Woooo !!! Parteeeee !!!

Last Sunday, Mark and I were invited to a lovely yard party where there were maybe fifty or more guests. There was plenty of booze, snacks, and music, but I was miserable. I hate parties, plain and simple I hate them. I think it might go back as far as when I was in second or third grade and my mom did the sweetest thing, she threw me a surprise birthday party. Unfortunately I only really had one friend at the time so my mom was at a loss as to who to invite. Her solution was to invite all the children of her friends, who came within one year of my age. So there I was, at my own party with kids I didn't really like, trying to act like I was having a good time. It might have been better if my mom had shared her Mogen David with me.

I don't know why it is that I hate parties, I seem to get along just fine in a bar full of people. Just put a bar stool under my ass, and a vodka in front of me, and everything is just fine. I'll start jabbering to any poor fool who might sit down near me, oblivious to whether or not I'm embarrassing Mark. There is one kind of party that I used to go every year that was fairly easy to take, Halloween parties. I just put on my costume, and if I got drunk or did something out of the ordinary, I'd just deny that I was the asshole in the Nixon mask.

My problem with parties is that I find it hard to wander around with a drink in my hand, and inject myself into conversations with total strangers. Last Sunday I did find a young man at the party who was interesting and engaged me in a conversation for at least fifteen minutes. The only problem was when he excused himself to go freshen his cocktail, and never came back. I'll just assume that he got waylaid by some other party boy, and it had nothing to do with the fact that I was on my third vodka. If nothing else, I enjoyed an afternoon of free food and drink, and I even took one last drink with me in the complimentary 'go' cups the host provided. At least I'm pretty sure that they were 'go' cups.