Cranksgiving, hummers, and boat races.

Orlando is a town full of hospitable, wonderful people. Of course, I could just be saying this because I don't know anyone that well, but bliss is ignorance... isn't that how the saying goes?

Anyway, we got lost off the Ivanhoe exit for about 20 minutes. I didn't realize we were going the opposite way of downtown (also known as, two way Orange Ave), and anyone who was speaking to anyone who was already there, regretfully did not inform the driver (read: me) of such. Regardless, we got there 30 minutes after registration and had little time to socialize before saddling up.

Once we received our manifests and had a hearty laugh at the number and length between check points (7, and spread the fuck out all over a town we were extremely unfamiliar with), we decided to call it a "Fuck It All - Skirts Ride" and have at it. The race was for a great cause, having us stop at Publix and Albertsons for canned goods for several checkpoints/dropping off food at others, and there was no entry fee (modest donations were welcome for spoke cards/manifests). It was supposed to be a casual pace, which we took a bit too literally, realizing this when we were told to "just head on back" by the second to last checkpoint gal. I guess stopping to down a couple High Life’s behind the Publix at that 5th checkpoint cost us some time. But if riding in an alley cat teaches you nothing else... it should teach you that beer conquers all. Does that ring a 17-hour-lap-bell for anyone?

On the way back, my pretty green metal toe clipped finally snapped. So, semi-clipped in we made our way to Ethos to sell yummy cupcakes, muffins and fraternize. I ate an overpriced vegan kielbasa sammie, and got yelled at by some waiter for taking Lucy into the bathroom (Pam's 3 lb Chihuahua that was zipped up in my hoodie for warmth). We were then invited to "Dexter's" by Mike, only to find there was no table room for us by the time we showed up. Being fashionably late gets you fucked, and not in that good way. Pam, Scotty and John (brothers, not a couple), Carolyn and I proceeded to scarf "cha-cha" chips, drink $10 shots of Patron, and make sexually charged innuendos at each other, the wait staff, and most patrons from across the restaurant. Carol and Mike came over from their fancy table to share some nice "thong view" from a customer in booth #1. If by nice, I mean they vomed in their mouths a little bit. I, having been raised with class, refused to look... and merely made off color comments about the type of woman who would be caught in that situation.

Carolyn was on the horn trying to firm up after party plans, while we waited for our friend Helen to meet us. After much discussion, Helen's arrival and a novella's worth of directions, we were all on our way to a house party, minus the boys. If by house party, I mean a bunch of fixed gear kids acting like it was rush week at UF. Which, isn't as much of an insult as it sounds. It may have been offensive if it were rich, Abercrombie and Fitch'ed out white kids... but there was something about seeing people of all colors shapes and sizes banding together to race boats. Oh, if you don't know what racing boats at a party entails... it has something to do with chugging a blender full of beer. I can't really go into further detail about that one.

Somewhere along the line it was decided that Backbooth would be where the evening would end. Despite the fact that 99% of us were already wasted. Despite the fact that last call was in an hour. Despite the fact that half of the group were under 21. I, being the sheep that I am, piled into the car to follow, fully convinced I'd just sleep in whatever parking spot Pam managed to find while the rest of the heathens did hedonistic things.

Soon enough, we came upon an intersection. Saw several people on bikes and lots of traffic. Stopped traffic. Bike kids, and stopped traffic in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Apparently, Julius decided to take "going green" to another level, by showing a Hummer just how much he hated its MPG. We rolled up just in time to see a dazed Juls, a busted Fuji Track Pro, an SUVs with some exterior damage and a lot of drunk kids. The cops were on their way fast and Julius wasn't planning on sticking around. After some confusion and debate, Helen and Carrie decided it was best to walk to the club so we could accommodate our injured guest to his desired destination. After more confusion and debate, Julius called his lovely girlfriend who was already waiting for him at the emergency room. I swear the conversations between them were the sweetest things ever. Lots of "I'm ok mama bear" and "I love yous" making me puke unicorns and rainbows all over Pam's Focus. (I'm sorry boo, I'll clean it up I swear.) We dropped him, and his taco'd (albeit gorgeous) frame off at "The Hospital" and left him in the hands of the good doctors, and his wonderful ladyfriend.

Shaken up at the evening's progression, and cursing our dying cell phones, Pam and I attempted to make our way to Backbooth. If you've never traveled towards downtown Orlando via Orange Ave on a Saturday night at 1am... DON'T. Perhaps if I was in the mood for a car show, and had a blunt on me it would have been amusing, as it seemed to be for those who were there with blunts in hand for said car show. I believe it's what the kids call "cruising the strip" and I've never seen so many god damn Lamborghini doors and 26" rims on 1998 Chevy Malibu’s in my fucking life.

Pam and I texted Helen with a no go, rolled up to Helen's apartment complex and shared snacks and a bowl until we heard a knock on the window informing us that there was a much more comfortable place to sleep upstairs. Helen lovingly referred to each of us as her "little St. Pete Orphans", tucked us into her expensive comfy bed, and stayed with her gentleman friend for the evening. You don't get a better hostess than that.

In the morning, we ate all her potato chips, drank all her Sierra Mist ("HEALING BUBBLES!"), smoked a bowl on her patio, and headed on out. Made it back to St. Pete in record time.

Currently. I'm still recuperating from the weekend’s activities. Then again, I didn't get into a fight with a Hummer and win so why the fuck am I whining?