Busy with her family, straight to voicemail, at a different party. It was up to me to go alone. I had told people I would be there, but to show up unaccompanied always felt so degrading. It took a good 15 minutes of deep self interrogation, what the after effects would be, debating my other options, before I finally forced myself to throw on my best luau lei and just go to the party solo. By the time I reached my car I was already wondering what the big deal was. These people are my friends, they want me to go, or at least they want the chance to try and persuade me into bed with them, but really there seems to be a very thin line between the two.

As any good party the music, laughter and general hooting can be heard from the street. A little cop possibility just keeps things lively. I march up to the door determined to come off confident and without awareness of my single status. But as soon as I catch my closest acquaintance I can’t seem to keep my true feelings a secret. Luckily it is loud and she seems not to notice my insecurities. The party is bumpin’, as the kegerator flows a game of chicken transpires on the dining room table against the mood setting live music in the next room. It’s always about the music; it will make it or break it. I learned this the hard way when my roommate insisted on playing her folk music at our latest shindig. Luckily some club beats were able to salvage what was left of peoples party personas.

I said my ‘hellos’, ‘how was your summers’ and suffered through some awkward ‘well, enjoy the parties’. I thought it might be time to make a quick exit when I noticed my overly open, wildly sexual friend by the built-in bar. As to be expected the conversation turned to sex. He thrives off of pondering things such as can a petite girl and an average sized guy ‘fit’. Actually he does not leave it at just pondering, he asks. I find it very refreshing, he cuts through the bull shit and just gets to the…meat of the issue if you will. The answer to his question is yes by the way.

Each one of the house members casually alludes to the nearness of their bedrooms, then laughs, looks at me seriously, and then laughs again. Amusing, especially when I consider it.

Finally my friend works her magic to get some dance music on the ipod. Unfortunately we had to do our best with the straight white male with no moves music. People start getting into it, even-what a surprise- Mr. Naked, the unattractive hairy guy that always ends up in chaps of some sort. I try to edge away and let my Hawaiian shirt toting friends pretend that they are good dancers. I don’t mean to be a snob; I just enjoy a man with good moves on the dance floor and elsewhere.

However, I choose to leave the party solo as things die down and a few of the fashionably late partygoers arrive. I am glad I came, nothing profound, earth shattering or even new happened but sometimes that can be comforting. Another great Saturday night house party, not so scary after all.