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There must have been a point in my life when I enjoyed going out to large parties. I seem to remember a point back when I first attempted college at WVU when I just couldn't wait to get to this or that party and get wasted and dance to loud music; when I could go out to clubs and get wasted and dance, and actually enjoy myself in the process. Though I remember at one time having these longings, I can't seem to recall at what point those desires morphed into revulsion - when "I'll see you when you get here!" became, "You go on ahead. I think I'm going to stay in, tonight."
While some people will largely point to me being in my thirties as the obvious reasoning behind my lack of any desire to be social, the real cause is much more complex, and my age isn't really a factor. I can name at least twenty people right off hand who defy the culturally imposed "age limit" on having "fun." The gay male community, in particular, is rife with them (often a little much so, for my tastes). The overabundance of the Over-Forty gay male demographic at events like Folsom Street Fair and Dore Alley often leaves me feeling as if I'm missing something. Everyone around me appears to be having fun, and all I keep thinking is, "Goddamn, it's fucking hot/cold/rainy! Fuck, these boots are fucking killing my feet! If one more sweaty asshole slimes his way past my unsuspecting back, I'm going to take his truncheon and beat him unconscious!"
At this point, I have to assume that it's something internal about me that just fails to get what the big deal is with all these events. I was never a proponent of the "party" scene (as it relates to events) - events like Muscle Beach, White Party, Black Party, and basically any event that boasts about having an ostensibly famous DJ never really piqued by interest. For a while, I remember enjoying dancing in clubs, but after taking a few serious dance classes, I now just feel both self-conscious and awkward because I can hear every mean instructor (because, really...they're the only good ones who actually get results) screaming at me to be mindful of my form and carriage.
Mostly, it's that I don't enjoy the music, and I usually don't enjoy the company. That isn't to say that these DJs aren't good at what they do; it's that I hate dance music, particularly dance remixes of good songs that had no need to ever be turned into an "anthem." Because I move around so frequently and being poor tends to necessitate living on the far-flung outskirts of any major metropolitan area, few of my close friends are ever near enough to me to make going out together on a regular basis feasible. When the rare opportunity arises when we are able to make plans, I have a tendency to dread the coming outing as the date nears, greeting it with all the enthusiasm of a penile swabbing with a sandpaper Q-Tip.
If I really don't want to go out, I'll inadvertently find a way to make sure I'm unable to go. I'll pick up a shift at the restaurant without "remembering" our plans; I won't make enough money to afford gas or drinks to go out; I'll catch a cold. It's all unintentional, I think, but I can't guarantee that I don't subconsciously put myself into these positions in order to avoid being social.
More often than not, I prefer to be the entertainer. I never mind big social gatherings when they're being hosted by me, both because I kind of enjoy the attention, and because it gives me a chance to bring together people who would likely never meet one another because I tend to pick up friends from almost every walk of life and from every social group. As my mentor once told me, I will likely never really "belong" to any kind of community, so much as I will make my own.
Maybe this is why I'm never threatened by change. When the WeHo gay boys panic about the encroaching lesbian takeover (despite the fact that the one lesbian bar closed and the nearest lesbian community center/Safe Space is so far outside West Hollywood city center that they can spit into Beverly Hills and Westwood), I don't feel like anything is wrong with that. When the leather queens complain about women coming into their leather bars and "ruining the masculine atmosphere," I think them antediluvian and on the verge of extinction.
Because of my tendency to cobble together people from various backgrounds and create my own version of "family," I am comfortable in almost every situation. I am not shy, nor am I uncomfortable with my gender identity or sexuality (they are different aspects). I'm more than happy to strip completely naked in front of pretty much anyone, save for children, whereas many men feel overly exposed and vulnerable, unable to "relax" around women enough to be comfortable with nudity in mixed company.
While this may sound as if I am a very sociable person, fully able to integrate myself into the types of environments I so loathe, the reality is far different. My friends will post photos of themselves at these massive events and parties, and there's a part of me that thinks to myself, "What the fuck? Why wasn't I invited???"
And then, after I think about it, I come to the realization that I wouldn't have had a good time, anyway. If it's too loud to make conversation with the person next to you without screaming or sign language, I'd rather be anywhere else than there. It isn't that I don't want to support my friends who are go-go dancers or drag queens, it's that being in those places makes me miserable, one the one hand, and more likely to commit homicide, on the other hand.
So, while my friends enjoy themselves at Dore Alley and Pride festivals, I will be doing what I love best - sitting in my bed with my laptop on my lap, my iPad to my right, a controller in my hand, and something on the television, engaging in my own form of social engagement, all in the purring company of my wonderful gremlin, Goblin.
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