Society Wag Wandering

"To live, human. To party, heaven."

What is more entertaining at parties than old men running around after young things? Nothing gets grandpa off his rocker faster than the (usually overly scented) arrival of fresh meat. If you want to know if your favorite old person is cradle robbing, check their odometer. If they are doing over a thousand miles a week, they are running after young stuff.

Party Life Planner – Host to win. Those who give halfass parties release nothing but an oozing miasma of regret. It coats all who come in contact. If you host a party, you work that phone beforehand. You put some bodies in the room. Good-looking bodies do not hurt, by the way. Ugly works, but only in contrast. Blend in some hot bodies, juicy if you feel it is appropriate. Back to the point. Host to win. Make sure your destiny is fully charged. Put the time in. Get the right table. Bribe your waiter. Play the right mix. Match the right people. Fate as we know never totally complies. But good preparation gets you a good seat on the saddle.

Groping your friend's soon to be ex girlfriend:

We witnessed this move the other night at Karaoke. A fissuring couple seethed while the friend lurked. The boyfriend left after some cryptic cell phoning. The friend moved in. Apparently her pale, frosty, thousand-yard stare allured him. They sang "Secret Lovers" not very well. They moved back to the smoking tent. She rubbed her backside on him, an old signal that she was finally so sick of her boyfriend's nonsense she was ready to reap backdoor revenge. In the shadows of the flickering canvas walls, he quietly admitted a disturbing sex fantasy he frequently conjures featuring her.

She was last heard saying, "I'll try anything once. Maybe more."

Dateline: Saint Worthington Golf and Country Club.

Have you heard about Peter and Mary? Last night they came to the club looking like they wanted to kill each other. She appeared to be getting the better of it, as usual. He looked beaten and bordering on delusional. They separated the minute they got to the reception. She started chatting up a tall lawyer, recently divorced. He got himself a drink and fell in with the alcoholic suits. He was heard telling an off color joke about young children with foul mouths.

Later, much later, he tackled her in the coatroom. Climbing on top of her he demanded that she tell him what was wrong with her and why could she not handle reality.

She was heard to reply: "I'm the only thing left you understand."

After this scene, witnesses noticed a refound vigor to Peter's groping of his wife as they stepped over the pair to get to their coats. Recollections are admittedly a bit hazy of this late hour. The next morning the only evidence of the domestic drama were the bitemarks on Mary's left shoulder. Still more evidence that marriage is the last wild frontier left.

Emotional Intelligence Booster: today's topic is jealousy.

I bring this topic up after witnessing some very sad jealousy the other night. The refracted, second hand kind. The jealousy for somebody you do not have, will never have. It is a sickness this emotion. And there is only one way to dispel its infection. A healthy dose of indifference. Two words cure jealousy: who cares? Who cares who chats up, who plots, who gossips? The most insidious thing about jealousy is it gives us brain fever. We believe acting like a jealous fool will have a desired effect.

Inoculate yourself against this tragic infirmity. Repeat as necessary. "I let all this crap go." Breathe deep and exhale. Let out negative energy through whatever orifice is convenient.

Question: What happens if you meet some rude boorish dipwad and get so annoyed by him/her that later you end up fondling his/her love toy to relieve some of the ill feelings this person incited. Then you find out the next day they have a serious medical condition, perhaps life threatening?

Answer: First off, crumple any information exchanged with said love toy. Perhaps extend some vague, unenforceable invitation via the love toy to the dipwad. Make sure the love toy mentions how much you enjoyed meeting him/her, and yes you do know a literary agent who might be interested in the 'prep school memoir in verse' idea.

It feels unfair, but serious illness trumps your desire to talk smack about obnoxious people and nibble on their love toys. As much as your feelings of disgust and horror at this person overwhelm you, polite society requires that we put our sword back in its sheathe.

Remember, if you get seriously ill you will want to be able to annoy and condescend to people at parties, so we must extend this courtesy to others.

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