Monday, October 09, 2006

It's Not My Party but I'll Rain All Over The Parade Anyway

I found in my email inbox this evening an invitation to a party. I love invitations and not just to parties but to all types of pleasant social events. Invites make me feel love and accepted. In that way invitations are the oppossite of high school. Though I have to say that to get an invitation through the mail is far superior than one via email. Think about how much a person wants you at their social event if they've taken the time to address an envelope and buy a stamp. A phone call invite is good as well. But only if the invitor calls me when they know I can answer the phone. If they call with the hopes of leaving the invitation on my voicemail they might as well have sent an email or an evite. But it if they call around 6pm that means not only do they want me at their social event but they also want to talk to me. That's double love right there. That's acceptance squared.

That being said, I'm not going to this party. Why? First off, I don't think I can beat the rush of merely getting invited. I've already been validated I've already been invited. I can't be invited anymore once I get there my invitation is over. Secondly, the party is a theme party. The hosts are calling it a Mothball party. They want us to dress up in an old prom dress or bridesmaid gown or some other garmet we haven't worn in years. Is that what NYC has come to? People can't just have a party we now have to gimiks. Is the apartment/house party market so flooded the only way to get friends and acquantances to socialize with one another is have a theme? No thank you. It's too much work. I find dressing for a regular themeless party exhausting--what with the whole trying to look cute, but at the same time trying to look like I'm not trying to look cute but still looking cute. Now, you mothball party throwers want me to look cute, but not looking like i'm trying to look cute, and then be ironic with my prom dress or my flower girl outfit; and yet, still look good enough to take advantage of some drunk dude who isn't trying at all to look good, but of course he'll look ironic.

Yeah, I think I'll just look uncute in my apartment with a bottle of wine, watch a netflix movie and then fantasize about having sex with boys who only put ironic effort into their appearance.

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