Fish out of Water

His hand slid down my back and grabbed a handful of my unsuspecting ass. “You’re very sexy! I like your whiskers,” he politely referred to my 6 month old mustache. It must have been the slurry of drugs and alcohol I consumed, but I think I handled it rather smoothly. “Thanks man, you look great too! I’m straight though!” I was too much in my head and in the music. We danced together a good bit until he was lassoed away by a man I hoped he scored with.

I spent the earlier part of the night with a guy hellbent on getting a girl. “Tonight would be nothing if I don’t get that kiss.” As all his advances were shot down, he quickly became a prime example of how not to behave towards the opposite sex, or perhaps people in general. He would stare-hunt girls across the place and approach them predatory like with a strange primitive dance. He was there for the girls, and I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I commend his efforts. But I quickly realized I was there for myself.

As I bobbed like wet cardboard on the dance floor, too inebriated to care, I realized I didn’t care to talk to any ladies. Sure, I’ve been feeling crippling loneliness lately, but I don’t think anyone there could have taken away the feeling.

“So are you meeting people there?” My lyft driver asked, on the way to said venue.
“Nope. Going by myself.”
“Oh man that sounds lonely.”

His voice haunted me as I arrived a little too early. It made me anxious. I was a fish out of water, clearly, in my pink hoodie as everyone around dressed in nice shirts and dresses with fur coats. The fucking event is called minimal effort! To be fair, there were others in a t-shirts and jeans. My fellow people. Anyways, my driver’s comment made me physiologically nervous! Knees weak and palms sweaty. This is going to suck. I’m not going to like this at all. I don’t do this kind of stuff.

I had a great time. Life begins when comfort ends, right? I met so many people. I danced with a few ladies, one with such a thick Russian accent, I didn’t understand half the words she said. Another literally fell into my arms, hugging me. Her eyes staring at me like a deer in headlights, clearly too fucked up. Her friend desperately tried to pull her through the crowd. “I’ll be back in an hour.” I nodded. “Are you all right? You should go with your friend. She’s waiting for you.” To which, she held me closer. She was incredibly beautiful. But I wasn’t going to be the creepy dude who abducts a fucked up girl from her friend. I smiled and helped her through. “You should go with your friend!”

Considering how still my feet were, I was surprised to have suddenly been transported to another part of the dance floor. Many groups of friends adopted me, passing me joints and drinks, all which I consumed. Yes, I will take a drag. I don’t care what’s in your drink. If I see you drinking it and you’re offering it, I’m going to drink it. I don’t drink, but I didn’t want to feel my feelings anymore man! So I drank and I smoked. My new friend offered me e, which I should have taken. I remember at some point searching for him in a room with probably 300 people, hunting for that e! I felt like a drug addict.

Of course the big question popped up occasionally throughout the night: who are you here with? At the beginning I would answer timidly, “Myself. I figured I should do something fun tonight.” Well that quickly evolved to, “My fucking self! And I’m having a damn good time.” To which my foster friends would erupt with heys and pass me all the alcohol and drugs.

After an expensive ride home, I curled into a ball in front of my mini heater. “Don’t you dare vomit,” I whispered with my forehead slopped on the floor. Writing this now and recounting last night made me realize something. I’m not after sex or any girl. I desperately want someone to understand me, to see me clearly and say you’re not a bad person, you’re a good person. And yet I don’t think anyone can give me that validation. No one but me…