Party on down guys

Sometimes I bore myself with the grumbling. No, I always bore myself. But that is not going to stop me on this occasion. I have just been at someone's going away party - they are heading to Germany, which will be fun and exciting. I hope they will enjoy themselves and that they enjoyed their party.
As I am not good friends with this person or their social group I was a bit dubious about attending, but it's always good to try to branch out. Initially I was enjoying myself well enough. I got to talk to some new people and enjoy the exotic location (St Kilda). 6 something hours in, however, and the novelty was beginning to pall. The planned return to Dunedin city centre had not eventuated and there were no signs of positive movement. In fact some people were beginning to flag. Not, unfortunately, the contingent of fags who arrived brandishing Bacardi and a bladder of wine. The handbag house was duly turned up and those who are into that sort of thing strove to prove their bisexual credentials with lashings of tedious innuendo. I just don't understand why people don't get bored of the "fabulous" and repetitive double entendre, some of which is just pathetic. Alternate uses for a thermos flask anyone? Maybe the Victorians had something in their swathing piano legs in modest fabric, and refusal to acknowledge the existence of many cylindrical objects. Maybe it was not prudishness. Perhaps, being confronted with one too many ill-conceived (oh hee hee hee) split me wide open jokes they decided to forstall prurience & steered conversations at social gatherings to the state of the roads and the weather. Ultimately it might be more interesting; at least there are alterations in those states.
So, there I was, mooching and bored in a corner, while a bunch of particulaly poisonous individuals shrieked and laughed over the reputations in tatters on the floor. The kindertechno was a-pumping, the libations a-flowing and the posing grew more frenzied. I have mixed feelings. On the one hand I am irritated I was beneath notice. I was spared some hideous interactions. On the other hand it is insulting to realise that one is beneath contempt (or perhaps they were saving the bitchy remarks until I left?). When the drunk personalities ran the gamut from hyperloud to the avuncular (as in Uncle "I said pull the plug chain gently" Frank.) I was about ready to go. When I heard the pop dance remake of Poison I was ready to throw myself through a window. No-one seemed very ready to move so I made a curt farewell and started walking back to town by myself. I figured that an assault would be preferable to the slow death there. People often talk about life cycles, but this is a dynastic concept. If you look at an individuals place in that chain you see life is just a slow process of putrification. Anything, I thought, that shortens that process can't be all bad.
But no, I made it home unscathed, with no alteration to my sense of torpor. I was totally ignored. Bloody hell, I'm not even worth abusing. And while I type this a bunch of pricks dance around a handbag and congratulate themselves on being fabulous.