I didn’t break the groom, I blew just enough money to remain within my budget, and everybody seemed to have a good time. Plus, I avoided having my name thrown into one of those “lamest Best Man ever” conversations, so I can sigh relief over that.
It’s funny, the fact that I had a semi-important job interview that I felt I really nailed would normally be the highlight of my week, but in the grand scheme of my chaotic life lately, it simply warranted “Tuesday”. I suppose if I thought I had a *real* good chance of getting the job I might be more fired up. Whatever. It went well. Time will tell if that means anything.
Then came festival…