The Hits and Misses

    Today's entry will be short, sweet, and to the point-which, going off my MO, seems highly improbable. But alas, I have two finals pending this week, just one day apart, and so I really cannot waste time jotting down my musings as if this were my job rather than school. (Notably, neither pays me, and in fact one is highly expensive. And it isn't the one I'm spending my time, but not money, on now. But thankfully, it isn't being subsidized by me.)  

    Today is only a reflection of the what-ifs. It's an ode to the night that never, was the happy hour that never could. 

    Me, yours truly, was actually invited to a party. Surprisingly, the world hasn't ended yet, but I'll expect to pay attention more when the Mormons come a-knocking or when the fanatics make their proclamations on the populated roads. 

    Now, there was one other party recently that I wasn't invited to, but that I could have attended. It was on Halloween, you know that night a lot of people go out and have a good time with friends and candy if they're five and friends and booze if they're 25?  Yea, that one. I invited another friend to go, but sadly she was said she was "working." I didn't buy the excuse because (1) she has a boyfriend, so I figured she would probably hang out with him that weekend but it was worth a shot to try anyway, and (2) no one, not even in our program, is working 24/7 (just look at me on this blog), and especially on Halloween night on a Saturday. I asked another friend, but she stated she had a friend visiting that weekend and could not go. Considering my limited offerings of friends, I didn't have anyone else to ask. Notably, it was a niche group so I theoretically could have asked others, but they wouldn't have wanted to go since it was part of an interest group. 

    So that was then, this is now. It's the week before my finals kick off, and I wake up to a sea of group messages. Again, me!!!! Of all people!!! I believe I'm asleep but the alarm acts as a metaphorical pinch on my elbow to suggest otherwise. It turns out that I'd been added to a groupchat by this boy I had met in a social meet-up with another interest group of mine. We had exchanges memes only on the occasion, so I didn't necessarily consider him a close friend, but it was still nice to be invited. 

    Also notably, I had matched with him on Bumble on another of my impulsive frantic swipe nights. I didn't really find him very attractive, but we had a lot in common and I almost wanted the validation that a boy could see and talk to me in public and find me someone worth dating. And it worked. He swiped right. I sent him a message, and he did not respond for days. Apparently, he pays for the app because it didn't expire in 24 hours. He answered my comment to him, justifying that he hadn't checked it in a while. However, since I didn't find him very attractive, and he took so long to respond and then had proceeded to change all the photos on his account, I didn't reply. His message also left much to be desired, and there really wasn't much to respond anyway. My mind was innundated with excuses-he's not that cute, he took forever to respond, maybe it was a pity response, maybe he's playing the field, maybe you'd be pity responding. No matter how I sliced it, my thumbs would not be typing. 

    But then I was invited to this party. I hadn't had contact with him since that match. And that felt nice, but ultimately could amount to nothing. I knew him only peripherally, a single meet-up and the occasional sharing of memes. I didn't know anyone else invited, so it felt hopeless. Until I saw my friend's name in the groupchat. 

    I immediately texted her and asked her if she was going. She didn't live in the area, so there was a high likelihood it would be logistically impossible. However, she said yes. *cue the awwws* I thought to myself, my first party! I had only gone to one party in high school. In college, I didn't go to any frat parties, or practically any other one for that matter. I had been to get-togethers with more than 10 people and alcohol involved,  if that is somehow the operational definition of a party for some psychology experiment out there. But they were never classified as "parties." This one was classified as such. And it was with people with a shared common interest of mine. And my friend was going, actually one of my oldest friends, who I was completely comfortable around. And this boy who saw and spoke to me in person and still matched with me online was going to be there too. It seemed perfect, almost too good to be true. And typically, when it seems like that, it's because it is. 

    Now to set the scene for the massacre of my dreams. The groupchat is blasting with messages. I hadn't responded, but I'd reacted to a few, and then sent a comment at one point. It was all dandy and fine. This was a themed party (which also provided allusions to all those frat parties I didn't go to that also had a theme- cowboy night, toga theme night, DUI night... well the last one was usually not intended). Girls started gushing about what they were wearing, and it wasn't anything I owned. I thought, are they joking or does this party have a dresscode? I wasn't going to say that in a groupchat of 30, of which I only knew my friend and then barely knew that one guy and maybe one other. So I texted her and asked what she was wearing.

    Now for the kill. She texted back that while she wanted to go, she could no longer attend. She was undergoing a medical procedure, and would not recover for that night. I wasn't mad at her. I'm sure it was true, and any procedure of that nature did take at least 24 hours for even a minimal recovery. 

    But that meant that I wouldn't be able to go either. I didn't know anyone except that boy, and we weren't necessarily close enough that I felt comfortable going alone amidst a bunch of people that I did not know and that already had established relationships. Now, my excitement at the prospect of this was short-lived. It's not like I had dreamt about this since I was a kid or anything! No, seriously, I just learned of it days before. But I can't deny I felt disappointed. Invitations to parties, or even those aforementioned get-togethers with 10 people, or even with less than 10, don't come very easily for me. I'm lucky if anyone extends an invitation to talk about a given class, let alone attend an actual party. And I know this is going to sound horrible, and it's probably due to some psychological issues my therapist and I haven't really dealt with yet. But I was almost excited to see that guy again in person. I know we matched and I didn't respond to his message. But in a way, I felt he wasn't that interested to begin with. I have talked to enough boys on these sites to recognize when they're interested, and when they're just going through the motions out of politeness or boredom. And maybe I'm wrong. He did respond, after all. But the point is, that it was an opportunity.

    And sure, the sheer existence of this diary is predicated on an opportunity I did have that went awry. And maybe after that party I would have come home crying in my themed ware, heaps of mascara dripping all over my powdered face, typing away at the little party that killed somebody('s self-esteem). I would've complained that he avoided me all night, or that we talked but it didn't click, that he obviously liked another girl more, or that he even hit on or hooked up with another (it is a party, after all, and my only image of them are Project X, Animal House, Can't Hardly Wait, and I guess the other 100 of them I've grown up watching.) I would have cried that I will be alone forever, that no guys like me, that I was awkward, or that my friend wanted to leave too early before I could blossom. This was the likeliest scenario.

    But there's also that side of me that says, maybe it would have been different. We did match online, after all. Or maybe we wouldn't have clicked. But maybe there'd be another attractive guy at the party I'd never met. Or maybe I'd meet some really cool girls with common interests to go out with on weekends, you know, friends. Or maybe I'd end up having my movie moment and make out with a guy dressed in themed ware on a high-rise balcony. All of these things could be true, no matter how unlikely some of those are. But now I'll never know. 

    It sucks because in my last therapy session I explained to my therapist that I shouldn't go to these sorts of events anymore. That all they do is bring heartache and insecurity. And then she asked me if I regretted it. She asked, if I could turn back time, would I choose not to go. And it didn't take me even a moment's hesitation to say no. If I hadn't gone, I would have continued crushing on boys who didn't like me, pining at them with outlandish fantasies that didn't have any inkling of possibility. I would have never met a potential friend I am going to a happy hour with later this week (thankfully, no boys, so probably no post.) I would have never met another potential friend I will be hanging out with at a grad school "prom" in a couple of months (that cost upwards of $50, so hopefully neither of us will cancel.) I would have never experienced this cool place, one of those trendy spots people my age go to all the time, that I'd been wanting to visit but never had the people to go with. Despite all the bad inherent in those happy hours, there was good amidst the rubble. Or, moreso, what felt like rubble but was maybe just soil to grow something great. Healthy. Vibrant. New. It seemed with each one I had learned something new. I wouldn't get that experience now. 

    But I also wouldn't get the bad stuff. The heartache, the crying, the disappointment, the feelings of inadequacy and insecurity. Each happy hour had its growing pains, and I can almost assure myself this one was no different. But it sucked. But it also is what it is (which, by the way, too many men have as their chosen "life mantra" in that prompt on Hinge. Be the Pam to my Jim and 6'3 if it matters somehow feel like the magnum opus of creativity in comparison). 

    I will now accept this, have fun in that Thursday happy hour (assuming it happens), and wait for the next opportunity. They're bound to come, especially because despite the tears and disappointment, I keep going to them anyway (this public/private blog needs content, right?) It may take some time, but it will happen. At least it could. And maybe that time, whichever friend is in the mix, will be available. And it will be fun, maybe even life-changing (you know those 10+ people get-togethers? One of them actually was.) It just won't be Friday. 

    This was, as my MO would dictate, longer than it had to be. But the whole point of this exercise is to get my emotions out. And I think I was able to do that. Now I shall resume my daily programming of studies. And try not to think anymore about the little party that could, but didn't.