Day 4: More Greg

Could be worse, indeed.

A couple of weeks later, Greg had a party to celebrate having bought his apartment building. Most of the cast and crew was invited, but I seemed to have narrowly escaped the invite. That is, until I got an email from Mark the day before the party, forwarding me the details and mentioning that Greg hoped I'd be able to make it.

I'm usually OK with parties. After a couple of drinks, the frenetic self-absorption begins to fade, and I can interact with people on a somewhat normal plane. What I don't like, though, is going to a party by myself, when I don't know anyone there very well. To have your presence expressly requested is one thing -- well, at least, requested via a third party -- but managing to have an enjoyable time going through the getting-to-know-you process with the other rejects by the punch bowl is entirely another.

But... at Greg's house? I just really didn't like him that much. I couldn't shake the feeling that he felt sorry for me, and that didn't sit right. I mean, I guess it would make sense that he would invite me, and last minute at that, if he did feel sorry for me. But maybe I should get over it; let any of these bastards really feel sorry for me and see where it gets them.

I wrote back that I'd try to make it, but no promises. And then I tried to consider the opportunity neutrally, and weigh the pros against the cons without trying to force the outcome.

The pros:
another chance to get to know some of the folks from work a bit more socially
an opportunity to get out of my head for the evening
free booze

The cons:
social anxiety, blah blah blah
an opportunity to make an ass of myself if I drink too much

It wasn't really worth debating further. I would go, and I wouldn't drink too much, and I'd try to have an ok time. I really hated the fact that I had been brought up to believe this was normal behavior.

...

"Hi... is this Greg's house?" I inquired meekly of an odd assembly of people in the foyer. There were a few post-middle-aged folks milling around, and a very pregnant woman talking to a older couple. With that surreal introduction, I wasn't sure I was at the right house.

The woman of the older couple looked up, and pointed me to the basement stairwell on the other side of the room.

I don't exaggerate when I say that, from that bizarre foyer aperitif onward, it was a descent into madness. The basement was choked full of people whom, from the look of things, were well ahead of me on drinking. There were no overhead lights on, but what must have been about a mile's worth of rope lights and string lights were strung along every surface - even wrapped around all the pipes that were visible from the ceiling. There was a built in bar, a pool table with a glass top serving as a buffet, and a series of stools, crates, and bean-bag chairs strewn about the place. It seemed as if everything had reflective qualities as well, causing the entire place to glow, and distorting everyone's features as if this were a masquerade party. A movie was being projected onto the far wall - what looked to be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The sound from the movie was completely drowned out by the buzz of about 60 people talking at once. There were stabs of laughter every few seconds, the almost overwhelming sound of ice clinking in glasses, and the occasional whiff of melody from a speaker somewhere that was patiently bleating out music. It was amazing that none of this noise was noticeable from the street, or even the living room when I first came in; down here it was paralyzing.

And before I get too off-track, the other overwhelming sensation worth noting was the smell. The sugary sweet smell of fruit drinks and flavored liquor mixed with the musty damp smell I assume was the basement's natural aroma, plus the warmer, more humid smell of a slew of skin-covered bodies packed into a small space. There must have been 15,000 square feet of skin in there. The result was what I imagined a newly-dead body to have smelled like - dirty, human, and slightly sweet with decay.

So I flowed slowly in the room, somewhat comforted in the fact that I probably wouldn't need to worry about making too much conversation with anyone. I wanted to find Mark and say hi, so at least he'd know that I'd shown up, and I figured I wouldn't go out of my way to find Greg.

Until he popped up from behind the bar, that is.

"Heeeeey, Maaaaandy! Glad you could make it!"

"Oh, hey, Greg. Some place you've got here!"

"Thank you, dear lady! And it's aaaaalll miiiiine!" Clearly he wasn't going to be driving home tonight.

"Yeah, congratulations. That's really great. I really li--"

"What's that? You'd really like... a drink?" Greg asked, extremely exaggerating the movement of cupping his hand around his ear. He pushed over a cup to her that smelled a little ominous.

"Sure, haha, thanks," I responded, a little taken aback.

"There's moooore where that came from!" Greg said, blushing and waggling his finger.

Then it hit me. The second he blushed, I knew. Greg liked me. I couldn't believe I hadn't seen it sooner -- of course. He wasn't condescending to me when he was usurping my converstion from the rest of the group at dinner that night -- he was trying to get to know me.

What a novel idea. I felt like an idiot, that I hadn't noticed it sooner, but at the same time I was amused at myself for being so far removed as not to have noticed it. Someone had a crush on me. It had been a long time, and the effects were interesting to observe.

But of course, there was the immediate present. This drink tasted terrible, and appeared to be of an opaque purple color. It tasted as if it were a mixture of amaretto sours and maybe one or two other things that I couldn't place at all. And now I had the burden of this knowledge that Greg had a crush on me, and to all appearances had been using our mutual friend Mark to string me along.

I was pleased enough with the rushing feelings of approval that I decided not to make up my mind yet about Greg. He was an odd guy, to be sure, with a flair for the dramatic... but armed with this knowledge I now wasn't sure what had been him acting normal, what had been him trying to impress me, and now what had been him just flambuoyantly drunk. I took another gulp of my purple haze in a cup and grinned.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like!" The noise was growing, and Greg was having to shout over the music. "So I improvised! What do you think?!"

"A little strong!" I shouted back. "But good!" I lied, and took another gulp. I could already feel the prickly feeling in my stomach that meant the alcohol was being absorbed.

"Wooonderful!" he said, sloshing his own drink a little onto the bar. "Now, I must ask you. Would you like to play beer pong?"

Hmmm. Bad idea. This drink was probably all I should be having anyway. But... "Uh, sure. Ok! I'm terrible, though!" I called back. I'd wager my cheeks were probably flushed.

We made our way over to the beer pong setup on the other side of the basement. As luck would have it, Mark and another guy Josh from the studio had just been stood up by their competitors, so we joined right in. It was at this point, I'm afraid to say, that things started to get a little blurry. Maybe it was because I hadn't eaten anything, or maybe I was just letting myself get seduced by that heady feeling of affirmation. Either way, we ended up playing a couple games of beer pong with a rotating team of people. In between matches, or maybe afterwards, I have a vague memory of several of us leading by example in trying to get the rest of the partygoers to dance. I can only imagine. Needless to say, by that point, I was absolutely trashed. Of course the one con I had listed that was actually avoidable I had turned into a room-spinning reality.

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Word count: 1,450