As I mentioned in the contextualization of my Pleasure Bar review, my cousin Jennifer recently came to Pittsburgh for her bachelorette party. While we did indeed have a lovely dinner at the Pleasure Bar, there is still more to tell of the before and after.

Ready for a night of bachelorette fun

The first leg of the evening was our "just the gals" cocktail hour. I mixed up a batch of pomegranate-tinis for the gals (no recipe to disclose here, it's just pomegranate juice and vodka, in whatever proportions strike your fancy) and a mineral water cosmo for me—I was designated driver, after all (I'll tell you what, though—even though I was drinking virgin cocktails I still drank more than anyone else). When this bachelorette party was in the works, many folks asked me if there would be strippers. My first instinct was to say that Jennifer is too shy and a male stripper would embarrass her. On second thought, I realized that's just a convenient assumption. Jennifer may be quiet, but she would probably find a male stripper at least of passing amusement within the context of the bachelorette party. The real reason I didn't get a male stripper is twofold. First, the male stripper for straight women is a quite different phenomenon than the female stripper for straight men (I don't pretend any authority on the dynamics of strippers for gay men and lesbians—at least, I don't recall an episode of Queer as Folk with strippers). At least 90% of straight men experience some degree of titillation—even if sometimes involuntary—from watching female strippers. Okay, now, how many women do you know who go to Chippendales shows, or even that have a Chippendales calendar? Right. For at least 90% of straight women, the male stripper inspires anything from bemusement to embarrassment, but seldom titillation or any sort of excitement, really, unless the straight woman is exceedingly drunk. So that's the first fold. The second fold is that I'm poor. And thus I did not deem the garnered entertainment value of the male stripper to be worth the cash I would have to shell out.

Fence Nets, oh la la!

So instead, I bought Jennifer some naughty gifts. Sipping our cocktails, we shared girl talk and watched Jennifer open her bachelorette accessories. In the spirit of bachelorette naughtiness I will share with you these gifts. If you are highly prone to blushing, or uncomfortable with seeing either me or Jennifer in anything but an asexual light (assorted cousins, Bert brothers, etc), please feel free to skip this paragraph. First up was the red garter belt and thong combo from Leg Avenue. I have expressed my affinity for Leg Avenue garter belts and stockings before, as well as much general preference for garters over pantyhose. Logically, I wanted to share my find with Jennifer. To complement the garter belt was a pair of red Leg Avenue fence net stockings. Fence nets differ from fish nets in precisely the way you would expect. Fish nets are a smaller weave (like, for catching fish?) while fence nets are a larger weave (reminiscent of a cyclone fence). They won't keep you warm on a winter evening, but they very well may either leave one well-equipped for a career as a porn star or help provide government spies with a convincing disguise while infiltrating a goth club. Next up were the even naughtier gifts. There was a bottle of Climax silicone lubricant. The advantage of silicone lube over the usual water-based kind is that it lasts longer, works underwater and is condom compatible (unlike oil-based). Next was a six-strip of Beyond Seven, my favorite brand of condoms—which is kind of like declaring Remington to be my favorite brand of men's electric shaver. It's whatever seems to keep the fellas happy. Finally, among Jennifer's bachelorette gifts were a bottle of Climax kiwi lime flavored lube and a bottle of Wet red apple flavored lube. I suppose we'll have to wait for the honeymoon to see how those work out.

Dancing on the bar

From there it was on to the Pleasure Bar for dinner and then to Matrix for dancing. I've told the Matrix tale once before, so I will not recap the basic details of the Matrix setup. You can also check out Sabrina's account of Jennifer's bachelorette party to get the lay of the land. Saturday was, as is customary every Saturday, $1.00 drinks from 10 to 11:30. Now, considering that I was designated driver for the night, I did not take great advantage of the drink special, but I did have one experience to run. I've lamented in the past over the dilemma of low-carb drinking. Wine is always too expensive, straight booze on the rocks gets one much too drunk much too quickly, and mixed drinks... the only sugar-free mixer that bars keep on hand is diet cola. No diet Sprite or diet tonic, only diet cola, and I hate cola. At least plain cola. I've found that I actually like flavored colas, like Vanilla Coke or Pepsi Jazz. While you have a fat chance of finding those at a bar, there are other bar items with which to obscure the flavor of cola. Rum is too neutral a flavor, so the Cuba Libra was out for me. I've heard good things about Amaretto & Coke, but amaretto is a liqueur and thus too sugary to count as low carb. But whiskey is both distinctively flavored and low carb. While some people hate the taste of whiskey, I—quite frankly—grew up in an Irish American family (Saundra's side; hence the "Kane"), and thus developed a taste for it early on. And so, Jennifer's party was my moment of truth... well, it was also my first visit to Matrix since I resolved to try a whiskey & diet, and I figured it best to try it during the dollar special. While I can't say that it was a revelatory taste experience, I have to admit it was more than drinkable, and it has since become my go-to drink when I don't want to cost myself, or the people I'm with, too much cash in the drink buying.

See, they look like they're having fun, don't they?

The rest of the evening was, I suppose, precisely what a bachelorette party ought to be—a fun night out on the town with friends. I am proud to report that at no time was Jennifer distinguishable as a bride to meandering eyes—no tiara, no veil, no t-shirt proclamations. Though, once she did have to flash her ring to a guy trying to pick her up. In yet another effort to assuage my guilt over not buying Jennifer a stripper, I took her early on for dancing on the bar. After all, if you're not going to dance on the bar at your bachelorette party, then when? An even more triumphant feat was when I finally dragged Sabrina out onto the dance floor during Eminem's "Shake That." As much as Sabrina purports to despise Da Club, I'm telling you, she had a good time in spite of herself. Or maybe it was the dollar drinks. Ted and Roger were also good sports. While Ted contented himself largely with the smorgasbord of people-watching, Roger showed off his dance moves honed over the course of his own days as a Matrix regular, and with great aplomb—he attracted the attentions of a cougar on the prowl and got a free drink to boot.

And so I sent Jennifer off from single-gal-hood with a cornucopia of lubricant and a night that was both raucously fun and, for the most part, avoidant of cliché.