She said, “Let’s have a party.”
She said, “We’ll sing and dance.”
She said to come as you are.
So I came in my pants.
Let’s party. Let’s have a party. The party starts here.
I’ll try to share these in chronological order.
I am with “Skip” at a party at our friend Jeff’s house in high school. A chubby bleach blonde has locked herself in the bathroom and is crying. The teen drama was thick in the air. I couldn’t wait to leave.
I am at a fraternity rush party at a friend of my mother’s. College guys are standing around with beers in their hands doing nothing. One of them gives me a beer even though I am just 17. One of them says, “They’ll be more fun once they get a few drinks in them.” I couldn’t wait to leave.
I am at a party at friend of a friend’s a few nights before I was departing for college. Nikki, a super-gorgeous tenth grade waif, is fairly drunk, and trying unsuccessfully to throw up. She’s so cute that six guys are fawning over her as she heaves and belches over the toilet. I couldn’t wait to leave.
I am a freshman in college, and for some reason I have followed Jeff to a party at a frat house. It’s dark and loud, and stinks of beer and vomit. Jenny, who I knew from high school yearbook staff, stumbles over to us and says, “I can’t believe you guys are here. People are beginning to talk.” I couldn’t wait to leave.
Over the years I have discovered that almost all parties are really just excuses to behave badly, irrationally, vulgarly. And if I am invited to a party where I know there will be no alcohol served, I know that it will be boring and lifeless.
So what is this, an indictment of society? On the contrary, it is an observation that human behavior benefits not from forced social gatherings, but from organically-occuring intimacy.
Intimacy, by the way, is the goal of any self-actualized person, and avoiding intimacy is the goal of everyone else.