Gatsby, sort of
Received an invitation to a sorority party last week. Not that I'm a member of a fraternity or have the desire to be associated with any kind of club. Oh, heavens no. I want to be cool and independent, like Dylan from Beverly Hills 90210. But turning down an invitation is plain rude. The social gathering was held a couple nights ago with lots of people, lots of drinking and lots of sitting on a couch and no dancing. Thank God. Most of the evening was brightened up by music only to be described as jazz-lite. I suspect Kenny G, deservedly adored by Oprah viewers the world over, was among the musicians played. But I'm repressing this suspicion for Miles Davis' sake. And fortunately, girls don't like me - so I wasn't tempted to move to the dance area. Not that I would dance anyhow, but that's not the point.
Drinking it is, then.
My questionable social skills normally prevent me from breaking into tight circles, like the sorority sisters and their mostly fraternity dates I was surrounded by this particular night. But keeping up a conversation for conversation's sake is fun when drunk and very much needed in a place full of people acting excessively social. Quickly I found myself immersed in the sister-and-brotherhood culture and I was genuinely interested in a group of people building some kind of sculpture out of plastic chairs.
Later in the evening, a seemingly intoxicated girl came on to me, which made me feel special and loved. Are you gay? she asked. Assuredly not, I replied. She smiled, I smiled back. For a moment I thought about banging her silly against the bathroom door on the second floor of the house. But not knowing her age or the amount of alcohol in her blood could make this act a legal matter, so I opted not to make such move. I quickly feigned interest in her as she enthusiastically talked about her love of fencing. Pretending to be interested in someone while conversing is something I normally have no problems with, but for whatever reason my feigning made me shiver with self-loathe once the conversation was over. But only briefly - my apathy rules my conscience.
The evening as a whole was surprisingly entertaining. The only cringe-worthy moment of the night was when a group of five girls inhabited the improvised stage and started to sing a Britney Spears song. I suppose making a complete fool out of yourselves by falsely singing a badly written song in front of a large crowd is an efficient way to bond as a group of people. The "Us vs. Them" sentiment was riding high for a moment after the performance. But sadly, none got hurt.
Carpooling back home with five others crammed inside my roommate's sister's Ford Fiesta, I believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
Obviously I was drunk.
Drinking it is, then.
My questionable social skills normally prevent me from breaking into tight circles, like the sorority sisters and their mostly fraternity dates I was surrounded by this particular night. But keeping up a conversation for conversation's sake is fun when drunk and very much needed in a place full of people acting excessively social. Quickly I found myself immersed in the sister-and-brotherhood culture and I was genuinely interested in a group of people building some kind of sculpture out of plastic chairs.
Later in the evening, a seemingly intoxicated girl came on to me, which made me feel special and loved. Are you gay? she asked. Assuredly not, I replied. She smiled, I smiled back. For a moment I thought about banging her silly against the bathroom door on the second floor of the house. But not knowing her age or the amount of alcohol in her blood could make this act a legal matter, so I opted not to make such move. I quickly feigned interest in her as she enthusiastically talked about her love of fencing. Pretending to be interested in someone while conversing is something I normally have no problems with, but for whatever reason my feigning made me shiver with self-loathe once the conversation was over. But only briefly - my apathy rules my conscience.
The evening as a whole was surprisingly entertaining. The only cringe-worthy moment of the night was when a group of five girls inhabited the improvised stage and started to sing a Britney Spears song. I suppose making a complete fool out of yourselves by falsely singing a badly written song in front of a large crowd is an efficient way to bond as a group of people. The "Us vs. Them" sentiment was riding high for a moment after the performance. But sadly, none got hurt.
Carpooling back home with five others crammed inside my roommate's sister's Ford Fiesta, I believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter - tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further... And one fine morning -
Obviously I was drunk.
posted by oy Matthew at 03:33
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