It appears as if the bachelorette party is here to stay. For a hot minute I thought that at the corner of Girls Gone Wild, gender convergence and the wide acceptance of phallic-shaped cakes these fetes would go the way of the dodo. But no—hen parties are not going anywhere and they are not f*cking around. Read: Bachelorette Party Dos and Don'ts
Observationally, bachelor parties have been getting slightly milder (The Hangover notwithstanding). Long gone are the days of filling a hotel suite with hookers, unhappily married buddies and one woman willing to do something unholy with a four-legged animal. Today's dudes go for a trip to the strip club, 36 holes of golf, booze-induced wistfulness and steaks the size of a toilet seat. Or maybe I'm just getting old. Read: The New Bachelor Party
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Either way the ladies seem to be closing the rowdiness gap. This past calendar year I have bumped into several bachelorette celebrations that I would describe as "marauding." In New Orleans, I was minding my own business and nursing a hangover nicknamed "shame" when a hurricane of lady Bacchanalians descending upon me and my friends. Within minutes, we were fielding an onslaught of requests, and the badgering didn't stop until these ladies gained dollar bills for t-shirt-borne candies and a pair of boxing shorts. Because I love my buddies, I accepted the "give us your underpants, funny man" challenge. That said, taking off your underwear in a quarter inch of New Orleans bathroom water with no stall doors is an experience I'm not anxious to repeat. Read: Bride Auctions Off Bridesmaid Spot
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