Party All the Time

I don't belong here. Which is why I am standing all the way over here by myself. Drew and Nico are playing at wingman and trying to pick up some of the girls that came here to drink things and to look pretty for all of the other girls that came here to drink things. (This is what "going out" boils down to for women, as far as I understand it) I don't know which of my friends is the wingman and which is the... lead pilot? Is there a term for that other guy, the one who uses the wingman? I don't know. And I don't think that Nico and Drew know either. I mean, I don't think that either of them know which is the wingman and which is the... notwingman. They'll know soon enough... those things have a way of sorting themselves out.

This whole night was Nico's idea. Drew has been staying at his apartment for the last few days. Partly because he had an open futon and Drew was getting tired of spooning with me every night, and partly because Martin and Martine had been fighting again, and it hasn't been pretty. Like, throwing wine glasses and cussing in Fran├žais and day-after bruises, not pretty. And it has been going all night for the last two days. Actually if nobody minds, I'll spend tonight spooning with Drew on the futon at Nico's place. That is, of course, unless their little game of wingman works out.

Which brings us back to the present. Nico suggested that we all come out to this event for international students. I thought it would be like an ERASMUS thing, so I was thrilled, because my last one had worked out so well (this is sarcasm). I actually love dancing, but I haven't been sleeping a lot in the last couple days thanks in part to the domestic violence in my apartment, and in part to... some other stuff, I guess. Anyway, I just didn't really feel like going out. Plus, I emailed Anna to see if she wanted to come with us. No response. I'm starting to wonder why she didn't just take my number and call it, that would have been an easy way to figure out her number. Point is that I don't have much to dance about. Which, works out I guess because as it turns out this is not an ERASMUS event, it's an alumni event for a private international business school, so it's a roomful of rich/drunk people from all over Europe (and guests). Apparently Nico's dad is pretty rich. That makes one of us.

So here I am, standing in the corner because I don't belong in the rest of the room. I think you would be uncomfortable here, too many people, not enough familiar faces. You would want to go somewhere else, somewhere more intimate. I stay. I stay standing in the corner. From my vantage point I can see the whole party, the whole, entire, pointless party. The rich European businessmen (and guests) are in constant motion, a swirling current of people sliding past one another, bumping shoulders, apologizing. The current swells and ebbs powered by the churning beat of some european electronica. The music isn't for dancing, it's for the mingling and mixing of opposing sexes. Is this Love? Is this how it begins for the rest of the world? Just a room full of foreigners that you can't understand moving towards and away from giant speakers with a drink in their hand, bumping into something that they can barely see or hear, and saying "good enough". From my corner, it's plain to see that this is how the species promulgates itself, this is how we get tricked into reproducing. We make it loud enough and dark enough and drunk enough and then we find the first person who's willing to go downstairs and hop in a taxi. But we need to act fast, attraction seems to dissipate as soon as we open our mouths and realize how much we all dislike each other.

But I guess these things are impossible to understand from the outside. And I don't drink. It's a religious thing. So I just turn around, look at the wall, and write this letter while the crowd continues swimming in their mixture of alcohol and music. Churning. Like a million sperm looking for an egg.

If my sperm are anything like me, I'm probably impotent. Not that I would know... Maybe if I drank alcohol, I wouldn't be a virgin. Seems to be how it works.


Sincerely,

Willim Willson

P.S. Drew tells me you have been dating someone. I... um... Well I guess I don't really have anything to say about that.

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