On Dancing, Spandex, and Bitterness

So I'm at this party (no story which begins in such a manner can end well). Said party is being thrown by a Hispanic couple with lots of Hispanic friends. The music for said party is primarily cumbia, with some salsa and merengue thrown in for flavor (unpleasant tasting though it may be). Someone asks me if I want to dance. My polite response?

"No thank you, I'm not much of a dancer." Now, that's what I said. What I thought was, "Two things, sweetie. One, I do not dance (if my ex-wife tells you different, I assure you she can't prove anything). Two, if I did dance, it would most assuredly not be to this crap."

I had to pretend to like this stuff two months ago when I DJ'd pretty much this exact same party. I have no such requirements being imposed upon my taste tonight. I can sulk quietly in the corner if I so choose.

Parties seem to turn me into a judgemental jerk. I find myself looking at people and making snap judgements about them:

• You! Spandex is a priviledge, not a right.
• You! The sooner you quit snapping your fingers while you dance, the sooner I can stop feeling embarrassed on your behalf, ya spaz.
• And you! You're hot, but stop freaking on your sister! Seriously, that's just plain gross.

Yeah. I can be a jerk sometimes. Like when I'm pretty much the only person at the party who's not having any fun.

I really felt the loneliness tonight. I mean, of course I've been conscious of the fact that I have no social life whatsoever since I moved back out here, but tonight I really felt it. As I sat alone at that party, all I could think about was how I really needed a Ben and/or a Crystal to commiserate with, or a Dan and/or a Dave to mock a few party-goers with, and then go home and jam with.

But, for now, at least, my work is here. And theirs is there. And alone I shall remain, sulking quietly in the corner. For now.