I’m not one of those girls who hates other girls. Most of my close friends are women, and although I have guy friends I’m far from “one of the guys.” I don’t like sports, I don’t eat pizza or drink beer, and I’m very particular about keeping things neat and tidy. However, my best friend from college happens to be a guy. I first met Josh a few weeks into my freshman year. We went on one date, kissed for three seconds, and quickly decided we were better off as friends. Twelve years later, and still very close, Josh called to tell me I was officially invited to his bachelor party. It was going to be me and 27 dudes in Atlantic City for the weekend. I was honored to be deemed awesome enough to be the one chick at a bachelor party, excited to see behind the testosterone curtain, curious to learn what really goes on at these things and determined to live up to Josh’s expectations of me seamlessly fitting in, even though I lacked an Adam’s apple, stubble, and a penis.