The Ten Commandments of Bachelor Parties

Alternate Title: Bachelor Party Inflation… Stop the Madness!

While writing up the “street tacos behind the church” ordeal, I realized I have a lot to say about bachelor parties. More specifically, bachelor party inflation.

Before you proceed, I am an Ebenezer Scrooge for bachelor parties. I’m not calling for more, wilder or growth. If you want a bullish case for bachelor parties, go somewhere else.

Bachelor party inflation is the exaggerated sense of importance attributed to the groom’s bachelordom which leads him to impose on his friends excessive commitments in time and money or other inconveniences. Bachelor party inflation applies to bachelors and bachelorettes (you don’t have to go to Nashville, ladies).

It’s time to reverse the trend. To stem inflation, central banks raise interest rates. They tighten up monetary policy. It’s time for a belt-tightening. Below are my recommendations. But first, a few bachelor parties informed my thinking, along with being a 45-year-old father of three who is now a teetotaler after a life of substance abuse. The first two were the parties I supplied with drugs from Colombia in the infamous MIA Incident.

The best bachelor party I attended was the simplest. My old friend George was marrying his second wife (and third baby’s mama). With four children by three women, he was tight on money. The party was at his apartment. We got mad drunk and high for hours, a big sausage-fest in a rundown apartment. Then we walked to the local dive bar and closed it down. I had a blast. Maybe because I was in from Bogota and hadn’t seen everybody in a while, maybe it was because I had just dodged a bullet. But the simplicity of it was refreshing and I decided I’d never make a big deal when I got married.

The worst bachelor party I attended was a week later for my brother. He had his in Chicago, where a dozen friends chipped in to rent a mansion downtown. We took the train from St. Louis, which stopped for three or four hours in the middle of an Illinois cornfield. Everybody was hammered when we got off in downtown Chicago. I was a low-income earner at that time, and I was already out a few hundred before starting a weekend eating and drinking in downtown Chicago. Bad idea.

The third bachelor party that has stayed with me was my best friend from college, who was a born-again Christian by the time of his wedding. We played golf all day, then went back to his house around 8 p.m. to continue drinking. The bachelorette party had arrived shortly before us. The ladies didn’t stick around. The bride ordered pizza for us dudes. It was great. That last one is worthy of note because it’s the only one that didn’t break one of my commandments (including me). My only beef is with golf. Now that I’m older I still hate golf, but I really hated it in my 20s.

Here are the rules.

Bachelor parties shall not last longer than eight hours.

If you’re going longer than eight hours, you’re probably doing cocaine. If not then you’re dead drunk and exhausted. Give it a rest. Go to bed.

Bachelor parties shall not require lodging.

The most obnoxious development I’ve seen from my generation are these weekend trips to another city. After booking travel and lodging, you’re in for high three figures or even low four figures before you have your first beer. Asking this much from friends is self-aggrandizing and presumptuous. For those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.

If you take your party life that seriously, I ask again, “Why are you getting married?”

The original bachelor parties were one night. Over and done. For George’s I spent $50 and had a blast.

Bachelor parties should be limited to one party / outing.

My official bachelor party was an outing to a cockfight and then the bullfights in Bogota. But then, back in Arequipa where I got married, my father-in-law took me out. The idea was for me to come clean to him, a career police officer, about this blog, my past and everything I got up to before his daughter and I tie the knot. We got hammered for hours in Arequipa underworld hangouts (e.g. Sky Blue). He called it a bachelor party. So technically there were two.

Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for not drinking.

I haven’t seen this happen, but it sounds good. And I’m padding out the list a little.

Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for not doing drugs.

See above.

Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for skipping the ho house.

This was my first and only priority when I first devised my bachelor party strategy for Guadalajara. I’m too old for it, not interested, I’ve changed, etc. etc. I don’t want to be in a ho house (which includes strip clubs) for any reason ever again. Right or wrong, it’s where I’m at, and I’m not alone.

Again, I’ve never seen anyone shamed for opting out. I’ve never seen anyone opt out. But I’m getting preemptive here.

Bachelor parties shall not be held for grooms over 40 years old.

As I wrote in the last article, “If bachelordom was anything great after all this time, why would he be getting married? There should be an age limit on bachelor parties. You don’t see bachelor parties with graybeards or white hair, so there is an effective age limit in practice. We should make it explicit.”

I’ll set that explicit age limit at 40 years old. No bachelor parties after 40. With a few more caveats below.

Bachelor parties shall not be held for divorcees.

Bachelordom. You had it, then you gave it away, then you took it back. Now you’re giving it away again. Great, we’re happy for you … but you don’t need a celebration. That would be like me throwing a going-away party every time I move away from St. Louis. I don’t need to commemorate it again and again. Let’s just hope it sticks this time.

Bachelor parties shall not be held for grooms with children.

You effectively left bachelordom when you became a father. A single dad having a bachelor party is like shouting out to the world that your son is a bastard, and having a party about it. We don’t want to judge you, but we don’t need to celebrate it either.

Bachelor party invitations shall not be extended to me.

I’m not coming.

In all honesty, this last one is me padding the list out to 10. You can’t have nine commandments. And I might even come. It would have to be short and something a priest wouldn’t mind being at.

Ten Commandments of Bachelor Parties

1. Bachelor parties shall not last longer than eight hours.
2. Bachelor parties shall not require lodging.
3. Bachelor parties should be limited to one party / outing.
4. Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for not drinking.
5. Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for not doing drugs.
6. Bachelor party attendees shall not be shamed for skipping the ho house.
7. Bachelor parties shall not be held for grooms over 40 years old.
8. Bachelor parties shall not be held for divorced grooms.
9. Bachelor parties shall not be held for grooms with children.
10. Bachelor party invitations shall not be extended to me.

BOO THIS MAN!

Given what this blog was about in the beginning and what I used to get into, this is a marked departure from where I was in my single life. Some of you surely want to BOO THIS MAN (me). Here is your invitation. I’ll start it off with Chuck’s comment on my critique of street tacos behind the church:

Old man Colin in his khaki pants and short-sleeved, plaid button-down shirt wants to go eat somewhere “nice” where he can have a “lovely soup and appetizer.” Is disappointed when a bus full of drunks, not necessarily under the command of Cheapskate Chuck by the way, go for street tacos.

Then, heavens to Betsy, the group goes to a dive bar where the local guy knows the owner. No doubt it is the spawning point of the filthy street dogs. There, with complete disregard for hygiene — and in the post-COVID era! — the bartender pours mezcal directly into our mouths from the bottle. We joke and make friends with the patrons of the bar, heathen provincial illiterates no doubt, who then accompany us to Cantaritos. The satanic rituals of tequila consumption and dancing ensue.

Barbaric. May someday the sordid custom of the bachelor party be done away with and replaced with knitting sweaters.

Lay it on me. I can take it.