Marco Polo. It's a game where a bunch of people in a fixed area hide from one visually impaired participant within that area. The VIP beckons "Marco," and the other players are required to respond "Polo" in a suitably audible tone. Through this exchange the VIP sets off to find and tag the other players.

Tonight I played a version of Marco Polo. The fixed area was a hip little bar. The other players were employees and other people from my gym. The VIP was me, although I wasn't visually impaired. I was visibility-impaired- no one seemed to see me.

Now, next week brings me up on 9 months sober. 9 months without a drink, drug, horse tranquilizer, or cannabis cigarette. With this new direction, I am fine. Although I'm not foolish enough to tempt fate wantonly, I have achieved a confidence in venturing out into public houses without fear of jeopardizing my sobriety. Granted, I don't stick around until the joggers come out anymore, but I am fine drinking energy drinks, club soda, and non-alcoholic beer in these settings, and socializing with people imbibing demon rum.

And so this evening I ventured out to meet my group of friends for a going away party for one of them. It was his final week working at the gym and the club opted to send him out in style. Socially a group of us play volleyball a couple times a week, sometimes cook out together, and occasionally go out for dinner, sporting events, etc. Tonight all those players were there and I have to admit, I was looking forward to a night on the town. A night of dressing up a bit, throwing on a bit of cologne, and mingling with people I don't consort with nearly enough.

I put on some new jeans, dusted off the cowboy boots, and removed a button-down shirt from a hanger and put it on. Those who know me know well my aversion to style and particularly shirts with buttons. I got to the party and ordered an energy drink before going into the party. I was officially hepped up and ready to talk some shit and have a few laughs.

This is where it gets hard to describe. Though the party was rocking and everyone was dressed up and seemingly in good spirits, I couldn't get in on a conversation for all the tea in China (oh, and there were some tea drinkers there, let me tell you). Even people whom I consider close friends seemed incapable of any small talk, let alone meaningful conversation. It was bizarre. People I hung out with for hours yesterday afternoon, were now entirely uninterested in any contact.

Maybe it was the music, maybe it was the fact that they had a couple hours drinking in them- I don't know. All I know is that after about 20 minutes of trying to start conversations with virtually everyone in the room that I knew, I realized that no one was really interested. I walked around the room a few times, but no one grabbed me, called me over, or made any attempt to talk. It wasn't that I was being ignored, which I think requires the ignorer to acknowledge the ignoree on some level. I felt more like being a dog, I guess- people saw me and smiled and then turned their backs.

My ego allowed me three laps, during which I pulled every stunt in the Loner Guy Handbook- waved to nonexistent people, smiled at furniture, and asked people if they needed a drink, as I was going to the bar (I wasn't). Finally I actually did go to the bar, where the bartender poured me another ill-advised energy drink. I realized I couldn't go back in and take anymore of a beating, so I finished my drink and snuck out. And when I say "snuck out," I mean I walked through the crowd and out the door.

Here I sit now, hepped up on way too much caffeine, typing a meaningless journal out of sheer boredom, and feeling much better emotionally than this journal undoubtedly suggests. I'm in a comfy pair of shorts and a t-shirt, my two dogs are enjoying a couple well-earned treats in the other room, and a comfy couch waiting for me, where I can recline while watching one of the several unwatched DVDs I bought but have yet to view. Tomorrow I can sleep in or get up early and surf. The rest of the weekend bears nothing but the promise of more leisure and relaxation. Life is good.

I'll see these friends at the gym during the week, and we'll play volleyball on Friday, and we'll have a blast. When I look at my motivation for going out tonight, I realize things went down exactly like they were supposed to unfold. I was looking forward to getting a little dressed up and mixing it up with a new crowd. But that's not who I am. I'm the guy who likes shorts instead of jeans, t-shirts instead of button downs, and flip flops instead of boots. I like a couple friends in a booth or quiet area, talking shit and relaxing. Tonight my friends are two dogs, my quiet area is my den, and I'm heading for an evening of plenty of relaxation. Life is good.