So, I did this bachelor party thing last night. It was probably the second best bachelor party I’ve attended (the first being that one for a complete stranger and had my arch-nemesis at the time in attendance — good times!). Unfortunately for you, dear readers, I can’t divulge anything because what happens at the bachelor party, stays at the bachelor party. I’ll just say we were all locked, cocked, and ready to rock. I did find out just hours ago that one of my friends narrowly avoided severe injury after the bachelor party, which goes to show you that normal life is more dangerous than the bachelor party life. Oh, the bachelor did give me permission to put the most demeaning picture of the night on my blog, but there are two problems with this. First, I’m not sure if he gave careful, sober consideration to this allowance. Second, steevak.com is a family-friendly site.
There were several comments made during the night about my future bachelor party, if I were ever so lucky to have one. Usually the comments were laden with superlatives and described grandiose activities. Since I’m on track to be the very last one in the Friend Group to get married, my bachelor party will have to be the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties. I’m simultaneously excited and frightened. It would be nice to survive until my wedding . . . unless I wanted a good excuse to avoid the wedding. Anyway, all this and that talk is pointless as long as I can’t find a girl, and that prospect is looking increasingly grim considering my unbroken streak of strike outs. I tell you, dear readers, things are not OK on Ego Ranch. One of these days, I’d appreciate some girl with a little bit of fortitude to sit me down and tell me exactly why I’m not the catch everybody says I am.
This is turning into a pity post, so it ends!