Holy fuck, I hate parties.

July 5th, 2009

Went to a party last night, which reminded me most painfully how I hate fucking parties. A bunch of uncontrolled drunken shirtless strangers, shooting fireworks out of their mouths and cavorting homo-erotically around a stripper pole… excuse me for not seeing the fun there. It probably didn’t help that I only knew about 10% of the people there, less and less as the night went on. And then I am in the corner having a political discussion with a stranger at 4 a.m. and thinking it’s the first interesting conversation I’ve had in the last hour. Everyone else is just rubbing up against each other sweatily and talking about how drunk they are and what a great party it is, and I do not get it at all. I suppose I should have just gone home – but since I have such an strange way of perceiving social events I am never sure if I should force myself to do these horrible-seeming things or not. Most things seem horrible and strange and upsetting to me at first, and then sometimes they get better. In retrospect, this particular thing was never going to become superbadgirl-friendly, and I should have cut my losses and run at 1:30 or 2:00 when most of the people I knew left. But I stuck it out, and learned a lesson.

In other news, I think I am going to have a party for my birthday. Surely I can’t hate a party at my own house, where I control the guest list, like I hate other parties – can I? Stay tuned.