Party over where?

I'm trying not to let a pity invitation crawl under my skin and vibrate through my bloodstream but it's forcing my stomach into a mild nausea and feeding energy into my fingers as they fly through my hair and around my nails.  

You are an afterthought.

It's one of the lowest and darkest things you can be. Especially when you first think an invitation is sincere, that people really do want to spend some of their precious free time with you. You're light in your steps and the friendless, loveless world you've created for yourself doesn't seem so prickly-grey anymore. But hold up. You find out your friend spoke with the person who invited you and she probably used the words should and why not.

I started watching The Rich Kids of Beverly Hills and like most reality TV shows stuffed with over the top and out of this world characters you're prepared to hate and mock and pity, after the third episode (if you make it that far and I almost always do) they end up being not so terrible, kind of funny, and a hell of a lot smarter than you originally gave them credit for. In one episode the billionaire's daughter throws a pool party and she and her friends spend a fair chunk of time ruminating on whom they should invite. Only close friends. People they trust. People they can laugh easily around. They have names for those on the outskirts who show up to events by way of third-string invitation: Groupers. Bottom feeders. Take your pick with the phrase but either way it's ugly.

This show is ridiculous and meaningless but I'll be damned if I didn't identify with that sloppy grouper the pretty ones snark at. And anyway who are those people who are always invited to things?? Regardless of the friends I have, the people I date, the folks I spend time with and share the same air with, I rarely receive these thing invitations. It usually doesn't bother me to tag along as the "Oh we haven't met, I came with so-and-so, you've got a great place by the way" party goer but today my feelings are an exposed, raw nerve and even the lightest touch is blinding.

I accepted that pity invite and I'm leaving in an hour and I look pretty damn good and after a drink or two (or three or whatever) hopefully I'll forget that I allowed myself to indulge these thoughts.