D called me a little while ago to say he had finally made it to Atlantic City, or as we are affectionately referring to it, Sin-ette City.  It only took 5 hours. 

I would like to take this opportunity to say "I TOLD YOU SO."  Having spent more than a couple of summers at the shore, I have personal knowledge that driving to any beach on the Jersey shore between the hours of 11 and 3 will result in stop-and-stop traffic.  When I brought this up to the bachelor party participants, I was pooh-pooh'd.  Because you know, men know better. 

Knowing how my husband feels about driving in traffic, I can only guess that there was a beer run on the way.  Of course, they had to take two cars because no one had a car big enough, a functioning car or couldn't get their mom's car for their "sleepover."  Derek left here in the Volvo.  I did take the car seat out, so now he doesn't look like he is driving his wife's car.  He just looks gay.

My husband has been looking forward to this for weeks.  I mean, who doesn't want to be the oldest person at a bachelor party (the next closest being 10 years younger and the furthest by 17 years)?  He even suggested to the best man that they get "entertainment" for the party.  His suggestion... a clown.  Did I mention that half the crowd still lives with their parents and that their bedtimes are 5 a.m.?  The groom is going to Disneyland for his honeymoon.  Do you see where I'm going with this?  And then there is my husband.  Who can only stay up until midnight before Cinderella turns into a pumpkin.  And he has about $160 (i.e. the electric bill payment) in his pocket to gamble.  Not the rumored going rate of $800 by some in the crowd. 

The first words out of his mouth when he called to say he had arrived..."The casino is SO smoky and you can't get to the elevators without passing every single slot machine." 

This is great for the man who has the sensory problem.  Can't handle too much noise and freaks out when the world is chain-smoking.

He should have listened to Neville.  The brother of the groom (and youngest member of the group) wanted to get a hotel at Comfort Inn.

D:  Babe, Neville wants to get a room at Comfort Inn.
K:  Good Lord.
D:  I already booked a room at Harrah's.  I'll probably get stiffed for the room.
K:  Who cares?  You can go to bed at midnight.  And you'll get a bed.

And then we had the "men and sharing beds" conversation.  My husband explained that even the brothers can't share a bed.  I am so confused.  Some will get beds, some will get cots, and some MAY sleep together if they are completely clothed, have known each other for at least 10 years, and sleep facing opposite directions.  If they can't sleep together, some will sleep on the floor. 

Women don't have this problem.  We would sleep 4 across in a king size bed if it meant that we didn't have to sleep on the floor.  You have to know each other for at least 5 minutes and no tossing and turning.  Easy rules. 

But worse case scenario, shouldn't the old man get the comfy bed?  Especially since he'll be paying for it?  That's assuming he doesn't find a hot grandma smoking UltraLights who will lend him a couple of nickels to keep the slots warm.  At that point, I think the only drink of choice is scotch and water, right?