Let me preface this with...I'm drunk.
Not my fault.
I thought you'd get a kick out of this story if I wrote it while I'm still inebriated.
Albino (my landlord) picked me up and brought me to his house. Then he made (really...he made me) drink his special concoction of some sort of Italian version of orange soda and white wine. I don't know what kind of wine. It said extra dry. The concoction was kind of delicious.
Anyway...I'm a city girl. So when he said "Get in the car" and we drove to a field in the middle of nowhere I was like "WHHHAAAAAAAAT is this!!??"
Seriously. They don't make field parties like this where I come from. And I come from Wahiawa, Hawaii and Portland, Oregon. They had a contraption that I assume was a kegerator because there was cold beer flowing all afternoon. It looked like an espresso machine. Except instead of hot coffee, it spewed cold beer.
And the food. O.M.G. <--I hate using this expression, but seriously...not an exaggeration. No American can make food like that of this field party. All the Italians were teasing me because I couldn't eat all my food. Sorry. I'm little. I don't eat much.
After the meal, Albino brought me and four/five (I can't be sure exactly how many people were there) of his friends to his house for some sort of crazy alcoholic/raisin-drowned-in-vodka concoction. I took one whiff and semi-bite and gave up. His friends were all guys and they were teasing me like crazy for not being able to finish my cup. I'm sorry. What is this Italian sorcery? It's like pure alcohol. Eventually they took pity on the 5'0" <100lb girl and took it from me. I'm not sure who drank it, but I'm sure they weren't walking straight after eating/drinking both our cups.
When we got back to the party, the soccer game was getting started. From what I ascertained it was married v unmarried...so young v old. Five minutes into the game the "cheerleaders" showed up. It was 4/5 girls with masks riding in the back of a truck that drove onto the field. Did that stop the game? NOPE! After driving around the girls hopped off, grabbed some food, talked a bit, jumped into cars, and drove off. I don't think their version of cheerleaders is the same as ours.
I wish with all my heart that I got pictures for you. The whole time I kept looking down at my hands, wishing I could take pictures with my fingertips. But I can't.
If nothing else, you have learned that I am an amazing drunk typer. What can I say? It's a gift.