i missed the stag party
I am not a normally socialized male. I am a weirdo loner narcissist who stays clear of the pack. In my early teens, I withdrew into myself and walked away from sports and the Boy Scouts and all other males-only social rituals. I didn't abandon my musky maleness—if anything, I continue to grow more Butch with each new day—only the practice of sharing and celebrating male stuff with other males. I resigned from the Brotherhood of Dudes.
Not counting the tense, smelly, male-hormones-only agony of incarceration, I've willingly spent most of my adulthood exclusively in the company of women. Misogynist this, woman-beater that—I'd still rather hang with the girls. Unlike the guys, who are mostly dinosaur-simple, the ladies are nearly as complex as me. Compared to the fascinating, multilayered madness of most females, the fellas are boorish, leering, burger-fueled Instinct Robots. I understand why women hate them.
Still, it would have been nice to have gone to a Stag Party at least once. It would have fulfilled some still-unmet social need of mine to fraternize with a bunch of hairy, sideburned buddies as we celebrate a friend's matrimonial shackling by drinking beer, watching pornos on an 8mm reel-to-reel, and having a junkie stripper pop out of a phony cake. We'd all get too fucked up, beat the shit out of each other, go to a late-night diner where we'd sexually harass the waitresses, and then retire to our miserable homes, horny and hostile.
I feel deprived.
