So, I left the house at 6:00 and hopped the Red Line to the Willow House with my own mental remix of "The Terrible Mister Grimshaw" playing in my head, after tossing my full set of keys to marxdarx so he could get into votania's car B to check out the radiator leak. I dressed up, because easalle said to come glam -- I wore my nice black slacks, my sparkly black shirt, and black sneaks. I had the happy foresight to bring along a hair scrunchy.
easalle and thepollypocket were already there when I got there around sevenish. Jen was wearing pale blue and white, with white wings that she'd just made herself, with ribbons and a bell. Sandy was wearing goth black and Jen's black wings. Both of them had pigtails: Sandy with red and black ribbons, Jen with huge pastel blue fuzzballs with bells. I got a mocha and we chilled for a bit, then Jen called drgnmstrslash and worked out a game plan. We were to go pick him up, then do stuff.
A lady selling roses came along, and I bought one. It was white and pretty.
The Arizona State Fair is going on now, evidently. As we drove West down McDowell from the Willow House, there was traffic, traffic, and more traffic. We held stoplight raves, and shouted out the window at passersby, "Clap if you believe in fairies!" We didn't get many takers, though someone did come up, clap, and get sparkly glass pebbles and pretty folded paper stars.
As we were finally driving North up 19th Ave, Jen noticed the gas tank light flicking on. This was not a good sign. I predicted a Mobil at the corner of Bethany Home; it turned out to be a Texaco. When the clerk turned out to be a Wiccan priest telling a pal about his encounter with a Fundie1, I dashed back out to the car for a handful of stars, and distributed them. I had run out of mocha, and now that I was nicely caffienated, a couple bottles of Live Wire sounded like just the ticket. (I love the stuff.)
All told, it took an hour to get to Zeke's, a trip that should have only taken 20 minutes or so. He'd been worried that we'd gotten lost. Jen is well-known for getting lost, but evidently I am a good navigator.
We debated, with Zeke's mom, the pros and cons of several different places. Our mission for the night was to go out and be fae and be seen. We wound up going to the Harkins theatre on Bell Road in and/or around Arrowhead Mall. There were slight lossage misadventures in getting there, but all was good.
It was there that we established the pattern we'd be keeping up all evening.
Zeke, in his Silent Bob-like glory, skulked about on our outskirts. Jen and Sandy, wearing wings, first approached groups of people and asked them if they believed in fairies, and to clap if they believed in fairies, and then gave stars and glass pebbles to those who did clap. Much calling-out of "Clap if you believe in fairies!" happened.
If no one clapped, Jen began to feel faint; this was typically where I stepped in. I had a shaker of glitter, and I would shake some on her head. This revived her, and with lamentations of "Where's the love? Does no one believe in fairies? Dragons? Elves? Pixies? Brownies? Gremlins? Just you watch your keys! The fairies are going to hide your keys!" we went off.
We barged at a snuggling couple; I left the rose with them.
After that theatre was fairied-out, we wandered back to Jen's car. I chalked several hearts on the parking lot as we tried to figure out what to do. Sandy called her gayboy friend to see where the places to move and shake were. A group effort came up with not only Mill & University, but the AZ Mills mall.
This was deemed good. So, off we went, singing2, occasionally along to the CD player. Somewhere on I-17, the Moulin Rouge soundtrack was put in.
AZ Mills mall. More with the wings, and the reviving effects of the glitter. We gave shiny glass pebbles and stars to the movie theatre crowd, and to the security guards. We walked in one side, and out the other, asking after belief in fairies, requesting hand-clapping, and handing out sparklies to those who did clap.
A drunken guy in a black shirt said that he didn't believe in fairies, and requested that we try and prove it to him. The two winged ones moved on to more fertile territory; I held a conversation with him3. It resolved that he thought that the winged ones were about fourteen or fifteen. Given that Sandy is 18 and Jen 25, I was amused. I guess it was the clothing, the glitter, the wings, and the perkiness.
The "I Am Loved" buttons, in four different languages, were at the bottom of the bag of stars. This proved slightly painful, in a few cases...
After quite some time, and a good conversation with a slightly sozzled group, who got into the spirit of things and started calling out "Hey! Do you believe in fairies? Clap your hands!" at passersby too, and running out of shiny glass pebbles, a security guard apologetically told us that they'd had a few complaints, and it would be best if we would can it. (Far more apologetically phrased.) We collected Zeke and headed off.
Mill Avenue it was, then, next. True to form, Jen got slightly lost, with Zeke's expert help. (I am no use as a navigator in Tempe.) We finally did get to Mill, though, the right end of it, and parked behind the Chili's.
Almost immediately, Sandy ran into someone she hadn't seen in about two years, in wedding garb with her new husband. Old times were caught up on slightly.
More yelling of "Do you believe in fairies? Clap your hands if you believe in fairies!" happened then. It was a tougher crowd there, with far more drunken shouts about finding fairies in San Francisco, and comments about Halloween. The last of the "I Am Loved" buttons and the paper stars got given out, and then we headed back for the car.
We hadn't any more things to give out to the last people. Bad pickup lines were discussed. Guardian angels came into conversation. Dragons. (Well, duh.)
We dropped Sandy off. Cute doggie! Looks rather like zoe_tailwagger. We drove back, and started babbling about this and that. I proposed that perhaps there would be zombies throwing glitterbombs in Zeke's dreams. Perhaps even fairy zombies!
"There better not be no glitter-hurling zombies in my dream. You know how I loathe the undead. If they had glitterbombs I don't know what I'll do. I will not allow zombie fairies in my dreams. You hear that, Subconscious? I know it's there listening..."
I was dropped off at home slightly after 01:00. I knocked, called, knocked, called, pounded, knocked on window. A very sleepy marxdarx opened the (unlocked) door. Wooooooops.
We figured out a couple things from this.
- When dumping glitter, people don't object if you're dumping it on your own party.
- Always bring enough fairy-favors.
- Always bring water.
- Make sure your wings will stay on straight before you leave home.
- Wear good walking shoes, not something that will fall apart (poor Sandy).
- People will respond, "I believe in God"; a good comeback for that is, "Do you believe in angels?"
- Being polite and nice to security guards is a good thing.
- Having someone who looks like a responsible grownup with your party is another good thing, especially if they're dressed like a mundane (even if they do have glitter all over them). It lends an air of legitimacy and "Yes, I am supervising them, and they will not get out of control" to the party.
- Don't stay in one area more than fifteen, twenty minutes, to avoid pissing off security.
- Having someone burly, mundane-looking and male at the outskirts of the group is a good plan too.
- Cellphones are good.
- Always bring your keys when you're going to be out late.
 The Fundie had found out that Mr. Clerk was Wiccan, and told him that he was not going to Heaven. Furthermore, she added, she was going to Heaven, as she repented of all her sins. "Even that one?" he asked her. "Huh?" "Judging me just now."
 Sandy had not yet heard of "The Terrible Mister Grimshaw". This was remedied.
 Evidently he had a fiancee. He also tried to get my phone number. I refused gently, and he rambled on drunkenly about how he didn't take it personally, and he was peeved with guys who did take a girl's refusal to give them a phone number personally. At least he didn't smell like he was drunk.