For this week’s Hitched column at The Frisky, I write about how Patrick and I decided to have a co-bachelor/ette camping weekend in lieu of traditional, gender-divided bachelor/ette parties. It was awesome.
In the party family, bachelor/ette parties are closely related to New Year’s Eve: you go in with high expectations, and at the end of the night, if things haven’t been Epic with a Capital E, somehow the night is a failure. New Year’s Eve always ends with someone puking behind a gas station at 3 a.m. New Year’s Eve always ends with a desperate drunk text. New Year’s Eve always ends in disappointment, because New Year’s Eve can never be the thing it’s built up to be.
So we went camping instead. I didn’t have to feel conspicuous at the gay bar wearing a dick crown and a feather boa — celebrating marriage at a club geared toward a group of people who legally can’t in Texasmakes me feel deeply uncomfortable — and I also got to hang out with Patrick. I mean, I’m marrying the guy because I seriously prefer parties he’s at to parties he isn’t at. So it felt right.
Read the rest at The Frisky.