Who's Gonna Drive You Home?

                A couple of weekends ago, I had the pleasure of attending yet another bachelor party.  Unlike some other bachelor parties which have resulted in me being dragged along to strip clubs for some incredibly awkward times and sums of  Kohl’s Cash changing hands, this bachelor party was a relaxing weekend of drinking and grilling at the Lake of the Ozarks.  Of course, I naturally ended up with some stories to tell because I’m me and shit happens.

                Now, in all honesty, nothing particularly scandalous happened during this bachelor party.  But, we did go through the effort of coming up with our own porn star names and putting them on the back of some shirts that we wore, so both in the interest of sparing anyone from embarrassment or identification and also because I refuse to let the effort of us giving ourselves pseudonyms go to waste, I’m going to give you a list of all the porn names and how I will be referring to them in this post.

Chuck Steak (Me)

Mike Honcho (Honcho)

Tyler Stiff (T. Stiff)

Buck Naked (Buck)

Tigger

Lieutenant Longcock (Longcock)

Daddy “Longlegs” Cumsalot (Longlegs)

Beau Buckeye (Beau)

Walker Texas Banger (Banger)

                Another important piece of information for you is the fact that, since we had such a large group of guys, we made the brilliant decision of renting a 15 person van to take down to the lake so we could all pile into it whenever we needed to go anywhere (if it would have been my bachelor party, the entire group could have ridden around on one moped because I am a sad, lonely man).   

We got down there to the lake house we were staying in, unloaded our belongings, cracked open some beers and started drinking.   A few beer bongs were done through the 20 foot long homemade beer bong we brought with us, shots were had, and we grilled up some burgers to help soak up some of the alcohol that we were rapidly imbibing.   Across the cove from our lake house, we saw the bar/nightclub Topsiders, and it was ultimately decided that it would be our destination for the evening.  We also thought that venturing out into the social scene would be a great way to meet some fellow partiers who might want to hang out after the bar closed to party until the wee hours of the morning (we’re sociable people, it’s what we do).  We ultimately decided that, with Google telling us the bar was only 0.8 miles away coupled with the fact that we’d been drinking all day, the best idea ever would be to walk there.  And based on the positive reception of my blog posts Lost & Memphis Revisited, I made this handy map showing our adventure.

A.      Our starting point

B.      Everyone is still convinced that walking is a great idea.  Spirits are high.

C.      A member of our group has to take the first pee of our walk.  Surprisingly, it is not me. It’s Banger.

D.      We are certain we haven’t got much farther to go.

E.       “It’s gotta be like the next turn.  I swear.”  Spirits starting to turn sour.

F.       “Yes, this is definitely where we need to turn.  We’re almost there!” Spirits are rising high again.

G.     I stop to pee.

H.      We can see the lights of the club and hear the music ahead of us.  Spirits are at an all-time high.

I.        There is a fence and barbed wire in between us and the club.  We are literally just few feet away and unable to progress any further.  This is bullshit.

J.        There’s a staircase here leading up to someone’s deck.  We decide to use these to ascend the hill and attempt to find an opening in the fence.

K.      We have run out of stairs and are now forced to crawl up what is at least a 60 degree incline.  I can hear others behind me struggling but am too intent on reaching the bar to turn back for them.

L.       Worried that some of the home owners whose yards we’re traipsing through will call the cops, Beau takes off his flip flops in an attempt to soften his footsteps and be quieter.  Nobody questions this.

M.    MORE FUCKING FENCE

N.     I decide this is a good time to start sprinting so I can hopefully make it to the bar faster.  Honcho says he hates me as I pass by.

O.     I am done sprinting and sit on the road to wait for the rest of the group to catch up. Honcho still hates me.

P.      We are literally the dumbest people on Earth.  Why did we think this was a good idea? Does this bar actually even exist?

Q.     We have found the bar! Group hugs and high fives.

R.      Beau does not have his ID.  We convince the doorman to let us in anyways because we are not fucking turning back at this point.  T. Stiff decides that our hike tomorrow morning is cancelled in light of the fact that we just completed one.

After several hours of exactly the kind of irresponsible drinking that you would expect, including a fantastic dance scene which Buck & Honcho took turns lifting me up into the air and spinning me around the dance floor while the DJ played “Time of My Life” (because both of those guys are strong and I’m not normal) and also a complete inability to convince anyone that wasn’t already part of our group to party with us, we decided it was a good time to head back to the lake house. 

Minus the dress, we looked exactly this good.

One of the bigger struggles in rounding up the group to leave involved talking Banger out of trying to swim home based on the fact that his drowning would most assuredly put a damper on everyone else’s weekend.    Somewhere during the time that I was trying to keep Banger from drowning, a couple of cabs were called because most of the group was not keen on attempting that walk back; Longcock and I were not so convinced of this and we set out across the parking lot fully prepared to walk home.  We got about 15 ft. past the cabs before T. Stiff yelled at us and made us get in the cab; we obliged on the grounds that it was his bachelor party and also because his yelling was scary.

                At this point it’s also worth noting that one of our biggest goals for this trip was to get a bunch of strangers to come party with us at the lake house so that we could, in some small way, recapture our feelings of youth, vigor and overall coolness despite the fact that we all were exhibiting various levels of graceful aging.  It’s also worth noting that there was little to no strategy or effort involved in this endeavor aside from walking up to strangers and drunkenly shouting some variation of “YOU WANNA COME DO A 20 FOOT BEER BONG WITH US?!” 

It made sense to us

Needless to say, we convinced approximately zero people to come party with us on the first night.  Kinda.  When we got back to our place, we did notice that our neighbors, a group of 50-somethings were out on their deck singing karaoke and we somehow invited ourselves to join them.  I honestly don’t even know how this happened; one minute we’re climbing out of the cabs and the next minute I see everyone in the bachelor party at the neighbors’ house and I’m suddenly panicking that I let myself into the wrong lake house.  Regardless, I grabbed a handful of beers and went next door to party until the wee hours of the morning.  In fact, the party ended almost exactly like it began, with me suddenly realizing that everyone else I knew was gone and I was just singing “Centerfold” to a group of strangers.  Luckily, Buck & Tigger came back and helped me subtly escape this awkward situation.  And by subtly, I mean they tapped me on the shoulder, said “Hey, everyone left,” and I dropped the microphone mid-lyric and walked away.  Subtle.

                The following night we decided that, based on the amount of enjoyment we had there already, we wanted to head back to the same club that we were at the previous night.  We also decided that we were not fucking walking this time and we all put on our matching bachelor party shirts, climbed into the van and rolled out.  I feel like I should also mention that at some point in the afternoon the group came to the realization that I was the only person on the trip that was single and the other guys pledged that their mission was to get me laid; to which I assured them that it was a nice gesture but that they were in way over their heads with that goal.  They ignored my warnings and suddenly I was Maverick and had 8 other guys vying to be Cougar.  If you know me at all, you already know how their mission ended.

And just like in the movie Cougar realized he was in over his head,
gave up and went home

                We get to the club and there is immediately a huge difference from the previous night: the new DJ is awful.  See, the previous night the club had a DJ that was really just all about picking some crowd-pleasing songs and watching everyone have a great time.  The DJ tonight had his head buried so far in his computer as he tried extremely hard to mix songs that he didn’t even seem to notice that not a single person was out on the dance floor.  As semi-professional partiers, we knew what needed to happen to really get things going: our group’s synchronized dance to the song “Africa” by Toto (shut up, it’s a real thing).  I immediately went up to the DJ and tried to request the song.  After ignoring me for several minutes, which I assume was because he felt his music wasn’t doing enough to alienate people in the bar so that he should probably step up his asshole game, he told me that he would not play that song.   It took 4 more guys requesting that song to him and ultimately bribing him with $5 before he finally agreed to play “Africa.”  During the time we spent trying to encourage him to play our song, the only people on the dance floor was when each of us individually walked across the floor to try to talk him into playing our song.  Clearly, he did not want to play our song because it would mess up his (lack of) flow.

I snapped this picture of the dance floor with my cell phone

                I don’t want to say that our “Africa” dance was amazing because I don’t think the word amazing truly captures just how great it truly was.  Aside from how good we looked and how much we totally nailed it, this song was also the first time the entire night that the dance floor was actually full.  A crowd formed around us and tried to learn the dance we performed and everyone was just having a great time, especially once the air-flute solo broke out.  Of course, that great time promptly ended when the song ended and the DJ went back to his normal shtick of whatever the fuck he was trying to do.

If only he’d played “Evacuate the Dancefloor” by Cascada

                Truthfully, I know that our shenanigans were awesome because almost immediately after this a random girl from the dance floor comes up and starts chatting with myself and Buck about how much fun our group is and how much the DJ sucks.  During the course of this conversation, we learned a few things about this girl: her name was Liz, she was staying literally right down the street from us, she was there with her sisters, and they planned to walk home.  Upon hearing that final point, I was suddenly and terrifyingly reminded of the hike our group had taken the night before and this awful realization led me to do one of the most unintentionally creepy things I have ever done in my life: I told this girl that I had just met, “Hey, we made that walk last night and it was awful.  We’re staying right by you, so you and your sisters can ride home with us guys in our van.”  Let me just assure all of my readers that THERE IS NO FUCKING NON-CREEPY WAY TO OFFER A GROUP OF GIRLS A RIDE HOME IN YOUR VAN FULL OF DUDES no matter how noble or genuine your intentions are.

“Yeah, this is my van. I call it the Pussy Wagon.  You want a ride?”

                So, I suppose that I have a trustworthy face or that people can just tell by talking to me that I’m not a rapist and that I really do just legitimately try to not be a piece of shit.  Whatever the reason, our new friend Liz felt that I was a genuine enough person to trust to give her a ride home.  Her one sister, Eleanor, who had somehow magically appeared in the conversation circle completely unannounced (she probably said hi, but there was alcohol involved and my memory is fuzzy, so I’m erring on the side of wizardry) also felt that we were decent enough guys to ride home with.   I tracked down Honcho, who was our DD for the night and who also somehow was suddenly wearing a “Malibro” tank top that I am positive he didn’t start the night off with and that I can only assume he stole from somewhere, and let him know that we would have a few more passengers in our van for the night.  Liz, meanwhile, tracked down her other sister Ellen to let her know that they had a ride home.  

This guy is shirtless now

Ellen, in contrast to the other 2 sisters, seemed less than thrilled about the prospect of climbing into a van with 9 guys and understandably so because on paper that seems like a fucking terrible and dangerous idea.  Seeing her hesitation and wanting to assure her that the offer of a ride home was on the up and up, my inebriated mind quickly sprang into action and blurted out, “It’s cool, really, just a ride home.  If you want to see my driver’s license or insurance card you can,” because somehow my brain rationalized that State Farm would totally have my back and prove that I’m not a scumbag.

“This is Jake from State Farm.  Yeah, it’s legit.  These guys are totally not rapists.”

                Now, I’m not sure whether it was in spite of or because of my fantastically persuasive use of insurance that Ellen was convinced to hop in the van with her sisters, but it wasn’t long and we were all piled in the van having drunken sing-alongs .  Because I had used up all of the charisma I could possibly muster in convincing our passengers that I wasn’t a raving lunatic, conversations about an after-party rife with beer bongs and beer pong were left up to the rest of the guys in the van (truthfully, I don’t even remember any conversations happening in the van because “Don’t Stop Believin’” was playing and singing along to that is way more important than talking to anyone).   Somehow, the three of them decided that we were fun enough and non-threatening enough to come back to our lake house and party.  We pulled up to the house, managed to get one of our neighbors to join us and bring the karaoke machine (not sure how that happened either) and for the next several hours, we blasted exactly the kind of music that DJ Lameass from the club would have absolutely refused to play.  I am not ashamed to say that I absolutely nailed some renditions of songs from legends such asBackstreet Boys, *NSYNC and Spice Girls by request (and “by request” means “I totally would have sang it anyways but was relieved when somebody asked for it to be played so it didn’t fall totally on my shoulders).  I also did a duet of Meatloaf’s “Paradise bythe Dashboard Lights” with Honcho where I sang the female vocals because none of the girls knew the words.

                Truthfully, I’m not sure when most of the guys disappeared and passed out because I was way too focused on partying myself to death, but eventually it was only myself, Honcho, Buck, Banger and the girls that were still awake.  Longcock, Longlegs, Tigger, Beau and T. Stiff all disappeared into the night (presumably all to their own rooms, but I’m not judgmental so they’re totally allowed to cuddle with one another if it makes them sleep better) and the neighbor who we borrowed the karaoke machine from was passed out in a lawn chair.  By about 4 in the morning, the girls decided to head home and those of us remaining awake told them thanks for not thinking we were huge creeps and for partying with us, while the girls thanked us for not being homicidal rapists and for being awesome hosts to boot.  I think they also complimented our fantastic voices and badass dance moves but that also could have just been my ego congratulating myself.  I’d also like to note that I considered giving Liz, Eleanor and Ellen the pseudonyms Claiborne, Rigby and Page for this story but that seemed like a really easily solvable puzzle to figure out their real names and since that’s basically the only information any of our group gathered about these strangers who will likely (and unfortunately for them) never read this highly complimentary and hilarious post on my minimally successful blog, it seemed like way too much trouble to mess with.

                Because I’m a total weirdo, I woke up at 7:30 and started cleaning up the house for our departure.  Honcho was up not long afterwards to make everyone a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs and I think most everyone enjoyed it except for Banger who instead chose to throw it up for the next several hours on the entire drive home.  Still not sure when the neighbor finally woke up in that lawn chair and took his karaoke machine home.

-Ryan