Curses! I just got an invitation to a New Year's Eve party, that's hosted by a for real novelist. Which is awesome, except I can't go.
Now, don't take this the wrong way, all you people in the bands I'll be seeing New Year's Eve because Chris is doing sound for you, but... a novelist! And the guest list is an absurd wealth of talent. There's a playwright, a rock star (just like you! but a different one), a couple artists (one of whom I read about in the New York Times, for crying out loud) and some people I actually know and like.
Mostly, I really like the woman throwing the party and I never get to see her. I probably wouldn't end up talking to all those other people anyway. Unless they happened to find me behind the chair I generally hide behind at parties. And then I would talk to them by way of explaining that although I do not wear contact lenses, I have lost one and am spending the evening looking for it behind this chair.
Maybe instead of trying to go, I'll just print out the list of invitees for my own archives. A list on which my name appears with those other names.
Now that I think about it, those other people are probably penning blog entries and facebook updates right this second, exclaiming that Susan of Trout Towers may be spending New Year's Eve with them. Their posts say things like What luck! and, Imagine! They are probably nervous at the prospect of meeting me. "So illuminatingly charming, that Susan of Trout Towers. I hope she likes me."
I guess they will have to keep wondering.