That's a spicy little story right there.

This story is a little embarrassing for me and I can't remember most of the details, but I'm going to share it with you anyway. You'll be sorry.

I'm from Tower, Minnesota and Tower, Minnesota likes to say happy birthday to America with explosives and beer gardens on every corner. This year, for shits and giggles, our little city decided to throw some live music into the fourth of July mix and call it a street dance. Until two years ago, when I lived in the cities, I'd been to Tower for the fourth of July every year as far back as I can remember. I always went to the parade, dug through sawdust for nickels, got my clumsy ass kicked in every race I attempted, and gleefully chased fireflies while I waited for fireworks at Uncle Buddy and Aunty Katy's house.

Yes, I think it's safe to say that it was one of those days I found myself looking forward to all year long. Then I had to go and move away and, as a result, I missed two consecutive Tower fourth of July celebrations. You know what that means, right? Until this year, I'd never seen a Tower fourth through rosy beer-colored lenses. Sure, I was of legal drinking age the last time, but those were the days when a beer and a half not only made me dizzy, but also made me certain I had just purchased a one way ticket to hell. Plus, if Red wasn't old enough to share the experience with me, you better believe I was waiting until she could.

We're both old now, and I was pumped to drink too much and dance like nobody's watching at this year's street dance extravaganza. The whole family headed out at about 8pm (except mom, but if you know my family, you already knew that.) Main Street was alive with dirty Tower whores, various organizations peddling beer, and some of the best hot dogs I've ever tasted.

My siblings and I got drunk fast and our cozy little group split up. Dad spent time chit chatting with some co-workers while Red and I drank our way up and down Main Street, socializing with anybody and everybody we recognized along the way. We found ourselves near the old Tower train when the fireworks began, so we rested our weary bodies on the ground to enjoy a few minutes of the display and to snap some pictures that didn't turn out because we don't know how to use our cameras.

Mmmm, fingers.

Eventually we met up with a severely intoxicated young lady from Red's high school class and we headed down to the Iron Ore Bar. Now, I would typically NEVER go there because I hate it and that slutty bitch, but Monday night was an exception. My brother's college roommate has a band and they were playing there, so I went down and introduced myself to them during a break in the music. Before you know it, they had Red and I scouring the city, bribing people with beer, grinding, and tonsil hockey to come watch the band with us. All we got was Nick. We are failures.

This is where the night starts to get foggy. I remember dancing. I remember singing. I remember visiting with some of the locals. My last concrete memory before the blackout occurred is of hiding behind somebody's car when Red and her friends busted open a big cooler full of water balloons in the back of someone's truck and began launching them into the crowd.

And then? Darkness.

Fast forward to at least an hour and a half later, at which point I realizd I was in the woods somewhere, lying on God only knows what, making out with a cute boy who I'd never seen before and knew nothing about...well, except that he was cute. I was having some troubles grasping the concept of time, but eventually I insisted that we go look for our rides home, because 1am had to be near.

I was way off! The bars had closed almost two hours before and my family was nowhere to be found. Little did I know that, after combing the town on foot looking for my drunk ass (they forgot to look in the woods!), they went home, hoping they'd find me there. While they were searching for me, I was back in the woods, searching for my new makeout buddy's sandals. Ironically, that was the only item of clothing that either of us removed....and they were lost good, in the tall grass, among the trees, in the dark.

By this time, I was pretty upset that we missed our rides and I was a little concerned about making it home safely, so I was all, "fuck your shoes, let's go find someone we know." The poor drunk bastard with me was tiptoeing across the gravel parking lot, mourning the loss of his sandals so badly that we went back and searched by the dim light of our cell phones. Amen, I say to you, we found the damned sandals! It may have taken us another twenty minutes, but our search was fruitful! For the whole rest of the night, whenever we stopped making out and straits seemed dire, Martinez would lighten the mood by exclaiming, "I'm just so happy we found my sandals!"

When we made our way out of the woods the second time, I didn't recognize anything - not the big bonfire, not the people around it, nothing. Mr. Helpful kept asking, "Aren't you from here?!" Why yes, yes I am, but it's not often that I find myself shitfaced in an unfamiliar wooded area swapping spit with some dude I don't know!

For our next smart move of the evening (well, early morning by this time), we decided to walk away from the bonfire by the woods, probably the only place in Tower where people were still out and about, to wander aimlessly up Main Street. You can imagine my shock when I learned that town was deserted at 3:30am. Who knew Iron Rangers could be such party poopers?

We settled onto the steps of City Hall, plotting our next move. When we weren't plotting, we were making out and groping. When we weren't making out and groping, I was urinating...in public...on the side of City Hall. Are you starting to see why this was one of my proudest nights?

I repeatedly called Red, praying that her phone would wake her up and she would get her drunk ass out of bed to drive my car (she still has no license!) into town to pick me up. Unfortunately, bitch wouldn't answer her phone. Martinez called his friends and, though they answered their phones, they were no help to us. No help at all! So, I did what I had to do. I swallowed my pride and called home at 4am. Mom answered the phone and sent Dad to pick my drunk ass up. The boy offered to disappear because he "doesn't like dads," but of course I threw back the drunken, "you don't know my dad, he's the coolest!" response.

For some dumb reason, I didn't really anticipate the "who is this guy?" question, and I was caught completely off guard by it as soon as I got into the truck. I was unable to answer that and most of Dad's other questions. I just kept thinking, stop talking, stop talking, just get me to my car.

We finally arrived home and Martinez and I stepped inside for a moment (causing mom to drop a load of shock in her pants because, DID ANGIE REALLY JUST BRING A GUY HOME?). I grabbed a Gatorade and we hit the road. I had to bring the kid far. We were on the road for so long, I'm pretty sure he was staying on the Cook side of Lake Vermilion. I resisted his charms and repeated invitations to join him inside, and after some final making out with the cute boy I'll (thankfully) never see again, I made the journey home, arriving as the sun was starting to rise.

To recap: I got drunk, made out with some random dude in the woods, pissed on City Hall, and called my parents for a ride at 4 o'clock in the morning. I can't help but wonder how I'm going to top this next year...because you know I'm never missing a fourth of July in Tower again.