Bachelor party. Paintball.

Sweaty and painful but fun. It was a good group for it too, all of us willing to get into the ridiculousness without being weirdos about. Basically, none of us were too good at paintball so it's wasn't unfun to be bad at paintball.

When we weren't running around dodging paint bullets we'd make dumb jokes, pretending to be in a war movie (although never, I think, in an actual war). At one point I said, in my best gravelly voice, "The whole time I was out there, staring death in the face, I kept thinking that I've got a good woman waiting for me at home. And if I get out of here alive I'm going to marry her."

In retrospect, it's probably unwise to play paintball so close to the wedding. Too many ways to hurt yourself. And I did walk away with several welts, including a couple on my hand. Somehow I kept getting shot in the hand, as if in a movie where an amazing marksmen shoots guns out of people's hands. And it hurt. And it left some marks. But luckily I only got hit on my non-marrying hand, so it should be okay.