Nostalgia

I had a lot of crazy parties last summer, and I just came a cross one that I apparently wrote after our New Years in July party. We used every excuse possible to party, and this was a follow up to our Christmas in July party the week before. I wrote this immediately following the party, then lost interest and/or fell asleep.
Enjoy!

It’s twenty minutes till midnight.
I’m ****faced, ready to pass out and go to sleep but still, people urge me to stay up. Kelli tells me I need to dance.
“I love your drunk dancing!” she tells me. I somersault into the papa chair, my feet slamming against the wall.
“Don’t hurt the Bat Cave!” Amy yells, the sometimes conscientious party animal. I grab a broom and proceed to smack jeff, who is laying on the floor with his feet propped up on the heater, with it.
“Skinny! Watch the beer!” he yells.
“Skinny! Drink more!” Ross hollers from his Californian hippy faggot dance next to the TV. I flip him off and motion that I had two shots of the hundred eighty proof skittle juice Ryan provided at the beginning of the party. Nobody but ryan knows what it really is, but it is so awful we put a pound of skittles in it to make it taste a little better. Regardless, two shots of that and countless swigs of pre-mixed Bacardi Hurricane, plus me six shots of Feckin Irish Whiskey after dinner and I’m a goner.
Ten minutes to midnight.
People are dancing like crazy. I’m still laying in the papa chair upside down cuddling with the broom. What broom? I’m not entirely sure at which point I discovered the broom. I watch the normally identifiable butts dance past, no clue whose butt belongs to whom.
Ryan practically throws a beer at me, telling me to chug it. I flip him off and reiterate the two shots of skittle juice to him. He shrugs and moves on.
Two minutes to midnight.
It was our Christmas in July party last weekend, so it is now New Years in July. I’m so close to passing out my vision is going black. I’m still not sure why I’m here. I wanted to retire an hour ago. My potential New Years in July kissing date had already gone to bed, I’m plastered, and I’m so tired I could sleep in a bonfire. Someone mentions Wagon Wheel. I know once it comes on, I’ll get up and things will get crazy. Until then I’ll let everyone else carry the party. The energy spikes in the room, and I hear the opening mandolin to Wagon Wheel and I jump to my feet, nearly plowing over the small seven person crowd. “Headed down south to the land of the pine, thumbing my way into North Caroline . . . .” and so it goes.
Oh, here comes Kelli, kissing everyone she comes across. No problem. Quick peck on the cheek and there she goes. Oh dear, here comes Ross, kissing everyone he comes across. Okay, no problem. No mouth action. We’re good. Oh my, here’s Brad as well. Slightly awkward . . . and done. Wagon Wheel finishes