![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rinueCrisis loomed yesterday when, driving back from visiting my grandmother in Virginia Beach, we passed a gentleman's club - and I realized that at some point Ciro is going to have a bachelor's party and I'm not going to be invited. Then I realized that Ciro is probably not going to have a bachelor party - he is probably going to have several bachelor parties in which various of his friends try to outdo each other.
And he is charming and handsome and fun to throw parties for and they will ply him with liquor, which naturally he will gladly accept, and there will be beautiful naked ladies who fall all over him and he will kiss them and their breasts will bounce up and down and I won't get to see any of it. And it's not fair, and I need naked ladies more than he does. It's me that won't get to make out with women ever again, whereas he has a frequently naked lady at his beck and call. Goddamnit!
I hate bachelorette parties and they're not the same at all. I hate ogling women with other women, be they gay or straight. They always make it campy and embarrassing or overly intellectual/postmodern/therapeutic. (An exception here is women who have at some point worked as comedians, especially if they've done stand up - they are awesomely ribald, and when sexuality enters the picture, they get conspiratorial instead of catty. Moreover, when they do excruciating self-disclosures, they're funny as hell. Women of comedy, I love you.) I also hate wedding showers, spa days, clubbing, etc.. I like tea parties, but come on.
I stomped around for a while making wild accusations while Ciro (and at one point, Patrick) pretended to try to reassure me while in fact trying to rile me up further. Beyond my combined envy and jealousy (being bisexual is sometimes difficult), I was overwhelmed with competitiveness. I mean, I wear a belt with two prongs, and when I noticed last July that Ciro's had three, we practically went to war. The number of times each of us has said "haha!" or "you see? you see?"... I am actually writing this entry right now partly because I know that Ciro is working on his computer.
I managed to maintain a state of high dudgeon for something like fourteen hours, until I realized - choose your ground, right? There's no way I'm going get a party that's as fun as Ciro's. I mean, he's Ciro. He has people.
I can, however, make sure I am served better food. Oh yes. Each time he has a bachelor party (at least one of which basically all of my friends but me will probably attend), I demand to have my meal paid for at an absurdly good restaurant. (By whom, I haven't figured out - this could be your exciting chance to volunteer.) Val gets to come too. Then Ciro can come home and imply whatever erotic tomfoolery he likes, and I... I will hold up a menu.
And he is charming and handsome and fun to throw parties for and they will ply him with liquor, which naturally he will gladly accept, and there will be beautiful naked ladies who fall all over him and he will kiss them and their breasts will bounce up and down and I won't get to see any of it. And it's not fair, and I need naked ladies more than he does. It's me that won't get to make out with women ever again, whereas he has a frequently naked lady at his beck and call. Goddamnit!
I hate bachelorette parties and they're not the same at all. I hate ogling women with other women, be they gay or straight. They always make it campy and embarrassing or overly intellectual/postmodern/therapeutic. (An exception here is women who have at some point worked as comedians, especially if they've done stand up - they are awesomely ribald, and when sexuality enters the picture, they get conspiratorial instead of catty. Moreover, when they do excruciating self-disclosures, they're funny as hell. Women of comedy, I love you.) I also hate wedding showers, spa days, clubbing, etc.. I like tea parties, but come on.
I stomped around for a while making wild accusations while Ciro (and at one point, Patrick) pretended to try to reassure me while in fact trying to rile me up further. Beyond my combined envy and jealousy (being bisexual is sometimes difficult), I was overwhelmed with competitiveness. I mean, I wear a belt with two prongs, and when I noticed last July that Ciro's had three, we practically went to war. The number of times each of us has said "haha!" or "you see? you see?"... I am actually writing this entry right now partly because I know that Ciro is working on his computer.
I managed to maintain a state of high dudgeon for something like fourteen hours, until I realized - choose your ground, right? There's no way I'm going get a party that's as fun as Ciro's. I mean, he's Ciro. He has people.
I can, however, make sure I am served better food. Oh yes. Each time he has a bachelor party (at least one of which basically all of my friends but me will probably attend), I demand to have my meal paid for at an absurdly good restaurant. (By whom, I haven't figured out - this could be your exciting chance to volunteer.) Val gets to come too. Then Ciro can come home and imply whatever erotic tomfoolery he likes, and I... I will hold up a menu.
