Tag: parties

College

He had stayed home that night, because his program was intense – he had a lot of work to do.  He had been invited, but he didn’t go, because he did work instead.  His best friend went, though.  He wasn’t in such an intense program, and could spare the night off easily enough.  Everyone there had thought that the best friend had fallen asleep.  Perhaps he had.  Eventually, though, the combination of this and that and ecstasy had stopped the best friend’s heart and life.  But everyone thought the best friend was asleep.

He had stayed home that night, but his best friend hadn’t.

Contemplating how things could have gone differently, if he had gone to the party that night, now that is one easy way to go crazy.

So, I don’t.

Post-a-day 2018

Tasty Ice and Salt

Do you know what a salt lamp is?  Well, I just realized that I have one.  And it’s in my room.  And I’m quite excited about it all of a sudden.  And, naturally, feel a silliness rising, too.  You see, with salt lamps, just like with ice sculptures, I have an urge to lick them whenever I see them illuminated.  Okay, the illuminated part isn’t exactly the same with ice sculptures, but the licking desire is.

I remember my brothers’ dad’s wedding over a decade ago (I think that was the occasion, anyway), and how there was an ice sculpture there at the reception.  My cousin commented how she wanted to lick it – perhaps it was a swan, if I remember correctly? – when we were standing in front of it.  ‘So, lick it,’ was approximately my response.

Sure enough, she licked it.  We both did, actually, because her desire rubbed off onto me somehow.  (It actually started a trend for me, for whenever parties have ice sculptures.  I remember shocking a few classmates, when I casually passed by and licked a huge ice sculpture at a school event.)  We were still kids, but we knew well enough that it was not a normal behavior, and so were stealthy about it.  But we totally licked the ice sculpture.

Now, I have a similar situation with salt lamps.  Though, since they aren’t something that will melt away in a matter of hours, and they’ll stick around for quite some time afterward, and have been around for a while, I don’t lick them.  Usually, though, I just touch it gently with a finger or two, and then smoothly lick the salt off my fingers.

Of course, now you know about my sneaky – and somewhat weird, really – habits at parties and salt-lamp-containing spaces.  Just don’t give me away, okay?  If anything, give the ice sculpture thing a go yourself.  It’s surprisingly rewarding, the whole affair.  ;D

Post-a-day 2018

Granny at heart?

I’ve never really been one for people my own age.  I’m not sure what it is about me or about them, but I just have never much meshed with people my own age.  A recent party was no exception in proving this.

See, I was attending this party, and there were people of various ages.  The handful around my own age all got on really well with one another, in a few groups that all would mix and mingle off and on with one another.  I was not part of any of them, really, at any point, though various individuals greeted me briefly throughout the evening.  Near the end of the party, they all started going on about whether everyone else was going to the afterparty.  They weren’t really asking the older folks; just the youngish people, the ones around my own age.

Except, in all of the inviting and discussing, no one ever mentioned the after party to me. And it wasn’t as though it had been announced or anything, and so I had heard all about it, and everyone was invited.  No.  Someone commented publicly the day before that there would be an afterparty, almost in a joking manner, yes.  But, at the actual party, it was a one-on-one or one-on-two topic of discussion.  And I was never included in any of those small groups.  I only heard the, “Are you going to the afterparty?” questions posed among friends as I passed by them.  Multiple times.

And it’s not like I really wanted to go to the afterparty, anyway.  They were going to some bar, it sounded like, and in the opposite direction of my home (which was already half an hour away).  Neither of those ideas appealed to me.  Plus, throw in the factor that I’m not exactly wanted there, and I definitely am less than thrilled at the idea of the afterparty.

The thing is, I wanted to be invited.  It hurt ever so slightly that I wasn’t even invited.  That I never expected them to invite me made it hurt that much more.  I spent most of the party chatting with people quite older than I am (at least a decade or two), and I loved that.  It felt almost like I actually belonged in that group.  But I still am a tiny bit disappointed that the my-age people seem not to like me.  I’m not sure if they dislike me, or if they think I dislike them or something.  I am, at the very least, unimportant to them. And, while I don’t really like them all too much, anyway, – I don’t dislike them, let’s be clear – I would invite them along to something, if I were doing something tied to that group of people.  I wouldn’t exclude them.  I don’t wish the feeling of exclusion on anyone.

Anyway, the bottom line is: I really just don’t get on easily with people my own age most of the time.  This party the other night emphasized the fact that this has not changed as I have aged.

Post-a-day 2017

College Crush

After meeting up with a friend from college tonight, I have college people on my mind.  This friend mentioned, “I think you just knew more people than I did,” (I might have edited that for improved grammar, but I really don’t remember.) an idea that seems almost crazy, seeing as how he spent the full time on campus, but I only spent about half of my shortened college career on campus.  And I was placed in the introvert section of my freshman dorm… I think I was the only one who knew everyone in my hall that year.

One person in particular has come to mind as I mingle in this thought of meeting so many people: my reasonable crush.  Certainly, I had more than one little crush in college, but there was one who didn’t seem to have anything like a big red flag, when it came to the idea of practicality of the crush.  It wasn’t like I ever intended to do anything about the crush, but he was the only one who might actually have agreed to go on a date with me, had I somehow found myself asking him.

I don’t recall the absolute first time we met, but the first time we really had a one-on-one was at a regular college party.  I had gone over with some girls from my hall – we’d all ridden in one girl’s car together.  No one expected me to stay long at the party, but I usually went to the party for a little bit, chatted, danced, hung out, went home, and then went back to the party to pick up the girls whenever they were finished for the night.  On this particular night, nothing was different.  I was alcohol-free and dancing near a corner, I believe (more out of avoiding having alcohol spilled on me and drunk guys trying to rub up on me, than out of an attempt to isolate myself).  And, somehow, I found myself talking with this guy.  

He was cute in his drunken efforts to flirt and be sweet, though the fact that the efforts were drunken gave him no real chance of anything other than talking a bit with me.  Afterward, at least one of the girls commented on how he wouldn’t leave me alone at the party, we talked for so long.  I enjoyed the attention, but the drunken lining was not to my taste, so I considered little on the matter.  I was just talking to a guy half out of his wits, and he was nice.  And that was it.  I don’t remember when my crush began with him, if it was before or a while after this experience, but I never accept drunken thoughts as forms of true, desired communication, so his “interest” was easily disregarded.  And a guy drinking at a college party usually wants sex, not a girlfriend and potential wife.

But, later on, after the crush was fully settled within me, I delighted in watching him swim fabulously on the swim team, one of the cool sports at our school where everyone seemed to be just really neat people of various backgrounds.

Anyway, by the time I was visiting one of my best friends, years later, in her last semester of college (I finished college early, remember.), my crush was in full swing.  My friend informed me that my crush lived in the house just over from hers.  I had already envied her living in that particular old-style house near campus, and I only envied it more at this piece of information.

‘He showed up at the back door, and asked for butter once.’  (Or was it that she asked him for butter, and he asked her for eggs once?  I’ll have to ask her.  She might still remember.)

We both knew I was filled with teenage girl crush envy at this.  I could have possibly befriended him, if I had taken longer for college, and lived in my rightfully earned place at that awesome house.  But I didn’t, and so it goes.

Anyway, he’s hopefully more gorgeous than ever, working a great job, and making great money that allows him to clad himself in stunning attire.  I haven’t kept up, but he’s still gorgeous in my head, and I think I’m actually nervous to look him up and find out that his health and looks didn’t improve with age since college.

Post-a-day 2017