What do fishing, maybe in the dark, thus a Texas ranch, snakes of various types and do they come or stay out after dusk, eating either and only fine food or snacks, and a game of cards — likely just one each — have in common.
And no strippers or Chippendales. And an only half or quarter, not full Monty. (Who is Monty anyway?) Or cowboy or cowgirl hats. Although there was some dress-up. More Barbie than boots on, I think.
It’s an easy answer, connected and conflicting, but not in all or dirty ways, bachelor and bachelorette parties. One of each on the same day. (Or night). So obviously, you can only go to one. Even if they have different starting times. Unless you have a frickin’ fast plane.
Oh, I was reminded I shouldn’t use such language. These are lowkey, not baudy parties. Apparently that is no longer in vogue.
So Go Fish. Not if you don’t have a license(s). For the wedding, too. Or call it a game of pick up 52, (in case you’ve imbibed too much.)
— We doubt if fishing in the dark will be part of this next trip. Although there may be that north plane swing to the darkness-addled Land of 10,000 hockey rinks. Ice Fishing with Icelandic intonation anyone? But first …
Speaking of hockey, and we’ll just pass on there, why should we even care, as far as the sign of sports bar signs, that said or read (teletex or whatever) go see some (shitty but lucky by virtue of the draw) teams you do not care about. But apparently some do. As we’ve now seen visiting-Carolina-Hurricanes-fans at our local sports bars, not just Vegas Knights and those of the Aves as Now Have Nots. (I just saw one guy wearing a Golden Knights jersey that was decked out in full Medievel style, accompanied by a man wearing world soccer attire, with names and nicknames of a team, none of which I could pronounce. Next night, an intermingling of jersey colors and stylings. Or Team USA? Was that actually the aformentioned jazzy jersey unpronounceable?) What happens at Vegas rinks, stays there. The same might well be true of the Wild Badger the other night. How do we know for which team they were cheering? Clue. The ten-gallon cowboy hat of Carolina. It’s not only Texas (close enough) that rocks you like a hurricane, honky-tonk style. And from Carolina they might just take — between all of them, let it be understood — advantage of the 10-gallon-beer-option. (How many pitchers is that?) OK, there is no such thing. The closest to it that I’ve seen is a half-barrel offering, in of all places Hudson. (Is that, like, a keg?) The two guys with the man from Carolina, this Mr. Cowpoke, as in poke check, and maybe a third to make it a hat trick, were wearing baseball hats (close enough) and some had their sunglasses not on their face, like the Matt Dillon doppleganger, but over the top of the damn brim. Do goalies do that as commando under their helmets? (Like what judges do or do not have on under their robes?) The hockey head coach might find it cool to do the same, for good luck, but this luck might run cold down below. Dare I say in a shootout?
To tie up the loose ends of this tattered tale, my brother just flew to Prague on a corporate mission. It’s possible that on the return trip, they could be re-routed at nearly a right angle, to go over Sweden, where if they look at just the right time, they just might spy a right winger. —
Where do we go to do this? There are only 50 states and two relatively safe adjoining countries and a few miscellaneous adjoining, if you don’t count seas, official territories, to choose from. So you go to opposite ends, girl and the boys, north and south, as in Texas and northern Wisconsin.
The south one at a ranch. Or should I call it a villa big enough to fill many medium-size states, (as a song says, the Titanic fits inside), and this is Texas. The north was at a fishing hole and adjoining shack with real and natural fish, the kind that aren’t transplanted there in a big box held by a crane, I think, with a reel. Yes the girls had their own artificial lake, just don’t dip in your toe, as this water contains water moccasins that bite harder than those Texan shots. With the guys, they only caught small fish — and some of them apparently forgot they hadn’t gotten a fishing license — so rather it was largely playing card games and eating and trying to maintain chips and such, read that literally, as in keep the hot ones in your stomach. I just hope that one of them plastered an Ace of Spades against one of their foreheads at some point. After all, this is a bachelor party. (And on the topic of licenses, do you need to meet more stringent requirements (mulitiple) to drive a boat, or a car, or like a goer on his summer job, a Powerman 5000 type riding lawnmower with all the flared out, flat metal flack on the bottom to make room for more metal in the form of rotor blades. One of the young men recently applied for all three.) Oh, the girls shuffled their cards too, with their games, but what they ate in their abode was more like caviar, I think, and it was catered in. As there were other snakes outside, Texas rattler venomous kind. Only little garter snakes that wish to swim, maybe, are what are found in the up-where-they-abided in the Land of 12,000 Lakes, it could be called, in this case only the top thousand to be considered for their boats. It was way too far to haul them to The Boundary Waters of Minnesota.
In any case, the girls were given — by a rep of the girl who invited them, who has relatives with massive wealth — a summation of what to be careful for. Forgive us. Now go enjoy.
And call your future significant other. Hi honey! See how that card game is going. And make sure there are no strippers cavorting. There were none at the bachelor party that I didn’t have thrown for me, since there wasn’t enough time. That’s OK, bro. The fun wedding was enough.
And yes, one of the partially-partying girls followed suit and accepted an engagement request of her own shortly afterward. Good choice. You’ll be doing this party thing again very shortly.
But between the grouped-together B parties there is a wedding — not to mention all the B parties that are birthdays. And engagements also require future invitations.
Maybe one to announce, but hey, another to fully invite. Gotta have photos on the back. Of each. No garter yet. That is for the … Nevermind.
For example of things of interest, they say they are issuing this, together with their (your) or (our) families. And kindly RSVP. Exactly? Promptly? Precisely? And like her? Or just like a German? Only one RSVP uses a scanning box. Or says “celebrate their” marriage. Or lists the church (yes there is one, and yes it has been long known) and other venues (one with an interesting and odd inviting spelling). And the exact date spelled out, as well as the year. The state is spelled out, literally,
But where there are two things, they will have the exact same style, in some cases. Like the color (basically) and font choice(s) and for the main words their point size, for you typography junkies — me? — and I assume there are at least one or two going to the wedding. Or maybe together as a couple? Will that marriage last? We know this one will, as we are certain the father of the bride will go body surfing on the dance floor and let those high-heeled ones climb aboard. And the same way to select, are the two first names of the spouses linked together in the online invite RSVP. I won’t tell you if there is a hyphen.
Or if, as I have to think about it, if I will follow up with a story about other earlier bachelor parties? Much juicier …