Virtual Party—It’s Not What You Wear. It’s That You’re There.

So I went to a party Friday. It was so much fun. The Master of Ceremonies had a flare and there was an artist there that showed some of her work. It was brilliant. It was warm—so friendly. And it was all online.

I was just a little intimidated. When I arrived I landed on an Event Page on Facebook. The layout was simple. A a list of who would, might, and won’t attend on the left. The event heading, the spiel about why we were all there, and a long list of posts on the right.

There was post after post. Maybe it was because it was open invitation, or we had a talkative crowd. I don’t know, but it was daunting at first. If you’re like me doing something new doesn’t come easy. I had to settle down and take things one post at a time.

I had two choices. I could create a post or join in on one. I joined one because I couldn’t think anything to say. I read through the comments and it read as if I was standing with a group of people chatting.

I felt myself relax. Everything seemed that much more familiar. I knew one of the people in the group, and by the time I was at the bottom of the comments I knew them all. I added a comment. The post refreshed and I read a few more. Once that one slowed down I mingled.

I moved from post to post. The MC would add new posts at the top of the page to keep the party moving. There were contests—little word games, quizzes, etc. There was homemade artwork that got us all chatting up a storm. There were posters with crazy comments boldly printed across the front, and there was pictures of food that I wished was real.

I don’t recall when it happened, but somehow it went from virtual to real. I became so wrapped up in my surrounding I could see everyone’s face, hear the hum of conversation, the cheer when we toasted one another, and the sorrowful good-byes.

So much activity wiped me out. I felt a little old, and dreamed of sitting down and put my aching feet up. What a party!

Luckily I didn’t have to drive home I could just close my laptop, stretch out in a comfy chair, and let a tired smile settle on my face. I relived a few moments, and basked until bedtime.

Next time, and there will be a next time I hope I see you there.