Dippers

I went to a party in Newport last night.

I will spare you all the intricate, behind-the-scenes drama (involving exes, shared friends, and general ridiculousness). My gal pal and I got there around eight. Drinking and eating commenced.

At some point there was a hot tub excursion. I found myself forced into a borrowed swimsuit and all but shoved in (I must admit, it was quite nice); watched all manner of weirdness, and then climbed out around 12 because dammit, I was tired.

I remember climbing onto a couch (after drying off and changing, of course - I'm not that inconsiderate) and dozing off for awhile. People came and went. I think someone nodded off at the pool table.

At five, I roused myself enough to drive home. I was sober at that point, just very tired. They start ticketing at seven or eight in Newport, and if I went back to sleep I wouldn't be able to get up to move the car in time. So we headed up to the beachfront parking lot to head back to Orange.

And we stood there.

With 98% of the Newport residents either asleep or respectably passed out, it was very quiet and very, very dark. All the stars were out, shining down on a black void that I certainly hope was the ocean (if it wasn't, well, we've got bigger problems than 2012). The surf crashed in the background.

"Look," my gal pal said, "I can see the Dippers!"

I live in a well-lit area. I haven't seen the Dippers since...I don't remember when.

We held very still for a few seconds, just taking it all in.

"Those parties aren't fun anymore," she said.

"No," I agreed. I'd been thinking that the majority of the night. It's always good to see the pals, but something...something was off. Something was different.

Maybe it's me.

Still, standing out there with just the darkness and the ocean, reminded that there is still true beauty in the world, made me think the evening, while flawed, was completely worth it.