nature of the party

* This topic came up (mostly in my head) at a get-together last weekend. I wish to god I was as articulate drunk as I am sober so I could've done a better job of laying out my theory to the random fellow who bought me a double shot of jagger and tipped the bartender with beads (in his defense, they were the ones that light up!!) and the cute lil' brunette who after listening to me INTENSELY, merely giggled, tugged at my collar, flashed me, then ran away, laughing like a loon. Cheers.

Parties can be great things. People gathering for the purpose of pleasure. That pleasure can come about in many ways. Loud music, dancing, random violence, (Wait, that's me, Freudian slip...) or the frenzied fumbling of hands on skin as emotions reach a zenith and reason gives way to instinct. Who could begrudge one for answering the ancient call to intimacy? Not sex necessarily mind you, just contact. Genuine human contact. A gentle touch, as simple or complex as the stroke of one's hand across a face, or a firm embrace. Lips on a neck, hot breath warming and tickling at the same time. A confident kiss which sparks a myriad of frightening, yet delightful sensations and reminds you of what it truly is to be alive. To re-affirm the belief of all romantics, (Myself included.) that love can be and is as basic a function as eating, or sleeping.
Parties can be terrible things. A lot of assholes show up to your friend's house, and none of the assholes are ones you invited. That cute girl you asked came, but brought four masturbatory male extensions of herself to boost her confidence and make her feel better about herself, and they drink all your sake. (And they don't even warm it first.) Your other friend's girlfriend starts dancing and singing along to a Lil Wayne song and the whole choir of derelectical youth chime in, a cacophony of off-key insanity.
Finally you go outside, only to find one of the many guys you don't know is admiring the steam coming off his urine as he relieves himself on your friend's porch. You resign yourself to this bog, this quagmire of stupidity, and figure you'll watch a film with plenty of gunfights which will cheer you up, only to find the biggest TV is already claimed, and the other girls are watching "She's All That". (Which is cool, you've just seen it too many times. Ah, that Rachael Leigh Cook...)
Then you meet the un-official tag along. The desperate social outcast the cool chicks brought. She isn't ugly necessarily, physically that is. What is ugly is her desperation. Her resignation to station. When her friends finally stop coddling her, introducing her to everyone and quit referencing inside jokes all in an attempt to make her feel more comfortable (Which doesn't work.) and actually start enjoying themselves, she retreats to her all too familiar downtrodden attitude. Go ahead, ask her what's up? She'll tell you everyone hates her, (Translation: Not center of her friend's attention for five seconds.) her friends are ignoring her, (Trans: Talking to other people.) and she hates herself. (Trans: She wants you to feel sorry for her.)
In my experience, someone is usually designated to seek out and isolate this girl, who usually always snaps and makes a stink, killing any genial mood regardless of how much effort is given to making her happy. These people, (Many men included I should add, only they usually just break stuff.) truly prove my theory that some people can only gauge their life in measures of pain. That makes me extremely sad, because although they seem justified in their own mind, they exile only themselves and miss so much of what is out there to receive.
As the party winds down, people are usually either getting sick, already sick, taking off, hooking up, (God, I hate that phrase, but it works.) or falling asleep. Unless you are like me and finally turn on around this time, finding yourself too curious about the bizzare species of human you find yourself watching, as though an utter non-participant. You can't avoid the obvious question, "Is this portrait a distortion of how these people are or a clarification? Do parties transform us or do they reveal us? Does this agreed upon social interaction allow us to put on masks, or take them off?
Alas, we shall never know with a scientific level of certainty. Such is the nature of the party.
Or at least, so I've been told...