Fussing about nothing

A challenge unwittingly posed by The Sims is throwing the perfect party. We used to fuss so much about it, and thanks to cheat codes, we were able to do much to keep the people staying - say, a glittery dance floor, lots of stock at the bar, and perhaps whoever's inside that cake. If you're lucky, the likeness of Drew Carey would drop by in his limousine. Otherwise, you'd get a mime, although thanks to those cheat codes, we could trap him with walls or delete it altogether.

Obviously, that doesn't always happen. Not everybody has space for a dance floor, and not everybody has the stomach for dancing in cages. Most importantly, not everybody can delete unwanted people from existence, so it all lies on inviting the right people, and knowing what they want.

Around a week before graduation, I got invited to Monica's after-graduation party. It isn't really a new thing, if you count high school, but she later insisted that it will be a first of sorts for me. "Your first real college party," she said last Monday; apparently us having graduated a week before doesn't really matter.

Consider that I'm not really the type of guy who goes out. An invitation to something as comfy as a house party rarely comes by - either that, or I turn it down because of prior commitments. While the rest are having fun with inside jokes and plain old silliness, I'm trying to sleep. Oh, and don't get me started about the does-Niko-drink-alcohol? story.

Mon's actually tried to get me drunk. Well, to be exact, she expressed her excitement about the prospect last Monday, when I got a debriefing of sorts about what I should expect. A different side of the people I've met, to sum it all up - tipsier, technically, and louder, too. Things they don't normally do in public get done. Perhaps I'll get freaked out a bit. That's how it's supposed to be, anyway - remember high school? Well, not really that much, because I still managed to give an assurance. "I'll keep an open mind," I actually said. Nevertheless, it wouldn't stop her from attempting to conspire with my cousins about it.

I got to her place an hour later, although of course it doesn't matter. Alvin, one of my cousins, was telling me earlier about "Merville time" - the way time in that little big subdivision gets warped beyond so-called Filipino time. I got settled quickly, barely nervous, although a little anxious about what will happen to me when I take the tequila shot I promised Mon about. There were a lot of people, most being those I would've probably encountered; such is the world's size when you're a little bit too outgoing.

Thirty minutes later, I was seated there, drinking some mixed stuff while chatting about whatever Carlo decided to raise. By then, I stopped getting those he's-here? stares - or I was just slightly paranoid - and was becoming, well, slightly rambunctious. I started laughing at whatever Les was throwing at Cholo, Kin or Mark. I started bluffing, even, and nobody would know. I even had a tequila spill on my Mickey Mouse shirt, thanks to Mon.

Much later, things started to swing - I was walking around, making up three-syllable cheers, slowly taking things (no, not that kind!) while staying sane. I was still taking photographs, although I'm thinking twice about uploading them. I already had my tequila, without the aid of chasers - which demonstrates my naïvete - and after some beers and Carlo tricking me into some vodka, I was still sober. I was observing the long lines to the bathroom, and the state of the toilets - from pristine clean (after... shush Niko!) to spit-full. I was cajoling with the guys while trying to get some fresh air. I was reassuring my cousins, still, that I was still fine, although I was slowly getting sleepy as midnight kicked in, and hyperactivity persisted.

Six hours later, I woke up at my cousin's bedroom, remembering only vague whatevers regarding the night before.

Nope, I didn't leave with a hangover. In fact, I'm surprised I survived - or I realized I didn't do much, but Mon's promise is a promise! But eventually, college parties all boil down to nothing. You just pick someone you know, start talking, and hopefully get reciprocated. Whether it entails chugging down a lot of liquids, or being a jumper like Keane has, you end up a little happier, perhaps. Sure, I might have not seen everything - there was none of the, err, action before I left - but, well, all the "fuss" for nothing. Or excitement. Or me realizing that my thoughts are incoherent, while trying to say that I had a blast at the after-graduation party with as many paragraphs as possible without offending anybody. Or me remembering that I actually blended in - who did I hug again?

Wait. Did I really leave sober?

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