Every college kid has that story. The story you don't believe, the story you tell to that incoming freshman whom you have babysat for 10 years. The story you tell when you have taken one too many shots for Harambe. This magical 24 hours where you were at your worst and you found your best. And kiddos, this one is mine.
The best night to start a train wrecked story is Halloween. Like any adult, Halloween actually means the entire weekend before Halloween because we have actual responsibilities on Mondays and "I threw up on my roommate" isn't a valid excuse for missing Tuesday morning labs. So Saturday night rolls around and somehow I have gotten my hands on something that can be called a costume IF I stood in the right lighting. Seven jello shots and a HUGE misunderstanding later, Brittany Spears was pouring her poorly mixed drink all over the guy next to me and inevitably me. 2007 meltdown Brittany left and I raged myself into a minor coma in hopes of forgetting the event. (P.S If your reading this, it's too late). The next thing I know, I am waking up on a friends couch still wearing my mystery costume and my makeup still perfectly intact. That alone was a surprise, but what unfolded next was the true miracle.
I met the seven studs when I was pulled up to a red light, fighting the urge to vomit. One of them rolled down their window and asked if I was alright. Luckily for me, it looked more like I was crying than fighting the urge to projectile on Fetcher. As if things at that point couldn't get worse, they knew who I was and I was the jerk who didn't remember them back. "Do you want to go to Disney?" Wait what? "Yea, we have an extra ticket, if you want to come". I sort of knew these gentlemen, but this was wild. What if they were messing with me? What if I got all the way to Disney and they didn't actually have the ticket? What if... what if I just took a chance? What if I stopped worrying about what was expected of me and what I should be doing? What if I just followed the wind and just rolled with it?
Well, Ill tell you what, when I took that shot I ended up at Disney on a Sunday with maybe 10 amazing strangers who had all taken a chance that day. Two sweet girls, one of which I knew and trusted. Eight guys that could be cast in The Goonies for how unique and goofy they were. Richard changed his hair to a different form of Miley Cyrus-approved buns for each park we went to. Renke, who was determined to have a beer from just about every country in Epcot. Ryan, the Disney Buff who knew "exactly where Starwars was filmed." This was just a few of our motley crew. As the day progressed, the group split off leaving just Snow White and Seven Studs at a Hanson concert, overlooking the canals of "Italy" as fireworks exploded behind us.
I learned a lot about this amazing group of guys that night, but I learned even more about myself. I'll admit that I found myself crying as I overlooked the gondola beneath the bridge of Italy. See, a week ago, I thought that being loved would make me happy. Yet here I was with seven strangers, in a fake country, and I had never been happier. I pictured myself, taking a real chance. I had always wanted to travel, but now I could actually see myself there. I could see myself riding the waterways of Italy and falling in love with the world, rather than a person. Within 24 hours I had been at my worst and best, and it was beautiful. I had fallen asleep on my dreams and somehow seven studs resurrected that dream.
