A little bit of cranberry juice

So here I am at the co-op, going to a party. I don’t even like parties. That’s not true, I love parties; I don’t particularly like going to a party at some random place hosted by someone or some people I don’t know. But whatever, I’d heard of the co-op, it sounded like a cool place, I wanted to know what’s it’s deal.

We went downstairs and there was a DJ playing loud music. It was mostly the sort of hackneyed hip-hop that nobody ever actually likes but is always played- I can usually milk a couple minutes of talking out of complaining about the music. It’s a couple fewer minutes that I’m just standing around.

I could mock the SNL skit, which is mocking bad standup comedians, who themselves are mocking things, by saying “What’s the deal with rap?!” Such a discussion would prove fruitless- I’m preaching to the choir, the monks, and in some cases, the missionaries and priests. We upper-middle class white kids, we pretentious indie fucks, who see it as our mission (stated or unstated, conscious or unconscious) to convert the rest of the world to listen to our “good” music, despite the fact that it’s all the sort of pop-culture tripe that will be ferociously disregarded within our lifetimes.

At any rate, rap music doesn’t inspire me, and dancing around with a bunch of dudes doesn’t particularly inspire me. Wait, there it is again, unconscious homophobia- or the entirely irrational idea that someone will see a group of guys dancing (or a group of disproportionally many guys) and assume that they’re all gay. Sorry!

So, in an attempt to destroy a couple more minutes, I went to get something to drink. I didn’t want an alcoholic drink, though, I really could have gone with a glass of water. I didn’t see a good source of water, and I saw orange juice, and I thought, hey, orange juice, that’s healthy, I’ll drink that. But then I was pouring just orange juice, on a table full of alcohol, and I thought, well I can’t just do that. Here is the entirely irrational idea that someone will see me pouring an orange juice and assume that I’m a teetotaler or a wimp. So I poured in a little vodka. Hey, vodka and orange juice, that’s a drink, right? Is that a screwdriver or something? Yeah, it’s something, it’s respectable. First, though, I put a couple bucks in the donation jar. Poured a little vodka- a half shot’s worth maybe? Then I was going to go drink my orange juice quietly to appear busy. But a guy remarked, “Hey, you should put some cranberry juice in there, it’ll taste a lot better.”

In his mind, I am a freshman. This is maybe my second party, and coincidentally, maybe the third time I’ve ever drank. I need some drink recipes, and he is a seasoned veteran of the strategy of booze. He offered me fatherly advice, the kind of advice that immediately puts him on a plane four whole levels above mine. How did he over-understand my lack of confidence in this situation? Did my hand shake when I poured? Was my head pointed down a couple degrees too low as I walked in the room? What gave it away that I somehow didn’t know what I was doing, and yet, gave it away entirely too much- what is it that said not “I am just getting a drink, don’t worry about me,” but rather “I just want to VANISH into the background”?

To be fair, the rest of the party was a lot of fun.

And on a side note, I have not had 6 hours of sleep any night since I think Tuesday. I apologize to everyone who’s had to spend time with me during the week (the weekend was cool… I was tired but I was having too much fun to be tired). Hopefully the next will be better. If I’m being cranky, slap me around a little bit- I have no right to be cranky.

And hey, I’m going to DC next weekend- I’ll miss you all at the zoo and etc, but still, how exciting!

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