Here's my hateful experience of a house party, please still invite me to house parties so i feel important:You arrive far, far too early. You awkwardly select a walking path to avoid saying hi to anyone and make a conceited effort to avoid eye contact with the opposite sex. It becomes apparent that you're horribly overdressed. You attempt to introduce yourself to some new people. You fail at saying hello and choke. They mishear your name. You don't correct them. You cling to the only people you know and check your watch/phone every 2 minutes, inbetween sculls from your drink. Your misheard name spreads around the party like wildfire. You pass the point of no return. You've now drank too much. You achieve drunkness. You spend the entire evening responding to the name "Boney".
An argument threatens to get nasty. It doesn't.
Someone hooks up with someone. Everyone goes on about it.
You make a really good joke. No one hears it. You wonder whether it's okay to make it again. You do make it again. Everyone does hear it. No one laughs.
You tell your host you're leaving. He tells you his DJ mate hasn't even arrived yet. You pretend you've got another party to go to "before sun-up." You wonder whether "sun-up" made you sound a bit like Crocodile Dundee. It did. You go home. Alone. You drink a glass of water. You think about how much fun you had, and how no one will remember you even being there. You put your jim-jams on. You realise that while internet-based social networking sites will doubtless bring about the end of modern civilisation, at least you'll no longer have to physically spend time with people.
Dedicated to Catty Fox.
