January 28th, 2007

very much not my scene.

Last night Dianne held her birthday dance party in our apartment

It was a lesson in patience

I have absolutely no tolerance for people I already know being fake. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Nor am I one to schmooze. In these situations I humor strangers and their stupid lines, sometimes I play along, but it takes effort. And sometimes they actually are nice people– just not in a state where I would ever choose to meet them, or one that is very flattering to themselves

I half holed up in the bedroom, choosing not to witness the spectacle that was the front room and being generally antisocial. I dressed as a bellydancer who likes to be clothed. I didn't care what anybody there thought of me, and, I certainly wasn't about to objectify myself.

I hope I don't sound angry at the world haha. I'm not! It's raining

So anyway, a few of us had a silly little jam session with some of my crap. It was fun. And at some point my nextdoor neighbors came and rescued me! For a few minutes

Police with flashing lights parked right outside,
and somebody fell into the glass table and shattered it.
Dianne and Wes were stuck cleaning everything up. As an anthropologically-minded observer, the whole thing is fascinating. It's the same cycle of events every time, right: spend a lot of money on alcohol, drink, schmooze, dance, drink, feel gross, get sick, destroy property and make a huge mess. Somehow get home, fall asleep, wake up feeling disgusting, try to remember what the night was like, spend half the day recuperating. I can only conclude that to these people, the experience is worth it. Definition of insanity? Doing the same thing and expecting a different result?