Life of the Party

I recently returned from a great relaxing weekend up north.  I am on the board of directors for a music festival and we retreat up to our festival grounds, a great place in northern Saskatchewan called Ness Creek.  I get a huge kick out of some of the American bands who come up to our festival and call it The Woods.  "Y'all spend much time up here in The Woods?"  As if they are expecting a real live lumberjack to come ambling out of the bushes at any given moment.  One of them asked if we had a pistol he could carry in case he encountered a bear down at the creek.  "Umm...ya, check your welcoming package...one pistol per musician." 

Anyway, we were invited to go into town to support the local minor sports association, who were holding a Ladies Night.  Yikes. This qualified as a Social Event, which was sure to be full of Acquaintances.  If you are unaware of my social awkwardness, you should read this post first. We did go, but only stayed for the dinner, which was great.  The ladies came out in great numbers to show their support.

My experience with Ladies Nights are varied, but mostly bad.  High heels, high voices and high blood alcohol levels.

I'm kind of a different cat.  When people say, "Let's Party!", I hear "Let's go spend the evening in a dark, noisy room sitting on hard plastic chairs and shouting at one another in order to be heard above the driving music."  Killjoy much? 

I have too many strikes against me when it comes to partying:

Strike One:  I'm not much of a drinker.  I still have vivid memories of my college days, holding my head and muttering, "LordhelpmeJesus" over and over again. I also have no patience for drunks.  Their breath is intolerable and they are spitty talkers.

Strike Two:  I hail from a family of klutzes, so tottering away from the buffet table in a pair of high heels, full plate in hand, is difficult enough.  Being dizzy with drink would just create conditions ripe for a shit show, I'm afraid.

Strike Three:  I am a terribly self-conscious dancer and while all the Other Women have no problem shaking their booty, I feel completely ridiculous on the dance floor.  I fear people will judge my bizarre and erratic movements.  I know you're supposed to dance like no one is watching but PEOPLE ARE WATCHING!  I over-think it..."Would now be a good time to do the arms above my head thing that I've seen the cool people do?"  Ugh, and it always comes down to that circle thing where people go in the centre and do their moves.  I don't have a move. Even if I did have a move I wouldn't do it because I'd feel preposterous. I prefer a good two-step where there is no doubt about what your arms and legs are supposed to be doing.

I do love to have a good conversation, but in a party atmosphere, you just can't hear, so you either shout until you lose your voice or you have to stand uncomfortably close to someone in order to hear them.  This violates my Personal Space Rule.   Anyway, it becomes progressively more difficult to attempt a conversation and by the end of the evening, most go something like this:

     Me (sober): "Hey, *Acquaintance* good to see you!  How are you doing?"
     Them (not sober): WOOOOOOO!!!!  

Easy there, Party Pants. 

At this point, you're probably thinking that you know clergy who are less boring than I am.  Maybe so. Come to a party in my weird little world.  We'll sit on overstuffed couches, wear sweatpants, eat lots of dip and have fabulous conversations. You can mix yourself a drink, and I might even play you a tune or two.

When we returned to the Cantina at Ness Creek, this is almost exactly what we did.  I'll take that any day.