I Can’t Go To Your Holiday Party Because I’m An Introvert Who Has Better Things To Do

I can’t go to your holiday because I’m an introvert who has better things to do.

You wouldn’t understand because you’re not an introvert. You’re probably an extrovert, or worse, a warm, emotionally-stable person who can relate to other people.

I’m an introvert. Ask my life coach. He says I’m an introvert, which is what he would expect from a Gemini with a Cancer rising.

I didn’t choose to be an introvert. Does the shark choose to be a shark? Does the panther choose to be a panther? One of the great things about being an introvert is you can ask questions out loud and not have to worry about ever hearing an answer.

I’m just a loner who lives the life of a solitary shark-panther. As an Introvert-American, I am use to all the jokes. They don’t bother me. All I need is a couch, the food ordering app Seamless, and a steady 9-to-5 job that doesn’t require I make eye contact with anyone.

That last one is big. Because I’m pretty socially awkward on account of I’m kind of a dick.

How do I know you’re not an introvert? Well. You invited me to a holiday party, for one.

You know you’re an introvert when, like me, the needs of friends and family are inconvenient to my need to eat beef chow fun and fuck around on YouTube.

You know you’re an introvert when you cancel plans because you’re lazy. You know you’re an introvert if you hate crowds, or couples, or anyone who isn’t delivering your beef chow fun.

You’d understand if you were an introvert, but you’re not. You know when I realized I was an introvert? One night I got really drunk on wine alone at home and when I woke up the next afternoon on the bathroom floor I thought “this is great.”

But back to the point: why would I respond to an RSVP when you knew I wasn’t going to go? Next time, send the invitation like always and then just immediately assume I declined the invitation you just sent.

Ugh, I hate conflict, because I’m a coward. And an introvert! But at least I’m honest, right? I tell it like it is. For instance, you’ve really let yourself go since Deborah left you for her life coach.

When I’m in a big group of people I just feel like no one is talking about me enough, and that makes the palms of my hands and the meat of my butt sweaty.

So there it is. I can’t go to your holiday party. Yes, I know your holiday party was last weekend.

I can’t go to your holiday party last weekend or next year because I’m an introvert who has better things to do. Like reading old gchats, or stalking exes on Instagram, or staring blankly at walls.

I don’t know about you but learning is lifelong so that’s why I read Wikipedia.

For instance, have you seen “Guardians of the Galaxy” on Blu-ray three times? That is what I thought. Here’s a warning: the unexamined life is not worth living.

It’s not that your holiday parties aren’t fun. I hear they are holiday parties. Who doesn’t love homemade eggnog? Also, who doesn’t love a small chance of salmonella?

You know why they call it small talk? I don’t care, can I go home now?

Let me also add that I don’t need to go to your holiday party to learn that you have a huge apartment filled with expensive furniture because I can learn about all the things you have that I don’t have by coming over to your place on, oh, any Tuesday night.

I really regret not coming over and coveting your cheese spread, but I was too busy screaming into my pillow because I am so goddamn lonely sometimes.

But not lonely enough to go to your holiday party. No offense. The last time I went, which was for five minutes a hundred years ago, I really enjoyed your toilet.

We really have lost the true meaning of Christmas, which is, as far as I’m concerned, eating glazed ham with your fingers while watching “Love, Actually.”

Anyway, I have a screenplay to write about an introvert who is a brilliant computer hacker who has sex with many beautiful women. It’s titled “Why I Didn’t Go To Your Holiday Party.”

If I don’t write angry tweets to celebrities and businesses, who will? Who? You? Ha! Don’t make me laugh. The only thing YOU care about are the people who trust your word and depend on you.

These Netflix shows aren’t going to watch themselves, you know? These saltine crackers aren’t going to slather themselves in peanut butter, okay? This penis isn’t going to masturbate itself, understand?

I am a busy man with a lot on his spinning plates. When was the last time you had to break in a pair of fat pants? I’ve got a list of things to do: organize my spoons. Nap. Drink wine and text my life coach. He lives in Sedona.

Oh, really? You got me a present? How thoughtful. Can you Fed-Ex it to me?

This piece was republished with permission from John DeVore’s blog on Medium. If you like to laugh, you should really be following John on Twitter.