I went to a bachelorette party two weekends ago, or, as they call them in Canada, a Stagette party. The first night we were in Seattle and we premiered our television show power hour. It needs a few adjustments but let’s call it 90% finished. (For those of you curious, I think the big premiere will be at the very end of June.) Then, we traveled to Vancouver, BC for the rest of the long weekend. 8 girls, 1 condo, 1 amazing time.

The stories of bicycles built for two and the best friends a girl could ask for are not that entertaining for outsiders. Besides, what happens at a Stagette party, stays at a Stagette party.

But, I did come to a funny realization while I was there.

The girls would tell stories about their significant others and molding them from bachelors to grown adults. Being one of the single ladies there (hey, what up you other two!), I didn’t have any of these sorts of stories to tell… and actually found myself on the other end of them.

The first was a simple story of bobble-heads. My friend recently got married and found that her husband thought bobble-heads were an appropriate decoration. She had to inform him that they, indeed, were not and put them away. Bobble-heads are toys. Living rooms should be for pictures of art or something (I wasn’t listening that closely, clearly). She put them away, only to find a lone bobble-head, a couple weeks later, perched on the windowsill. I think it just happened but she thought this might be an ongoing thing – she puts them away, he brings one out until she notices. All the other girls lamented about this terrible problem.

I finally spoke up. “Ummm, I do that. Emily and I have had the same fight,” I said.

Emily, my loving and wonderful roommate of three years, immediately knew what I was talking about.

I have a three set of Storm bobble-heads (Swin Cash, Sue Bird and Lauren Jackson) and once the set was completed, I set them out on the mantel above the fireplace. Then, Emily told me no and put them away. I pulled them out again and they remained there until Emily noticed and put them away. I took them back out. And so on…

Oh but it gets worse.

“Posters on the wall? I mean seriously, who still thinks posters are an acceptable form of decoration?” someone said.

My room is covered with two Kelly Clarkson posters, one poster of Fast & Furious (not to be confused with The Fast and the Furious. Also, thanks Jeff), and one very amazing cardboard life-sized cutout of Jordana Brewster coming out of a cake.

Oh but there’s more.

“T-shirts on the wall? Who hangs t-shirts on the wall?”

I do. And it happens to be my Deathly Hallows winning beirut team shirt. We won two tournaments in a row as team Death Hallows and even had uniforms. It was a shirt I wore regularly until it tore a bit. The sentiment of the shirt however, does not require that it be tossed in the garbage. No, I hang it proudly for the world to see.

So, it turns out, I’m a bachelor. I’m not prepared for real life or real life decorations. Some poor girl is going to have to come along and try to whip this into shape one day. But for now, as a single lady, I do what I want. Bring on more Jordana and Kelly posters!

(And yes, if you must know, I projectile vommed in a McDonald’s parking lot on the way home from the Stagette party that weekend. What’s it to ya?)

“I’m excited to go to Neverland!”

“I’ve never left Neverland…”

“That’s probably one of the truest statements you have ever said, Kim Wetter”