Parties in the Woods

Derek and I had gone to this party.
It was a bonfire gathering way out in the boonies, someone’s land in middle of nowhere.

There was this girl I kept hitting on all night. I have zero recollection of her name, I may not have even gotten it. The only problem?

She had a boyfriend.

“I don’t care if you don’t.”

Yeah.
I said that to her.
In front of him.

Facepalm.

That guy must have been a fucking saint.
He didn’t threaten me.
Didn’t shove me.
Didn’t even try to stop me.

I wen’t and mingled with others. I recall getting into this conversation with an older woman, we got into this conversation that lead me telling her of my Swedish-Italian decent. She called me a swedish meatball, and said I should date her daughter, who wasn’t there.

Every hour or so, I’d come around again and try my luck with the first girl. Increasingly drunk.
Increasingly embarrassing.

I kept going to the bar table and filling a red Dixie cup with vodka and orange juice.

I was on a screwdriver kick.

Eventually I ditched the cup and just started walking around with a jug of vodka—
A little OJ mixed in.
Just for color.

I remember I kept spitting into the bonfire, the alcohol causing a surge in the flames was amusing to me.

Someone thankfully took my keys.

Toward the end of the night, I was convinced I could drive the hour back home.

Apparently, I passed out in the middle of the road.
Looking for my keys.
Because I thought they were in the street.

The boyfriend, The guy I’d been disrespecting all night, Was the only one who saw this as a problem.

He dragged me out of harm’s way.

Like I said.
That dude was a saint.