“After spending time with a group of people, do you feel energized and ready for anything or do you want to hide in the corner with a good book?”life of the partyMost importantly, its dependent on the type of function and why I’d be there.  If it were an obligatory social function, I’d make sure to see and be seen by the important people.  After that, I’d take full advantage of people watching opportunities.  Every party has main characters playing typical roles.  It doesn’t take long to figure out who they are.  Sometimes I’ve assigned names to characters and shared them with my spouse.  …A private game–names assigned based on behavior.  A pretentious, social-climbing, “thirtyish” couple at one function, I christened “Googie” and “XuXu.”

If it were a party of close friends, I’d stay longer.  Group dynamics would determine the remainder of the gathering.  I’m more introverted than extroverted–loud obnoxious people put me off.  If the majority of attendees were positive and uplifting, I’d feel energized.  If there were too many drama kings and queens in attendance, I’d be more emotionally drained.  I have no desire to be poisoned by toxic personalities.  If things went completely awry, I’d make a trip to the restroom, mysteriously disappear, and go home.  At that point, a good book would be an enjoyable alternative.

Lost Conversations & Leftover Wine


Dirty drink glasses, stood
Witness, to the previous night
Cigarette butts, floated belly-up
In leftover wine and flat beer

Lost conversations
Disappeared in the wind
Players performed usual roles
Participated in usual games

Self-absorbed, joyfully
Celebrated themselves
Several wished, they’d
Came with someone else

Early birds, were early
Fashionably late, late
The same leaders led
Same followers followed
Wallflowers hid, winced
At the overly dramatic

Socially awkward, failed
To find the right spark
Opiniated opined
In their finest form
Pretenders pretended to be
What they aspired to be

Orphaned thoughts, never uttered
Now cluttered room corners
Failed ideas, that didn’t, root and bloom
Now lay helpless, like deflated balloons
Mere echoes, reflected in quietness
Of lost conversations and leftover wine