Montreal expos?PI

Last weekend was one to remember. My brother's bachelor party. I would say "'nuff said," but I hate that phrase and I have a word-count quota to fill.

So, from the beginning.

A couple months ago, my brother, Brian Flatt, seven years my senior, informed me that I was to be the best man in his wedding this May. I was surprised and touched, but my second thought was, "What the hell do I know about bachelor parties?" I'd never been to one, let alone arranged one.

My brother's friend Matt took charge of that mess, much to my relief.

Matt changed the plans just for me, so I could walk into a bar with no hassle. Instead of going to Atlantic City, plan A, I asked that we hit the Canadian metropolis of Montreal.

Ah, Canada. The land of easy drinking for those of us still eagerly awaiting our 21st. The land of the poutine, which is surprisingly not slang for birth canal, but French for "plate of fries smothered in gravy and cheese."

We arrived after a solid 10 hours of driving. Buffalo to Syracuse, Syracuse to Montreal, plus multiple beer stops. I brought along my friend Dan so that it wasn't just my brother, a bunch of 28-year-old dudes and me.

We went straight to the heart of the matter. Saint Catherine Street. Some clubs had huge neon signs for names like Super Sexe, which, as far as we could tell, is French for "tolerable, in terms of sex appeal."

While the women were generally less attractive than most of the ones I've gotten to disrobe for me privately, they were skilled. Turning upside-down with a figure-four on the pole and loosening the grip enough to slide down at a desirable speed is nothing to sneeze at. Neither is taking a dollar bill off a guy's face without the use of fingers, toes or teeth.

One young lady who bore a city's name, I forget if it was Dallas or Paris, spoke to Dan and I in the midst of her performance.

"I feel so shy," she said. "This is my first night back in two months."

Dan turned to me and exclaimed, "Bullsh*t!" I was willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. Surely, there is no greater occasion for stage fright than dancing naked before a group of men expecting you to make their night.

I turned to object, to perhaps convince Dan that Dallas or Paris could feel quite shy even if she isn't acting it as she spreads her legs before dozens of men.

Then she did the dollar-bill-off-the-face trick and ruined any chance I might have had of convincing my friend of her supposed apprehension.

Another young lady had the uncomfortable habit of making, and keeping, direct eye contact. I had never felt more comfortable looking at a woman's breasts instead of her eyes before that moment. I felt like a freshman in high school getting eyed by the senior girl rumored to have the clap.

After her dance, she sat down next to me. On this particular night, the club was offering private dances. I suspected this was why she sat down next to me, but as with Dallas or Paris, I wanted to give her a chance. We spoke a bit about where I was from, where she was from. I remarked on her purse, which had a picture of Marilyn Monroe on it. I told her about a t-shirt I used to have that had a silhouette of Monroe's face on it, and how I lost that shirt to my ex-girlfriend by leaving it in her room after we broke up.

She asked abruptly, "Would you like a private dance?" I politely declined and she rudely stood up and walked away.

It was almost as if she hadn't valued our conversation, almost as if all she saw in me was $10 Canadian. I felt used, quite frankly.

Soon after, I blacked out. I woke up the next day in my hotel room bed, for a moment confused as to my location and reason for being there. The intensity of my headache was astounding.

Two hours later, 1 p.m., I was in another bar, Dundee's Bar and Grill, giving the "hair of the dog that bit me" method a first try. For the record, drinking first thing in the morning does dull the pain, and if you keep drinking, you might forget the pain was even there in the first place.

It was at Dundee's that I had the experience that made the trip worthwhile. I sat with my brother and Dan, two people with whom I've shared unique experiences, and spent hours talking about the beauty of Montreal as a city and telling our best stories. We talked about why Kate was the perfect girl for Brian and why our dad is still the strongest man we've ever known.

It was a good weekend, full of new experiences and compromising positions, but I remember the afternoon in Dundee's Bar and Grill most prominently.

Go Expos.