The Big Girl's Bachelorette Party: The Morning After

I was drifting in my chair, waiting for my friends Michelle and Beth to arrive. I wondered, how awake are most women before their bachelorette parties? I imagine they are like I was as a teenager, before any major party or dance; they prepare. They do their nails, try on outfits, not scrub their toilets, like I just had.

"Don't lift a finger!" Michelle kept saying, but I insisted on having the party at my house. They thought I was being over-accommodating; my small house was hardly party-ready. But it was MY party, and the best thought that came to me when I was asked, "What do you want to do for your bachelorette party?" was being with my women friends in my living space, with lots of food and red wine. Oh, and no penises--rubber or otherwise.

Beth thought I was kidding, feigning propriety.

"Vegas baby!" was the first thing that came out of her mouth when I told her I was engaged.

"Actually, I was thinking of something a little more subdued for the bachelorette," I'd said.

"OK, we can bar hop closer to home."

"That sounds fine. But no hopping is necessary; and it doesn't have to be at a bar."

"Well then, where do you want to have it? A restaurant?"

I wanted a place where my friends and I could hang out for as long as we wanted.

"How about my living room?"

My girlfriends took my wishes at face value, though as we got closer to the event I sensed they had some mischief in mind. The kind of mischief that comes to your door pretending to be a pizza delivery guy, or a police officer, looking for the Bad Girl of the house.

My one experience with a stripper at a bachelorette party was decidedly one of the most horrible experiences of my partying life. As he put down his pizza and set up his portable sound system the room began to shrink. The stripping down wasn't what bothered me; it was the one-on-one simulated trysts with each woman in the group. Some were pinned to the wall, howling appreciatively, while he gyrated as closely to them as legally possible. The bride-to-be was nailed to the floor in the missionary position, her legs wrapped (by him) around his waist while he did an impressive set of push-ups. He must have smelled my fear and was easy on me, simply grabbing me by the waist and playing Patrick Swayze to my Jennifer Gray and dirty dancing with me. Looking back at the video with one eye shut I could see that the whole time I kept my one free arm, the one he hadn't wrapped around his shoulders, behind my back. I could also hear my friends yelling, "C'mon Jory! Let go!"

The worst part of the experience was when the music stopped, and our pizza delivery man began to clothe his 225-pound, rippled body. We sat around him in my friend's tight Chelsea one-bedroom walk-up, not sure what to do with the poor guy.

"Do you live around here?" One of my girlfriends asked, not in any suggestive way.

"Brooklyn."

Then another friend asked what he did when he wasn't stripping.

"Law school."

Why are they always in law school?

As we asked more questions he became more human. He was working his way through school. When he wasn't out on his own jobs he escorted the female strippers, who had a much harder time of it than the men and needed protection. If I recall, I think I tipped him on the way out.

I think back to that experience and conclude that the stripper thing is entirely a manufactured aspect of the pre-nuptial experience--like flavored condoms, dildo hats, or Las Vegas. At the end of the day I prefer no distorted sexual fantasy, not even for fun, not even for one day. I would have preferred to get a pizza from the kid from Brooklyn. This was hard to explain to my peeps.

A week before my bachelorette Michelle called to check in. Clearly she and Beth wanted to confirm if I meant what I'd said earlier.

"We could have the party somewhere else," she said.

"Nope. I'd love to have it here."

"Great. No prob. We'll just have the stripper come there! Ha! Just kidding."

I'm sure Michelle took note of the silence.

"Yep, no crazy stuff," she said, asking, more than declaring.

"No crazy stuff," I said.

"No, cause you just wouldn't even enjoy it."

"That's right."

After hanging up I started to understand the problem. It wasn't that Michelle and Beth didn't believe me; they wanted to confirm whether I was truly tossing out the bride's pre-wedding script--the insistence on modesty when she really craved the typical coronation of lingerie and debauchery.

As Michelle and Beth arrived, arms full of groceries, Beth discreetly placed a stack of cards with sex definitions down on the coffee table.

"No need to do anything with these tonight," she said. "Just whenever you feel like it." Michelle handed me flowers.

As women arrived with food and wine, and my dining room table filled with cured meats and cheese, stuffed figs and guacamole I began to feel disoriented. It seemed so strange, having chocolate truffles in my honor. I've had dinner parties galore in my time; but I often threw parties because I enjoyed connecting my friends. The thought of women coming together FOR ME was overwhelming. I clung to my glass of wine, hoping to calm myself.

B-friend had called me earlier to share a similar sentiment. He'd left for the weekend with twelve of his friends for a self-described Men's Weekend. He couldn't call it a bachelor party, I presume, because naming it as such would mean all of these men, some flying in from out of town, were arriving for him. Both he and I needed some ulterior motive to give these folks, and seeing the food and gifts pile up on my table, and noting that a few of these women had never met before, I was forced to conclude--shit--this was all about me.

There was no forced agenda--my friends just chatted and ate and drank. Michelle and Beth organized a scrap book that each woman contributed to. Some offered up stories, the resonating theme of which was their initial impression of me: hardworking and impenetrable. They desired to know the person behind the endless tapping of the computer, and they did. There was something luxurious about hearing these stories. Some people won't ever hear of how they are seen by others. These were early eulogies, gifts before it was too late.

As the evening wore on we moved into talking about personal growth, and some of the realizations we've had over the years. I told them of a hallucination I had during a personal development seminar I attended two years ago that included a Holotropic breathing exercise--one that was designed to naturally bring the mind to a dreamy cognitive state. I was skeptical of the exercise, but as I continued to quickly inhale and exhale in a controlled, coached environment I began to see things. For a moment I was an infant, speaking to my twin sister through the bars of our cribs. My mother told me that, as babies, we often "spoke" to each other. Though we were babbling like babies do, I could understand everything she was saying perfectly.

Toward the end of the vision I was an adult, standing in a dark room with one blinding white light in the center of the room, where another woman stood. I was in awe of this woman; I didn't know her, but I wanted to be her. Power emanated from her body; her confidence bowled me over, intimidated me. She was the most beautiful person I'd ever seen, or more accurately, felt. She towered over me, and I was forced to look up at her face, which was obscured by bright light from behind. B-friend was also in the vision, he entered the room and walked over to this woman and held her; both of them towered over me. I wept to see B-friend with this other woman but knew that I couldn't compete with her. I walked up to them like I would to a statue, practically begging to be included in their embrace.

As I came closer, I could see the woman's face more clearly. My heart dropped; I knew her! She was me.

The woman took my hand and pulled me closer. "YOu can be here," she said. Just her touch filled me with her energy, which was so unfamiliar, and yet familiar. It was the energy I'd been generating for so long finally being felt.

My friends were wowed by the story. I wasn't sure why I told it until this morning, when I remembered feeling disoriented as my friends carried in food and gifts. I'd stopped being a conduit--whatever was coming my way I couldn't pass on to someone else. It stopped with me and almost hurt to contain it. It had made my arm hair stand up on end.

Flipping through the pages of the scrapbook made the night before was a chronicle of the night before. It was my version of debauchery, of symbolically crossing over into a new phase of my life with the essential requirement of my woman friends bearing witness. No gadgets, no G-strings. Only pure nakedness. 

Comments

[Joy]

Just one thing....so beautifully YOU!

[Chris Owen]

Now I've got goosebumps!
I share the wonder/shock that people are there just for me too. It's a very strange feeling. But I've only just recognised that that's what has happened to me as I read your post.
Your insights have opened up my eyes.
BTW, in this day and age why do women's hen's nights have to have the erotica or sexual fantasy. That's not how women connect. It's through stories and love that we build relationships and that's what you celebrated.
Enjoy the you they love

[Stacie Penney]

Good for you to put your foot down and have the party the way you wanted.

I refused to have one because I didn't want what's become the norm. I never thought about having just a night for friends to hang out and whatnot.

[genevieve]

What a lovely night for you all, and as always, you pin down these precious moments so well. Thank you for sharing it with us too.

[Dan]

Jory

This is a totally evocative piece of writing with your usual nuances that surprise us and capture a hidden meaning. Thank you for revealing what is beyond a superficial event by sharing your heart in such an authentic way.

[Suzanne]

Thank you for sharing this lovely story. congratulations, and may you have a wonderful marriage.

[Marilyn]

I've been behind in reading blogs, but I just read your Mom's last post (of today) that she's flying out this week. Just want to send you heartfelt Best Wishes and Congratulations for a magical day. Thinking of your Mom walking you down the aisle brings tears to my eyes. I can't imagine it won't bring tears to your Dad's, too. Big hugs, Jory. May the universe give you a perfect day, however it unfolds. You deserve it.

[miffy]

OMG! Stanislav Grof...I've done the holotropic...Jory, I cannot tell you how great that read was. I knew when I met your Mom I was instantly drawn to her heart, like so many others, but I find myself, at this point in my life, so connected to both you and her in an amazing energy. Thank you for sharing so much of yourself...it is so warming to me.

[nina]

Oh Jory, this brought tears to my eyes. What a great way to celebrate!

[newt]

It is your party, it should be perfectly you. I went with my girlfriends out to the middle of Wisconsin and we got tattoos. It was different, it was fun, and it was what I wanted to do with my day. Plus I felt just a little bit "naughty" on my wedding day with my new tattoo.

[Amanda]

We at bachelorette party fun say good for you as the bachelorette party should always be about the bride and not the bridesmaids agenda! I am glad you had a great time!

[Locust Dale carpal tunnel surgeons]

The mass medium face extends from the arm into the manus and gives syndrome and other repetitious melody injuries, your doc may advise: Carpus splinting. A commercial-grade ice mob or homemade rendering bag of frosty vegetables childlike tasks into obstacles. You can conduct classes in social movement that you can assuage this pain sensation.

[GymnLamb]

you love this? louis vuitton bags buy online at my estore gIBZwfIO http://www.louis-vuittononline-shop.com/

[drashser]

buy a burberry sunglasses yhnMDmjb [URL=http://burberrycoat9.blinkweb.com/]burberry outlet online[/URL] for gift zdNCkSqt http://burberrycoat9.blinkweb.com/