August 21, 2014 by Manny Wordsmith
It started as a love.
I would see a multitude of women hop off of a giant pink party bus wearing tiaras, sashes and matching t-shirts.
I figured, “The odds have been tipped! Now there are more women in the bar than men! I’m getting fucking laid tonight!”
My brain would ignite with pleasant imagery of naked pillow fights and orgies, grapes being fed to me while bachelorettes took turns reenacting Madonna’s “Lucky Star”, wearing only the bow and earrings.
Hey girl 😉
But none of this is true. These women aren’t seductive sex monsters or even quirky hipsters like Jenny Lewis or Zooey Deschanel. They are destroyers of worlds. The female equivalents to a gang of Brock Lesners.
Some parties will have just left Drag Queen Bingo or the Gay bar. Wilder ones might’ve even had some man balls in or around their face moments earlier. Either way, the groups are almost always the same.
They rumble in, tripping over one another with their penis-shaped chalices and matching penis straws. They “woo” during every cheers, and they don’t say excuse me when shoving their way to throw up in the ladies’ room. They leave spilled drinks and glitter in their wake and face any issue with a “Fuck you I’m/she’s getting married next week, so just back off!”
The bride-to-be will always be the most drunk, wiping drips of Skinny Girl Moscato Wine from her smearing Maybelline “Who Wore It Red-er” lipstick. The others behind her will be just as messy. You’ll have the moms, who haven’t been out in decades. For some, the night will be the first time they’ve seen hard dick since Mork & Mindy was being aired on television. (RIP Robin Williams) For other parents, just getting out of having to drive the family to church the next morning will be enough for them to let twentysomethings fondle them during a Lil Jon song.
Then there’s the Maid of Honor, the controller, the lynchpin, the right-hand gal. If the bride was Emperor Palpatine, the Maid of Honor would be Darth Vader. If you can’t find her, she’ll be the one trying to keep everything in order by force-pushing anyone in her way. Her only mission is to make sure her crew is the most important entity in the bar…at all times. She has studied Mussolini, Ivan the Terrible and other dictators and depots throughout history. She knows when to squeeze and when to deliver kill orders. She knows how to get to the front of the bar by foot stomping and purse flipping, and she isn’t afraid to flirt with you just to steal your space in line so she can order 14 Johnny Vegas shots and an Angry Orchard. She knows your deepest secrets and darkest fears and will not be afraid to expose them if you wander to her party table uninvited. She’s been waiting a while to run the show and she will not let you get in her way.
And if you can’t tell, I’m afraid of Maids.
As for the rest of the bridal party, lemmings. They have a “gang mentality” and will follow what ever the group does, even if it means shaking down unknowing bachelors for their condoms, shirts, socks, boxers, sunglasses and self-respect. But I will admit, some have their own agendas. A few just want to get away from their boyfriends long enough to let their vaginas breathe. I can dig it. I’m sure when they were first asked to stand up, they aptly responded by asking, “Will there be a Bachelorette Party?” They’ve had their calendars marked for months and put in for the days off almost a year ahead of time. The excitement and anticipation runs their life the days before and they’re the ones who will be blasting all 234 photos on Facebook the day after. All with the same caption “Me and my guuuuuuuuuuuurlssss!” Then there are like 2 or three who are just there to attract the sleaziest dudes that roam to their circle, in hopes of giving blowies in the bush behind the bar. This makes Maid angry and when Maid gets angry sometimes she has to choke a bitch.
And last, the other invitees. They’ll be the ladies usually wearing jeans. One will even have their husband with them because he’s only friends with people on the bride’s side. These ladies aren’t having fun. They feel obligated to be there because they accepted an invitation to the wedding. They’ll be in the back of the pictures, on their cellphones, slandering the ladies of the bridal party because of their loose morals and their lack of self-respect. They only know like three other people and they hate two of them. Whenever you start mingling with the party ladies the “others” will be the first ones to throw on the scowl and whisper to their other unpleasant partners about how they can’t believe “guys are attracted to that shit”.
It’s easy. Bright colors, short skirts…cleavage. But it’s dangerous. Like Sirens, singing to sailors stuck at sea. Don’t go my friends. Don’t be like me and lose a double-dildo lightsaber battle with the Mother-of-the-Groom. And end up dancing with her while she has her hands inside the back of your pants. Don’t do it! Don’t end up letting your stomach be used for body shots, because if you have a cut on your stomach tequila will really hurt, and they don’t care when you start weeping. Don’t do it! And for god sakes don’t let any of them get close to you if they are reading off of a damn pink card. Nothing good will come from what she’ll ask from that card. I’ve lost parts of my soul playing these games guys. Don’t be another story at their book clubs. You’ve been warned.