When I'm not too busy poisoning and mummifying myself, I take the time to sit back and observe this (sometimes) controlled madness. The truth is that the social interactions that make up the basic foundation of these parties not only bore me-- they exhaust me. Not in a physical way obviously considering I've been working out a little bit (The ten push-ups every other Sunday have gotten the ladies to take notice!) For me, mental autopilot drains more fuel. Talking about subjects that I take interest in with people I care about takes far less energy than my attempt to engage in a conversation regarding how that last shot tasted. I'll try my best to make a witty, inappropriate remark... but it's really out of courtesy. Plus I'm pretty sure, or at least I hope that it didn't in anyway resemble King Kong's asshole on a hot, humid day.
The perks of being a wallflower are that you get to see what is really going on. I've always been a fairly observant person. People-watching and eavesdropping are my hobbies. Even during nights when I'm feeling strangely social, I'm still persistently taking in my surroundings. So within the first few minutes, you can tell the identities of each participant like a game of "Guess Who" made too simple. The overcompensating guys who are going to start shit and ruin the vibe. They're the ones who come into the party with a full car, didn't bring anything, and is hogging the handle of Captain Morgan for the night-- one guy carries the bottle underneath his sweaty armpits, another the 2-liter of coke, and two more to follow them around with a douchey smirk that makes you want to punch them in the fucking face. The whoo-girls are in another corner. They're the ones who are telling every person they find remotely attractive to take a shot with them in desperate attempt to strike up a conversation. They dance away at "their jam" on the kitchen counter, drinking not really alcohol, but their insecurities. The people who just ripped a few bong hits are sitting on the couch. A little bit too stoned to function, the world is passing them by at lightning speeds. Words slurring (but who's arnt?) and eyelids heavy, their mouths move but the sentences arn't quite constructed correctly in accordance with grammatical rules. Then there are the people who stand near the wall with a look that screams pompousness as if they are better than you.
Oh. I guess I can fit into that last category-- but I don't think I'm better than you. Not by a long shot.
So this begs the question, "Am I going to miss this after I leave... after it leaves me?"
But I guess you can miss anything.
And I think you should be allowed to miss anyone.
