Maddy's Bachelorette Party
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
In our apartment- The penis was small, plastic, and glow-in-the-dark. At first, everyone held their penis up to the floor lamp, then cupped it in their hands to make a shadow, and see how brightly theirs was glowing. The penis straws at were a great hit at the party – until we tried to drink from them. When I put my straw into my screwdriver, I didn't realize how hard it would be to drink from it. I put my lips down to meet the straw, and discovered that the head of the straw was a little bigger than a standard Starbucks sipper. For some reason, I immediately pulled away.
What the hell was so hard about drinking through a penis?
I attempted some problem-solving:
(A) Avoidance. I could avoid sucking on the penis by puckering up to the head of the straw, and just suctioning screwdriver up through the hole. If no one noticed, I might get away without having to face my penis-straw-fear.
(B) Acceptance. Wrap my lips around the larger-than-normal straw, and just suck like there's no shame in sucking.
Surveying the room, for answers, I found that there were lots of people trying to make this same decision. Peering self-consciously at their own glowing penises, they were sober, and they wanted to be drunk.
The gay guys, on the other hand, were having a grand ol' time.
We had invited gay guys to Maddy's bachelorette party because there weren't enough girls around to make a party. Living in San Franscisco, this decision easily doubled our invite list, and when the event began, most of our attendees exhibited flimsy wrists in place of breasts, and an excess of crude humor in place of subtle femininity. They were different from us girls, but we both liked men, and liking men was the criteria for the party.
When the strippers arrived, things started getting crazy. Two men walked in the door silently while Maddy was blindfolded in a chair. They were sexy, buff, and dressed like policemen. They put on music and moved their hips like hoola hoops. Maddy pulled $1 bills out of the stripper's zebra-print thong using her teeth while the rest of us screamed with delight. Someone across the street thought we were torturing people in our apartment though. I know this because twenty minutes later, the real police arrived.
"Oh my god!" we all screamed in our drunken stupors, "MORE STRIPPERS!!"
Things turned out pretty well in the end. The strippers turned out to be breakdancers by hobby, and the naked guy challenged me to a battle. (Ladies, if you'ver never breakdanced against a sexy man in a thong before, I highly recommend it.)
Along with that, the real cops had a great time. They took a seat on the couch where we had been sitting to watch the stripper ourselves, and chatted it up for a while. Eventually they got bored of us though, and had to go back to protecting the citizens of San Francisco against screaming too loudly. Before they left, they enjoyed a couple slices of our penis-shaped bacehlorette cake with vanilla icing, and left us their phone numbers in case we wanted them at our next party.
Into the night, four policemen returned from our apartment and back to the streets of San Francisco.
