Missing: Wallet, pride, dignity...

Ahh, the bachelor party. An event as time honored as the wedding itself. If you're a male, you've been there before. You've gotten the call, and put yourself completely at the mercy of the best man. You surrender the right to make decisions, as well as any opportunity to tell someone that the decision that has been made for you is out of your budget.

I hate bachelor parties. I have worn a tuxedo to 15 different weddings, so the sample size is large enough for my word to be considered credible. I mean, who made this thing up, anyway? I have my theories, the strongest being that the first bachelor party was orchestrated by a best man who didn't approve of the wife-to-be all that much, so he tried to fit as many obstacles as he could on his way to the alter. He filled a night with beer, liquor, strippers, hookers, cigarettes, weed, cocaine, and the worst influences possible and he did it an hour or more away from home, so nobody would know about it except for the unlucky folks in the room.

I will never understand this tradition. It's been said that the purpose of the bachelor party is to get what's remaining of the sins out of your system and allow the groom-to-be one last chance to bark at the moon, so to speak. The inherent flaw with that explanation is that most of these things would never have been done if not for a bachelor party. In other words, if not for the bachelor party, never in my life would I drink from morning until night, nor would I be in the presence of "ladies of the night". If I had never been to a bach, my mind would have comfortably believed that the only prostitutes in America were in Las Vegas (I have HBO). However, because of these cleansing exercises, I actually get dirtier by what I'm exposed to.

I live a pretty clean life, which means that this shit kills me. I think I slept for 25 minutes last night, using my bunched up J Crew jeans for a pillow, and the carpet for a bed. I won't get into the details of the party, because it's a bit of a cardinal sin to speak of the events, but there were six different levels of debauchery involved with my running mates and I firmly believe that I'm a worse person today because of it. Really, is that a way to go through life?

Bachelor parties have become the great equalizer. How's your health? Did you finally quit smoking? Have you saved up some money? Have you found God? Well, guess what? Everything you worked on since the last bach last September is about to go to shit. And why? Because the best man has decided to put you on the guest list. It's been said that you can only go as fast as the slowest member of the herd. In bachelor parties, the opposite actually applies. If the best man does rails like a Hollywood producer and makes just as much as one, well, cash in your 401(k). It's going to be a long night. You need to roll like he rolls and he LOVES bachelor parties.

I don't drink much these days, and I like it like that. My life is gaining shape and I'm confident of its path. I go to the gym 3-4 days a week and I eat the right things and I say the right things to the right people. Well, yesterday morning, I met with 14 other people intent on making one unsuspecting gentleman's life heaven (or is it hell?). I was $500 ahead of budget, courtesy of a few long nights working at the bar. My clothes were ironed, my sinuses were clear, my teeth were brushed, and my breath was fresh. I was well rested and I had just come from the gym. This morning came and I'm now $2 ahead of budget, my eyes are itchy, I'm sneezing, I feel fat, and I smell a bit, due to a steady stream of Jagermeister and Bud Light. Tomorrow, I restart my world and rebuild my mental, physical, and financial health. And the moment it's all rebuilt, you can be sure I'll be getting an email telling me I'm going to Montreal for a weekend and I need to send a check for $800 to someone I don't even like.

This is a tradition I can do without, but I never will, because somebody out there likes them, and they're the one that's planning the next party.