Maybe I Don't Like Parties After All

For a couple with virtually no friends save three plants and a remote control, we’ve had a pretty nice run of social activities lately.

Instead of the usual evening ritual—two hours of disappointing television and ineffective attempts to use the Jedi mind trick to send Oodgie to bed early enough for me to squeeze in a little Madden or Civ—we’ve actually found ourselves interacting with real live adults in settings other than public bathrooms and subway cars. I was starting to think adult conversation was a myth like unicorns and Atlantis, but it turns out other people are doing it all the time.

Weird.

The impetus for all this comes from, of course, Cheeky’s friends. Since we’re incapable of engaging in spontaneous conversation we’ve maintained an unhealthy proximity to other neighborhood parents, lingering at playgrounds and staring at them until they’re so uncomfortable that they feel forced to talk to us (link to “you guys playing cards”). It takes time, and after a couple of restraining orders it’s finally paying off.

So last Thursday night we found ourselves in Dumbo eating black bean and goat cheese quesadillas, watching Burt Sugarman’s Midnight Special, and staring in shock at the celebration of “The Penis in Film” so visibly on display across the street with two dozen parents from Cheeky’s school. (No, Hope couldn’t make it, apparently having some Charlie Kaufman alternate reality to attend). Two nights later, we were dressed as Bender and Clair and dancing to Erasure at a famous local blogger’s bar mitzvah 40^th birthday party. We aggressively mingled at both, dazzling people with our dry wit and charming them with our eloquent fart jokes. We judged everyone, rating their conversational skills and assessing their worthiness to join our club.  We stayed just late enough to milk the hosts for free booze while leaving just in time to avoid having to clean up. 

We felt so popular!

Fast forward two days and we’ve got yet another party on the agenda. This one, however, had no open bar. It had pony rides.

Oodgie, Cheeky and I trudged to a birthday party for one of Cheeky’s friends, something which on paper seemed like a great afternoon activity (after three continuous hours of “The Ladybug Game” sawing linoleum knives between your toes would seem like a ‘great afternoon activity’). It was there the stark reality of our existence was cast into high relief.

Instead of an easy-going vibe and meandering conversations about politics and art, it was a cold, soulless event. While dozens of kids, shoved awkwardly into their new winter coats, spun around us in a glucose-fueled storm of noise, glassy-eyed parents shouldered each other for position in the pony line (the ponies, for their part, looked like they’d been kept awake for three weeks and would have gladly committed hara-kiri if they had opposable thumbs).  Worse, most of the attendees were people who hire other people to relate to their children (a common species in our neighborhood) and they’d occasionally condescend to talk to us while their kids shoved street garbage in their mouths.  And when they did speak it felt faintly, uncomfortably familiar....

(Granted, I’m sure that’s what most of them were thinking about me, but suspension of belief in my own flaws is essential to my self-esteem)

Perhaps I'm overreacting to the vast difference in tone, but I couldn't shake the feeling that THAT is the typical social activity of our near future, not the boozy shindigs of last week.  Maybe not that exactly, but we're far more likely to be someplace serving cupcakes and apple juice than gin and tonics.  I like to pretend that I’m only a babysitter away from intriguing people and non-stop excitement, but in reality that babysitter costs $80 (plus car service) and is fencing Oodgie's jewelry as we speak.  And when we DO get one it usually means a crappy movie and forced drinks, just to make it "worth it." 

And kids parties should be fun, right?  All those happy faces and the games and the presents, right?  And how many adult parties have I been to where picking nose hairs would be more fun?  More than I can count.

This is the part where I should say, "I wouldn't change a thing."  But deep down, don't we all wish we could change it just a little?

So thanks to all the parents who collectively came together last week to give us--and each other--a respite from Dora-themed napkins and Laurie Berkner tunes.  Next time, it's our turn to host.

Got any babysitter numbers we can borrow?

Comments

[MetroDad]

How is it possible that 4 days have gone by and I still have a hangover? Oh yeah, that's right. I'm 40. Thanks for helping me celebrate the auspicious occasion, TW.

[Hossmom]

Wow. That post was painfully close to home. We are also struggling with the fact that more people aren’t racing to be our friends, enticed by our playground conversational start-ups like “Is that your kid, with the boogers?” How to make friends and influence people, indeed.

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