Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Far from a Fairtale...

As you may have guessed from the title of this post the party was far from magical. I don't even know where to begin. It is a really long story and my eyes hurt from doing Fant! tonight so I will summarize.

So we set off to the party dressed like a bunch "hooligans". I was a fairy (faery), Peter a Prince, Sarah Esmerelda and Justin showed up and the last minute without a costume so he threw on the gayest thing ever produced by a sewing machine, which so happened to be in Peter's closet...go figure.

So we drive the half hour or so to get to this thing, in the middle of scary, scary downtown Orlando. So we are winding through the ghetto and we hear a loud *POP*


So we do what anyone would do and ignored it until we drove the remaining five miles to the party. When we get out of the car we start looking at all the tires to see if you they are flat. Doesn't it suck that you always start with the tire AFTER the one that is flat. Those of you who have had a flat know what I speak of. You suspect your tire is flat, you look at the first's fine....second...thats good are feeling good....third tire....thank god they are all ok, your hopes are high....then the forth one the tire has been completely shredded off and it is on fire or something. Now my tire wasn't in that bad a position but still...I digress.

My tire is flat...I'm dressed like a fairy (faery), I'm in the ghetto. Now what?

Go to the party of course. I didn't get dressed for nothing. So we go to the party. It's ok, I mean everyone's costumes were awesome, there were cupcakes, everything I could have wished for. We dance, we laugh, people drink (not me, I have discovered it's not my thing), then like 12:30ish rolls around. All of the sudden I say to myself:

"Hey Bry, this is all jolly fun and all but your car is in the ghetto with a gimpy leg and you are not leaving until it is fixed."

So I decided to wrangle the butchest guys I could find, which was like finding a needle in a gaystack, and asked if they could change my tire. We go out to the car and of course I have no idea where my tools are, that is if they exist at all. Oh, also on that note, trying to get drunk people to do things is harder than herding blind, half retarded cats.

In the end, they can't fix it and meander back to the party. Note* I am very thankful that they attempted to help me though. They were a small glimmer of hope in the dismallness. So my next option is AAA. They are less helpful than the re-re cats and the drunk people combined usually they are my last resort. So I call triple A (the three A thing weirded me out in that last sentence) and they send someone but they won't be there till like 1:30 am. Frustrated and freezing I take my half naked self back to the party.

At this point the party is at that awkward stage where the only people there are the really trashed people that won't stop dancing, the escorts of the drunkards and the hosts of the shindig who, at this point, are beginning to clean everything up. So you feel super awkward not helping so you, as a sober sally or some boy name that starts with S...steve, sober steve, feel like you need to help too, but you don't want to so instead you just shuffle things around.

My saving grace in that situation is my phone ringing in my loin cloth. It's triple A, they are here. By the time I gather the troops and get to the car the guy is annoyed. I walked up to the window in my loin cloth and glittery exposed chest and he just looks at me. After an awkward conversation he fixes my tire and we are on our merry we freaking think.

I-4 comes around, and the spare tire decides it wants to join it's predecessor in the trunk. So now we are stranded just like before only in stead of a party looming in the distance there are eight lanes of traffic and a brisk wind. Call number two.

"Hi triple A, this is Bry Schultz and my tire is flat again"

Time for a shout out to a beloved friend. Dusty, dressed as Peter Pan, turned around and came to meet us. He sat there in the cold without even batting an eye. I love you Dusty. Anywho, two hours later a tow truck pulls up to Peter Pan trying to fix the tire surrounded by fairy (faery), prince charming who has wrapped himself in a towel in an attempt to stay warm, a delirious Esmerelda and Super Gay who has passed out in Dusty's car.

Finally, $60 later, he tows us home and we get to sleep.

So needless to say, the party was amazing.

I am, however, glad for the experience because it seriously showed me who I can count on in a sticky situation. It showed me who my true friends are. Ok PBS is over. Plus if the party had been like every other party this blog wouldn't be nearly as long, and where in the fun in that?

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