why i don't party

the hot hot scottish dude hang onto me and wraps himself around me in line.  he is a dream.  i could listen to him and let his arms stay around me all night.   he has no Polish money, so i pay for him and his friend to get in. he holds my hands and leads me down the stairs.  he thanks me for being such a great girl. "American girls are all so so FUCKIN' DOWN." he says, hugging me.  I bet they are, since you're hot.  Your friend picked wisely when he decided to tag along with you.  He gives me his british 20-pound note to pay me back (which is actually worth quite a lot more than their entrance fee), and i run into him a couple of times more while the throbbing mob grinds to the loud-ass beat. I also run into his friend who is too drunk to even open his eyes properly.

the greek girl and boy i am there for in the first place both acknowledge me. i dance with the girl a while and when i need to breathe i get two shots of vodka and stand in the one air-conditioned spot in the entire place while a polish girl admires me for downing them both at once. And then again, later, and we embrace and she kisses both my cheeks. I make my way into the smoking dance-part and the non-smoking dance-part in turns.  The deafening beat is addictive and there's no room for any real movement and so there's no chance for you to embarrass yourself by being bad at dancing.

90% of eyes pass over me, and of the 10% that make eye contact, only 2% smile even a little. everyone else ignores me. and i don't necessarily take this personally, because the crush of the crowd breeds anonymity. but of those i find attractive enough to smile at, they don't react. their eyes slide from mine to the next face in the crowd, or they turn their backs to mine and pretend not to have noticed.

one of two boys touch my arm or legs and i laugh and grin and sing along with the song for a second, leaning in and they lean back and we're silly and it's fun, but then i pass by them and all is lost.

my ankle hurts the entire time, despite the 6 shots i've had, total, tonight. i've been stone cold sober, mixing between unventilated rooms and unventilated people. i danced anyway, feet rooted, knees bobbing to an approximation of the beat, hoping that if i throw my hands in the air like i just don't care, no one will notice i'm not jumping. no one will notice i'm just pretending. i can't tell if this works.

i ask the greek girl if her companion is single-what the story with him is? he is single, she makes a "whooooo!!" face at me, and i put my finger over my lips and ask her not to tell him i enquired, but that i think he is cute.  i have class with him, and he has a good laugh.

he ignores me to focus the entire time on girls that are less than half my width.

why is it always girls that are skinnier than me.

why. is it always girls that are skinnier than me?

i decide to leave. my ankle hurts and i will have to walk home; it was a mile to get there, it will be a mile to get back.  limping slowly.  I look for 10 minutes at a booth filled with three people and a mountain of jackets that people have discarded in this sauna.  The bigger mountain doesn't have my jacket in it.  I look around and put my hand directly onto a broken glass.  luckily reflexes kept me from putting any weight on it, but i shake my hand and can barely believe what a close call it was.

i got back to the booth and turn on the flashlight from my phone.  it's behind the guy.  he fumbles around one or two other jackets and hands me mine.  i scream THANK YOU at the people around me, but it's loud enough i doubt they hear me. 

on my way home i run into the hot scottish guy's friend. he asks me something in drunk, incoherent brogue. i tell him idk what he said, but i haven't seen his friend. he responds "well i'm sure maybe that's because he doesn't want to seeyou." and i laugh a little and go "yeah, well, whatever. have a good night" as i walk past. I try to ignore the mean little voice in my head that says of course not.

some random man addresses me. he seems nice, and he asks me what my name is and where i'm from. and i answer him, and ask him what his name is and where he's from. switzerland, he says. he asks me more questions as he comes up to me, weaving his hands into mine, and hugging me. he kisses my collar bone, and tells me i'm beautiful.

for a moment.

for a tiny moment.

i smile as another voice in my head tells me "yes. he's correct. thank him."

"Thank you." i say.

he tries to talk to me more, and i ask him if he's drunk. "no, i'm not drunk." he says. "watch, see?" he goes to stand on one leg, and stumbles. i laugh, and he insists that the ground was uneven. he moves and tries again. to his credit, he stays fairly well, tho he does wobble. "I'm not as think as you drunk i am." i joke, and he asks if i'm drunk. "no. I'm not drunk," as i say, going to disentangle myself from him after he has kissed my neck and collarbone more.

"Where are you going?" he asks. "we talk!"

I lightly peck the corner of his mouth. "no, we don't talk." i tell him. he backs off immediately, and says "oh, okay." I squeeze his hand and smile, and tell him "have a good night." and continue walking home.  he has bandaged my superficial ego a bit, so i can't be mad at him.  

as i walk i realize i'm by myself and it's 3:30 am and i vaguely wonder if i would be victim-blamed if i were to be attacked.  i imagine having to call my RD and telling him that i've been assaulted and i need an ambulance.  'well why were you out. had you been drinking. why were you by yourself.'  do they ask these things in Poland? someone's following me, but they stop when i look behind me.  they turned, so they weren't following me, they were just behind me.  I wrap my jacket around myself.

two guys come up to me asking if i have two PLN for a beer.  i give them a five-note coin and they go away.

when i get home, i feel like shit.  i'm not sick or anything, i just feel like crying, for some reason.

my flatmate tries to tell me that i'm looking for whatever it is that i'm looking for, i'm looking in the wrong place, and that i should have more self-respect.

i tell her that if i lacked self respect and was looking for anything, than i could've hooked up with the guy in the street. no, what bummed me out was the total consensus of my repulsiveness. what bummed me out is that not that i was being personally rejected, but that i was rejected en masse and on the basis of my looks.  or whatever other kaleidoscope of societal bullshit affects the way people see me.

parties are the wrong target-audience for me. I require a specific demographic/setting that is largely comprised of the ability to actually speak to the people around me.  

i guess it was good that i tried.  at least once.  it isn't a big deal. i don't have to go again.

i am just reminded how shitty i feel when i party.