Thank Heavens for Boys

This is how my trip to Logan panned out this weekend:

First, Petey and I stopped at City Creek, in which I finally found a nice pair of shoes for my mission. Also, we (mostly Petey) had a hard time staying away from the Michael Kors clothing.

We got to Logan. We bought groceries, including a pack of fried chicken for dinner later.

I got to see my roommates (like I've said before, I still call them my roommates), which was fabulous. I haven't seen Shelly in ages, and last time I went to Logan I didn't see Katy that much either. So it was fun talking and playing Mario Kart with them.

We got ready for the Howl. My white makeup was harder to get even than I expected. Petey, Kyle, Natalie and I headed up to the Howl. We saw an awesome Halloween dance from the USU dancers. We watched a bit of the hypnotist. Then we went to the dance.

I'm the Greendale Human Being, of course.

Kyle: "What am I? It depends who asks.
Either a terrorist or a shepherd."

Some logistics team figured out that the most efficient way to get kids to the dance floor is to funnel us through the TSC out through a gated pathway into the Fieldhouse. We were almost inside the Fieldhouse when the security team/cops blocked off the entrance and yelled that no one could go in. We had no idea why, but we quickly started getting crushed by the crowd of people flooding in from behind.

A guy tried to force his way past the guards. They chased him into the dance floor. Not less than a minute later the door by the gates burst open and the green Letterman-adorned sneaky man was being forced out by the cops. Since the growing, costumed horde couldn't move anywhere, we all watched as they handcuffed the guy and arrested him. A little bit after that, they opened the barricade and let us in. We have no idea why they even blocked off the doors. But after that, it was pretty much smooth sailing.

Walking back to the apartment was painful. Our feet hurt so bad.
We chatted with Shelly and Katy for a bit and then ate fried chicken at, like, 3:00 am. It was delicious.

After waking up at noon and packing our stuff, we swung by Kyle's apartment to pick up our driver's licenses. You see, at the Howl you have to have an I.D. to get in, and since Kyle was the only one with pockets, he held on to them. Anyway, I made a particularly terrible right turn. It lead to a really awful left turn. Because of that, I decided against parking in front of his apartment and went for the lot in the back. I made a terribly tight right turn and hit the brick corner of a garden or something. The first thing I said is "I hope that didn't pop my tire, ha ha."

Well,
I popped my tire.

It wasn't a small pop either. It was an 8 inch long gash right through the rubber.

I didn't even know that I had an entire spare tire in my trunk. I was incredibly grateful it wasn't a donut. Because I didn't have enough money to buy a tire. I also discovered I had a jack in my car. Who knew! Good thing Kyle knows how to change a tire, because I can't remember hardly anything I learned in Driver's Ed.

The lug nuts were just the start.

After a battle with trying to get the stupid lug nuts off (it required much effort), Natalie drove us to the gas station to fill up the spare tire enough to not ruin it. When we came back, Kyle had jacked up the car and was ready to get the new one on. Except there was a problem: the tire wouldn't come off.

We poked, prodded, pulled, hit, kicked, and cursed at the tire, but I was convinced it was welded to the axle. IT WOULD NOT BUDGE. So we got a hammer and started hitting and kicking some more. We called parents. We put a rock under the tire, lowered the car and tried to bounce the tire on itself. It didn't work. So we put the rock in the tire. That didn't work. So we put a rock in the tire and a brick under the tire. It didn't work either.

We went to Walmart and bought PB Power Blaster. I soaked the son-of-a-gun with the extremely potent lubricant. IT STILL WOULD NOT BUDGE. We were perplexed: the tire was supposed to just slide right off. I read the Owner's Manual, thinking that there would be a section titled "What to Do if Your Tire Will Not Come Off." Turns out that it's not even supposed to be a problem at all. Petey resorted to actually touching the tire while yelling, "WHY WON'T YOU JUST COME OFF?!" It did not work.

I called my dad and told him to start heading up to Logan. He packed up a sledgehammer.

Petey and I both went inside to wash the grease and dirt off ourselves. [UPDATE: Kyle and Natalie went inside his apartment to eat 'lope steaks because it was taking so long.] When Petey and I went back out to the car, Kyle's roommate, BJ, was sitting on the ground with a good-sized mallet hitting the axle and pulling the wheel. He hit around systematically when I saw it: it budged.

We watched in amazement as he freed the tire from the grasp of the axle. He achieved in less than two minutes what we tried to do in two hours. After that, it only took five minutes to put on the new tire, screw on the lug nuts, and even pump up my tire. I mean, this kid had a built-in air compressor in his car! We packed up the car. I forced BJ to hug me out of extreme gratitude and I quickly called my dad and told him that he could turn around and go home.

We stopped and scarfed down some burgers due to our unexpected hunger before heading home.
Psssh. And to think we planned on getting home early.

Thank heavens for boys.