As the guy who'll be throwing T's bachelor party to end all bachelor parties, I sent out an email today to all the lucky participants, telling them to mark their calendars. But here's the thing: The bachelor party isn't til fricking January 2006.
When T asked me to send this 'Save The Date' email out two weeks ago, I told him he was crazy. Who the hell plans a bachelor party over six months in advance? It's like I'm planning a fucking wedding, except instead of a pastor or bridesmaids, there's a ton of naked, large-breasted women. And instead of a wedding cake or floral arrangements, there's a ton of naked, large-breasted women. (If my girlfriend's reading this, I'm obviously kidding. Like I've repeatedly told you before, the guys I hang with are morally repulsed by women who make a living off of their bodies. We'd much rather spend our evenings engaged in scintillating discussions about 18th Century German philosophers.)
I guess I shouldn't be surprised by the advance planning: T's the direct opposite of a procrastinator - he's an anticrastinator. As for me, I was once the Emperor of Procrastination until I was dethroned by the Sultan of Loitering.
At least I have the destination nailed down: Vegas. Not the most original idea; but after reviewing all the other cities and what they had to offer, and their populations of 18th Century German philosophers, Vegas beat out Honolulu, Montreal and Miami. Granted, this may change, given the abundance of time, and we could end up raging in Rio, although Brazil does have that annoying $100 visa fee, and vicious street kids.
There's also a very good chance I'll be flying out to Asia in latter October to party it up with my best friend one last time before he loses his freedom, happiness, testicles, etc. (If T's fiance is reading this, I'm obviously kidding. Marriage is a wonderful adventure filled with the kind of bliss Heaven wishes it had.) Most likely it'll be Shanghai, Beijing, Seoul and/or Tokyo.
I guess I really might need those six months.