It’s the season of holiday parties—family parties, friend’s parties, co-worker’s parties, parties thrown by your significant other’s friends—no matter what kind of party, there is usually that awkward moment when you realize, “I don’t know anyone here.” This, my friends, is how I spent my Saturday night.
To say, “I don’t know anyone here” is actually an exaggeration. One of my good friends threw the party and two of my other friends came as well. Technically I knew other partygoers (I went to high school with my friend’s roommate) but I didn’t know them well. Despite only “knowing” the hostess I stuck around and followed the party to the bars (her building is full of old people and party poopers, i.e. noise violations) after my other two friends left.
Now, if you’d like to know how to totally freak a guy out, I can tell you, because that is what I proceeded to do, once we reached the bars. Without my friends to converse with, and not wanting to monopolize my hostess, I sought out a fellow guest that I recognized and was comfortable. Luckily for me, there was such a guest and I latched on to him. I have this tendency, which I’ve probably
written about previously, to find one or two people at parties or large gatherings and stick with them. This has led to friends and acquaintances thinking we’re a couple (if my party partner is a boy) or that I have feelings for him (again if it’s a boy, apparently people don’t notice when it’s a girl). If I’m super comfortable with the crowd, then I don’t need that kind of party support, but as you can tell, this holiday party was not one of those occasions. In addition to an overload of strangers, the bar was filled with people dressed up as sexy elves, sexy lumps of coal, Santa Clauses, sexy Mrs. Clauses, and for some strange reason, a plethora of pimp style elves and Santas. I don’t know if there was a themed party that we crashed (super weird theme though) or if the weekend before Christmas is accepted as a second Halloween. Whatever the reason, my nervous habits were exacerbated and I clung even more to my party friend.
At one point I remember saying things, just to say something, so we weren’t standing there, silently awkward. I’m not sure my ramblings helped the situation though. Once we changed bars, he ran into some of his actual friends and I joined my hostess friend on the dance floor. When my new party friend and his friends joined us, I kept trying to tell him we had a coat pile, and he should add his, but whenever I tried to talk, or tell him that, he’d ignore me. Well not exactly ignore, he wasn’t that rude, but I could tell he didn’t want to enter into another inane conversation with me. I have to say, I can’t blame him! And that is how you freak out a boy—cling.