Ain't No Party

I don’t know how other teachers party but the staff where I teach have the market cornered on the art of extreme boredom. Tonight was our end of year party, two days before the school year ended, and it left me cold and sober.

Is it a party if no one gets drunk?

I don’t think so, maybe at Jesus Camp, but at a party with adults in varying stages of depression, alcoholism, and detached desperation there is the expectation that at least one teacher, usually the P.E. teacher or pudgy English teacher, will get off their ass drunk and dance suggestively, inappropriately and off beat while the rest of the crowd hoots and hollers like slutty virgins getting their first glimpse of a 9-inch dildo. I can say these things about teachers because I am a teacher and have at times in my working life suffered from moments of almost alcoholism and depression, not detached desperation though, I don’t do desperation but I do detached very well, also angry, pissed and vengeful.

Is it a party if I don’t experience the feeling of at least one semi-hard penis pressing against my ass through the fabric of my skirt?

The answer is usually no. I bet this even happens at Jesus Camp parties because I imagine a lot of semi-erect penises there, though the contact is probably accidental and shocking though not unpleasant, shameful, sinful and frightening but not unpleasant. The assistant principal made contact with my shoulder and my arm, neither time with his penis so I’m less convinced of his attraction than I was mere days ago. Although, he did rub my arm until I stepped back, maybe an arm rub is the junior high equivalent of an ass rub.

Is it a party if I come home alone?

Yes, if I went to the party alone, which I did. If I take someone then I usually come home with that someone, I’m not a swapper – a joiner once or twice, maybe, but never a swapper. Usually, I come home alone after being propositioned and that didn’t happen here, so though we finally achieved an affirmative this does not a party make.

No drunkenness, no drugs, no sex, no fights, no inappropriate body contact, nothing happened, nothing. It was all conversation, laughter and relief over surviving the halls of high school in the face of children more disrespectful and fearless than the year before. It was at best a backyard barbecue, though inside, for a group of boring 30-somethings that find joy in the mundane, in the everyday, I’m not there yet. I’m not sure I ever want to be, I certainly crave stillness and even stability but I also want the adventure, the uncertain, the fire – I can do without the ass fondling, propositioning and tacky boys with too much aftershave but I still want the hedonism.