You probably wouldn't believe this really happened

This past Saturday we got invited to a party. We didn't know the host. We didn't know the other guests. We only knew the four other people that we went with. Usually, this spells disaster for me, since I don't do well with strangers. I have issues with big groups. I can work in a one-on-one situation, regardless of whether or not I know the person. And oddly (from my retail days-Yes Matt, I referenced RETAIL. Again.) I can address a large group of strangers, pending I have something worth talking about. But those in between groups? The 3-5 people? I stand there with a stupid look on my face and then inevitably end up pulling out my phone and ignoring everyone.
That didn't happen this weekend, but I want to prepare you for how I act around groups. Because, thankfully, I wasn't the odd one at this party.

So, all I knew going into this party was that our friends husband (technically, our friend too) had invited us to his old fraternity brothers house where a local guy would be playing in the garage. It should be noted that the husband is a few years older than us. Forty actually. He's the oldest in our 'group.' Which is fine. But when we got to the house, we realized that the host was his Big B, thus he was older still. So, we partied with some mid-forty to fifty year old peeps. That's cool. It's cool. Except I immediately felt awkward. I couldn't put my finger on it, just being a bit younger, plus looking younger still made me feel odd. The women [while nice] seemed a bit judgy. (Come on, you know what I'm talking about).
I should back up though.

We didn't know where we were going. We followed our friends through town, turn after turn. As we got closer, Brad was like, 'Is this near the murder house?' Our other friends didn't know what we were talking about. The Murder House, or so we dubbed it years ago was a house where a woman was brutally murdered in her front yard by her daughter egged on by the daughters crazy husband. (My friend Michelle found this article about it.)
We dubbed it The Murder House because we are extremely clever and Brads former Stepmom bought the house next door shortly after his father passed away. We could not figure out why.
So the party started with us busting through the door informing the host (who is thankfully renting only) that he lived in The Murder House.

OK, back to the regular story. We danced a bit. Drank. Sang along to Lucious Spiller and overall had a good time. The other guests were really friendly! Super nice people. One guy convinced me to swing dance with him in the kitchen, where I proceeded to kick about twelve different people (sorry!) The men at the party were, um, lets just say 'very complimentary.'
The evening took an interesting turn when two girls started kissing. Odd given the age group, but nothing completely out of the ordinary.
Until one of the girls women hiked her dress up over her head like she was a three-year-old. Except, she was NOT showing off her tummy.
[insert risque dance/one-woman-burlesque show]

Shortly there after, Brad and I decided it was time to retire. As it was 1:30 am, we were not the first to go, nor were we the last.
But the party did not stop. We were informed the next day that the party moved to Disco. A gay club (that I might or might not have been kicked out of for throwing up on the dance floor a long, long time ago). It was there that things became interesting.
I should have seen this coming.
Several of the fine folks at this party were in fact swingers.
Friendly indeed.
They tried to recruit our friends.
As it was told to me our friend just stood there saying, 'Are you effing kidding me' about fifty times.
Maybe I misheard the guy earlier in the night when he asked me 'Do you swing dance?'
Maybe he said 'Do you swing.'
I suppose I'll never know. Although I'm now regretting answering, 'Yes, I learned in High School!'