A recent drinking chum invited me to a party for her older brother's birthday, and so I ventured out into the night in search of free alcohol and social amusement.
We found ourselves, perhaps somewhat misplaced, amid a human buffet of young urbanites. Shiny tops and trim figures accessorized with fresh smiles and suspicious glances. Eyes across the room catch me leaning against the wall, holding court among my friends at the edge of the dance floor. A normal bloke would assume some sort of physical interest, but these eyes only question my presence. I'm oblivious and insecure, and that's quite a cocktail.
Slowly we gather, strength in numbers, until my social circle is large enough to establish an embassy in this foreign land. Ryan pops in, I haven't seen him since last Halloween. We chat. Small talk shouted over thumping house music.
There's something so amusing about a dance floor where any sort of enthusiasm causes the record stylus to skip. You get all these trendy little club girls dancing at full tempo, but with half the energy.
I talk with Paul for a moment. We are manic, he is not. I try to talk him out of leaving and cheer him up, but words are rarely as powerful as Brain chemicals. Tonight, the chemicals win.
The keg is cashed out and scouts are sent out to acquire more libations. The party nazi attempts to introduce static to the party by challenging one of the lads. Sandy replies "I'll fight if you want to fight, but I think that's pretty lame."
I'm glad I hear about it after the fact, bloodlust is hard to repress.
Nick tries valiantly to dance and make the rounds with the young hotties. I admire them all from afar, unwilling to break the glass wall between us and actually chatter about the room. All the while, my recent drinking chum stands faithfully at my side...keeping me company and offering me constant interaction.
We discuss all the random thoughts and ideas that pop up. At some point she suggests some sort of nude self-portrait for me. Although I can't remember the context, at the very least it was mostly innocent in nature.
Bill arrives, Bill dances, Bill amazes. �Bombs over Baghdad� sends his mantis body into a kinetic frenzy.
I end up in a room with my friends, trying to keep the tequila bottle out of Sandy's hands. One of the party hosts makes a veiled comment about people still being around. It's obviously time to vacate the upstairs.
I return to the main level and locate my recent drinking buddy. Again we observe the dance floor and discuss Nick as he attempts to climb the social ladder.
The cops show up for the second time and shut down the music. I figure that's our cue to split and so everyone starts filing out. The party nazi stomps about, trying to expedite the exit.
Somehow, I'm hit in the face with a shoe.
The irony amuses me...being shooed and being shoe-ed at the same time.
Nick and I say our good-byes and start walking home. Nick is drunk and pissed at some guy he doesn't know. I'm pleased, and tired, and ready for bed. All the way home, he lectures me about how this girl is obviously into me and he demands in a loud alcoholic stupor that I ask her out.
I try to explain to my drunken pal how the stars and moon are misaligned for me right now, but he cares not for the cosmos.
