Saturday Part 5

Sorry part 4 was ridiculously long. I always add too many details. *sighs* Maybe I can finish this now that I've had a break.


Part 5: Life's Simple Joys
My Uncle Russ and I took the walk from the Mega Wedgie, to the lawn chairs where we had left our towels and drink cups. It should have been a fairly quick stroll, but as we were walking over a little bridge, we ended up behind some fat rednecks who were moving slower than snails. I could see our stuff from where we were, and had the irrational paranoia that someone would steal our belongings within my line of sight, and I wouldn't be unable to do anything, all because some lardy asshats couldn't be buggered to ambulate a little more briskly. My fears went unfounded.
After we collected our things, my uncle and I walked back to our locker so we could change out of our soggy bathing suits and enjoy the rest of the park. First I went into the ladies' room to change, while my uncle stood by our locker. When I was finished, my uncle went to change and I waited by the locker. During this wait, my mother called me on my cell. I can't remember why she called, but I do remember that I had a lot of trouble hearing her, as the area where the rows of lockers stood was very crowded. She wanted to talk to my uncle. When my uncle stepped out of the men's room, I handed him the phone. He'd call her back later.
We walked away from the changing rooms. I left my damp bathing suit and towel in the locker, so I wouldn't have to carry them around. Anyway, I paid ten bucks for that rental, I might as well get my money's worth.

I needed more coke. I got in line at a Funnel Cake Stand, to get my free refill. The wait was unbearably long, seeing as the redneck family (rednecks, it always has to be rednecks) in front of me was taking their sweet time just to order some ice cream. Precious time was being wasted, and I was about to give up, when I saw a soda refill station right behind me. A refill station! I had stood in that line for nothing! Relieved, I hurried over to the station, showed the girl behind the counter my wristband and got more soda. Ah, Coca Cola. On a hot summer day, nothing beats a cold coke with ice, it is one of life's simple joys.
Afterwards, my uncle and I were wandering along, when my mother called. She wanted to know when we'd be leaving the park and going to Schroon Lake, where she and my sister were visiting with my aunt and grandmother. As they negotiated, I stuck my plastic straw in it's little holder and tried to see if I could drink my coke that way. I could, but it was a bad idea. Since the straw was pointing down, soda began to dribble out at an alarming rate. I am such an idiot.
I pulled the straw out of it's holder and stopped the spill. Then, my uncle and I stopped at a trashcan. Lickety-split, I whipped out my wet naps, cleaned up my soda sticky hands, and wiped off the cup. I knew those things would come in handy. I'd gotten the idea to bring wet naps, after last year, when Acacia and I had made a mess of ourselves while eating funnel cake during our trip to the Great Escape. So I had gotten a large pack of Wet Ones, in little individual packages.
I never ended up getting a funnel cake that day, but those towelettes still became indispensable to me during that long weekend.

We had until five o' clock. At five, much to our chagrin, we would have to leave The Great Escape, and go to Schroon Lake. Determined to have fun, we made our way to The Comet, which is my very favorite Roller Coaster at the Great Escape.
We waited in line behind some very loud teenage girls. Well, at least one of them, an obnoxious, hulking she-walrus, was being very loud. At one point she was so loud that she hurt my ears. I made a comment about my ear drum being punctured, and she sheepishly apologized. But she still didn't shut the fuck up.
Each car holds four people, with two rows of seats. Uncle Russ and I had the ill luck of sharing a car with Yappy Lardass and her comparatively silent companion. They sat in front of us, Yappy chattering away, telling her friend that she better put both her arms up (or something equally asinine) when the roller coaster camera takes their picture, and that they were going to ride this coaster again and again until their picture was just right. I rolled my eyes.
As the ride attendants checked seatbelts and lap bars, they high fived passengers. I vaguely recall my uncle expressing distaste for this practice. I'm not sure I like it either. I understand that being cheerful is just part of their job, but sometimes it can be a bit obnoxious.
The ride was delightful, but with one exception. Yappy Lardass and her friend were ridiculously obnoxious, squealing and squawking like retarded seagulls. At one point, one of their ponytails whacked me (though that wasn't their fault). I was sorely tempted to pull Yappy's hair in retaliation for her dumbassery.
But despite this, I enjoyed the steep hills, the intense speed, the sharp turns. When the ride was over, Yappy was still squawking about riding the Comet again, so she and her chum could get their picture just right. But fate intervened, for as we disembarked, we were informed that The Comet was having mechanical problems and was being closed down until further notice. Cruel irony! I took some sadistic joy in knowing Yappy Lardass' plans were foiled.
But the walrus had the last laugh, for when my Uncle and I went to view our roller coaster picture I was dismayed to find that my entire face had been obscured by Yappy's fleshy white arm! The skank! I dearly love seeing the expressions I make on rides (ah, I am so vain, I know) and I was disappointed and irritated. But there was no point in dwelling upon it, so my uncle and I set off to do something else.

Next, we rode The Pirate Ship. It's one of my favorites, but I remember very little of this ride. I don't think we got one of those prime back-row seats, but I still had a fine time. I always enjoy riding one of these, despite being very afraid of them as a young girl.
My memory gets very hazy right about now. I know we rode The Sasquatch a few times. At one point on the Launch Tower, I noticed the Velcro strap of my sneaker had come undone. When I was younger, this would have made me panic. But now I merely laughed, and lifted my foot up to fix, while I was 192 feet in the air! I also remember marveling over the view from the launch tower, for the sun was going down, the sky was lavender, and the moon was a gorgeous pearl in the sky. I don't remember the exactly when this happened, only how gorgeous the sky was. My memory is like that. I can't tell you where my socks are, but I can tell you how beautiful the moon was, on an early summer evening, nearly a year ago.

We also rode The Boomerang for a second time. My uncle wanted to sit in the last car, but I refused, because that car goes to the very top of the coaster. While I now enjoyed the Boomerang, I still dreaded the part of the ride where it sits still, over 50 feet in the air. As it was, I was really surprising myself by riding this coaster twice in one day. I remember thinking that 10 years ago, I wouldn't have even imagined having fun on this coaster, willingly riding it more than once. I felt impressed with myself. After my second time on the Boomerang, I noticed I'd begun to develop a headache. But I shrugged it off, and went to ride some more rides with my uncle.

Next chapter...Our adventure at the Great Escape ends, but the day still isn't over!

Top 10 most ridiculous things a woman can do to her body

I'm going to take a short break from my memoir to write a quick list of beauty treatments I find to be impractical and silly. I am not responsible for anyone getting offended by my opinions.


1. Vajazzling
According to Cosmopolitan, the biggest trend right now for personal grooming is bedazzling your vulva. That's right, those same cute little rhinestones you put on your denim jackets, you can now put on your genitals! Fortunately for the vain and silly women who do this, the rhinestones aren't applied the traditional way. After removing all the pubic hair, little rhinestones are glued to the mons and labia majora, often in little patterns and designs.
When I first found out about this new fad, I was speechless. Then I felt a combination of amusement and disgust. Who actually does this? Strippers? I can imagine strippers putting little rhinestones on their bits. Then I thought, why would someone want to do this? Would I want to have sex with a woman who bedazzles her privates?
The answer is no. No I would not, nor can I imagine anyone, male or female, wanting to have intercourse with a woman who does this. Men in particular, I think would be turned off by a twat that rivals Edward Cullen in sparkle. Most people I know don't really care how "pretty" their partner's genitals are, as long as they're clean and disease free. And while some people like a neatly groomed pussy, I think adding rhinestones is taking it a bit too far.

2. Vaginal Makeup
This little trend, I also heard about from Cosmopolitan. Apparently, another cool thing to do to your vagina is to have it injected with dyes to make it look pinker. What!? Who cares if it looks pinker? The only time the appearance of a woman's genitals is important is if she's a porn star or a stripper. Their careers depend on having a pretty poonani.

3. Vaginal Plastic Surgery
While we're on the subject of altering your genitals to make them look "better", let's discuss the big enchilada. It seems women are getting plastic surgery to make their vaginas tighter, and their labia smaller, all in the hopes of having a more pleasing visage to their private parts.
Why are women enduring the torment of scalpels, needles, dyes and glue? If I know how most women behave, they're probably doing it to please a partner. This is just pitiful. A good partner is someone who likes your body just the way it is, and doesn't demand that you change your body just to please them. If someone is getting plastic surgery because they think their partner won't like their body the way it is, then maybe they should reevaluate their self-esteem, and broach the subject with their partner, asking he or she how they feel about the matter.
I do however want to point out that some women have their pelvic floor muscles surgically tightened for medical reasons, and not just so they can feel like a virgin again.

4. Breast Implants
If done right, they can almost be pleasant to look at, but otherwise, they're just creepy. They're too round, for one thing. Real breasts aren't usually perfectly round. Larger ones tend to have a slight droop. For a second thing, they defy gravity. When the woman with silicone breasts moves around, her tits don't move with her. Real breasts tend to wobble all over the place. They bounce, they jiggle, they quiver. I've never seen a pair silicone hooters do any of those things.
Really large implants always look like they're about to explode. This is probably because the skin is stretched too tight. They look hard and painful, they look unpleasant to to the touch.
Breast implants can also go wrong. The bags can ripple (especially if it's a saline bag) and make the breasts look weird. I'm sure there is a myriad of problems that breast implants can cause if done badly. Rippling bags are just one.
Do men prefer false boobs over real? Most men I know don't. Most men say they prefer the real thing. But women keep getting them, thinking they'll only be beautiful if they have large breasts. Large breasts are a curse, trust me. The back pain, painful marks from your straps digging into your shoulders, the skin rashes and the humiliation of being stared and commented at when you go out, none of that is worth being "beautiful". Not by a long shot.

5. Anal bleaching- What?! Bleach is for your laundry, not your asshole! Who would put a harmful chemical in such a place? Why would someone put a harmful chemical in such a place? Another silly trend started by porn stars, idiots bleach their leather cheerio in hopes of making the skin around the anus look lighter and as wikipedia puts it "More uniform with the surrounding area". Like most of the beauty treatments I've listed here, there really isn't a medical reason to do this, it's all about vanity.

6. Lip Injections-
Known as "The Trout Pout" this ridiculous trend has been around for awhile, and is rampant among starlets. Basically, one injects their lips with collagen until they're large and lush. Unfortunately, it looks terrible. It's so obviously fake, and like breast implants, it looks like your lips are going to explode in a shower of gore. Eventually the collagen wears off, and the lips start to sag. But in their swollen glory, these Trout Pouts make the lady sporting them look, in my opinion rather vapid and slutty. Add some gooey lip gloss, and the Stupid Spoiled Whore look is complete. But don't get me wrong, lips that are already full and lush by genetics, are often very gorgeous, just look at Angelina Jolie. I'd love to be kissed by her.

7. Latisse
Some people have little to no eyelashes. This, is a problem as eyelashes are necessary to protect the eye. So doctors will prescribe them a drug called Latisse, which makes one's eyelashes grow in. However, some women are using the drug solely for cosmetic purposes. Unfortunately, one of the side effects is a permanent darkening of the irises and the skin around the eye! It also causes skin irritations. Is having long lush lashes worth such a disfigurement? Can't you put on mascara? I understand that some people need this drug because they have an actual problem, but if you just want a fuller flutter, then just get some mascara and an eyelash curler.

8. Extreme dieting
Don't even get me started on how stupid extreme dieting is In fact, I don't even know where to begin, there are just too many unhealthy, impractical and idiotic fad diets that stupid, vain women waste their money and their time on. Imbibing foul concoctions in hopes of shedding weight fast, eating only certain foods, in certain amounts. Popping pills of all kinds. It's a slippery slope into Eating Disorderville. Unfortunately, most of the crash diets either don't work at all, or either make you lose weight fast, only to gain it back as soon as you go off the diet. If you want to lose weight, eat healthy and exercise. No, it's not easy, and not everyone can afford to eat healthy, but it's safer for your body than fucking around with extreme dieting.

9. Personal Freshness Products
There seems to be a cultural phobia of vaginal odor. Fear sells, so there's a market for various sprays, washes, wipes and powders all claiming to make your most special area smell fresher than a daisy. Most of these products contains perfumes that irritate the delicate skin of the vulva. But women use them anyway, afraid that if they don't have a perfect, sweet smelling vagina, that they will become social outcasts. I hate to tell you ladies, but when you go out on the street, no one is going to be sticking their nose between your legs to see if your vagina's odor is socially acceptable.
Anyway, it is normal to have a slight odor down there. The only time odor should be a problem is if it's fishy, and accompanied by a foul discharge. At this point, Pussy Perfume will do nothing to save you, the best thing to do is go to a doctor.
If you're concerned about "vaginal freshness", then just gently wash your vulva with warm water and mild soap. There's no reason to hang an air freshener in there.

10. Tanning Beds
Apparently, nothing says 'sexy" like having a golden tan. Some people do this the old fashioned way, by slathering themselves in suntan lotion and lying outside under the sun. Others prefer to go to tanning beds.
Tanning beds are ridiculous for both reasons of vanity and health. First of all it looks tacky, being that crispy shade of brownish orange. It looks really trashy and really fake to me. I used to know girls who would tan so much that their skin would actually match their hair color perfectly. It was just very unflattering. Not to say that being tan looks bad. A light tan can actually be rather attractive. A little golden brown tint to the complexion looks nice. But when I see white girl who's baked herself to an unnatural shade of tan, I tend to be disgusted.
Then there are the health risks. These beds give people concentrated doses of harmful rays that cause skin cancer. And nothing is sexier than cancer, right? Wrong.
I'd rather be pale and unattractive than sexy, tan and doomed to die of cancer.
And sure, instead real tanning you can get a spray tan, but let's be serious here, those are even tackier than going to a tanning bed.

Saturday Part 4

Part four! Hurray I'm on a self-indulgent blogging roll!


Part 4: Disaster, Both Painful and Embarrassing
Uncle Russ and I walked to the lockers just outside of Splashwater Kingdom. Unlike the lockers inside SK, these are rented by computer. Last year, I'd had an anxiety attack when Acacia tried to rent one, because not only were the directions confusing, but also because it was a bit crowded. It was still a bit crowded at the lockers this year, but I was determined to use one, mostly because they were cheaper than the other lockers.
I rented the smallest and cheapest locker possible at ten dollars, (the directions turned out to be easier than I had initially thought) and went inside the changing rooms to wriggle into my bathing suit, while my uncle waited outside.
The changing room was loud, the screeches of small children bouncing off the tiled walls and floor. The aforementioned floor was slick with water and had shreds of soggy toilet paper scattered here and there. I selected a stall, and being careful not to drop any of my clothes, squeezed into my ribbed black one piece. Then I went back outside, feeling self conscious about my body, and shoved my things and my uncle's things into the locker, and then we set off, carrying drinks and towels.

We first decided to ride a slide called The Black Cobra. It's a long black slide with plenty of twists and turns. It looked like a blast, and I had never been on it before, so we got in line. The wait wasn't too long, and I anticipated being able to cool off. When our turn at last arrived, we sat down on the oblong tube, and at the ride operator's discretion, pushed forward and went plunging into darkness.
The ride was less pleasant than I imagined. There wasn't a lot of water, so we didn't get wet, and the inside of the enclosed slide was hot, since the black plastic absorbed the heat of the sun. But the twists, turns and drops were pretty fun, despite the discomfort.
I at least expected a splash when we hit the bottom, but there wasn't, we just skidded into a "run-off". Disappointed, we put our tube onto the conveyor belt that would carry the tube back to the top of the slide. I didn't even get wet.
After that epic fail of a water slide, we decided it would be in our best interests to ride The Tornado, a water slide so named for the funnel that you encounter while riding it.

Last year, when I rode the Tornado, there had been a fairly long line just to obtain one of the clover shaped inner tubes. This year, we did not have to wait to procure our tube, for this year, there wasn't any line at all! My uncle and I merely walked to the pile of inner tubes and selected a bright green inner tube. Then we made the long trek to the line for the water slide.
The line for the slide wasn't very long at all and soon enough it was our turn. The ride attendant helped us get onto our inner tube. To my displeasure, I found that I was facing away from the mouth of the slide. I would be traveling down that steep drop backwards. But there was nothing I could really do, and soon I found myself speeding down that drop, gripping the handles of the inner tube with all my might.
The tube shot out into the funnel, and slid up the sides. At this point, I was glad I had gone down the drop backwards, for it meant that I wouldn't be enduring the funnel upside down like my uncle was (though I don't think he minded too much). After we lost momentum, we went rushing out into the pool. It had been so much fun!

After we got out of the pool, my Uncle Russ and I decided to ride The Tornado again. So instead of depositing our inner tube, we just walked back to the end of the line.
This time, when we were being helped into the inner tube, the attendant made sure that I was facing forward. I guess she must have felt bad when I voiced my displeasure at having to sit backwards. But I viewed my new position with dread, for it meant that I would have to ride the funnel upside down...
Once more, we were sent down the drop, and sliding along the funnel. It was all very fun except for one thing. I had developed a slight wedgie. The speed of our inner tube and the rushing water made my bathing suit nestle itself betwixt my bum cheeks. It was very uncomfortable, and I couldn't wait to get off the slide and fix the accursed wardrobe malfunction.

Once we dropped into the pool, I set to work trying to fix my wedgie without anyone noticing. I'll never be sure if anyone saw my awkward attempts, and I prefer not to think about how embarrassing this situation was.
After I put things back in their place, my uncle and I returned our tube and went to find something else to do. We decided to try the trio of water slides named Twister Falls, The Banshee Plunge and The Blue Typhoon. I had never ridden any of these before, so I was very excited.
From a giant pile, we grabbed a pair of hot pink inner tubes, one for each of us. There didn't seem to be any line, so we went straight for the middle slide, The Banshee Plunge. We placed our tubes in the water at the mouth of the slide, and waited for the lifeguard to give us permission to head down the slide. When my turn came, I propelled myself forward, making sure not to go down the slide backwards.
I rushed down the slide at a terrifying speed. Then, disaster, both painful and embarrassing, struck. The force of water once again pulled my bathing suit upwards, giving me the most painful wedgie I have ever experienced in my entire life. Worse then the one I had experienced on The Tornado, it felt like as I continued down the slide the fabric of my suit was being pulled higher and higher, and there was nothing I could do about it. When I hit the receiving pool with a splash, I found myself looking around, checking to see if there was blood in the water. Yes, my wedgie was so excruciating that I was afraid it had made me bleed, or worse, do serious damage to my bum. But my imaginings were unfounded, there wasn't any blood, and my ass was still intact, if not very very sore. I got up and quickly fixed the Epic Wedgie, hoping no one would notice my shame. I met up with my uncle, and we trudged back up the hill to try another slide. It hurt to walk. My wedgie had been extreme enough that it was actually painful for me to walk. I moved slowly, unable to keep up with my uncle. I wondered if I should head to the infirmary, but was too embarrassed.
As I got ready to ride the next slide, a long green behemoth called Twister Falls, I wondered how my trauma had occurred, and how I could prevent it. The combination of the moving water and the high speed I was traveling at had caused the wedgie, that I knew, as had letting my bottom come into contact the slide. The solution was simple. When I sat in the inner tube, I should merely perch above the hole, as opposed to squeezing myself into it. That way, my ass would have no unwanted contact with the slide, and I would be less likely to suffer a wedgie.
After coming to this conclusion, I shamelessly informed the lifeguard that The Banshee Plunge induced wedgies of a painful nature. (Not in those exact words of course, I think I was much more blunt in real life.) He was not surprised and told me, that this occurred often. I wonder if anyone ever had a wedgie as painful as mine after riding this particular slide.
Twister Falls was a better slide than the last one I rode. Instead of going straight down at a horrifying speed, I experienced thrilling twists and turns which I hoped would last forever.
Naturally, it did not, and I ended up in the big receiving pool, checking myself for wedgies. Thankfully, there weren't any.
Then, I finally rode the last of The Holy Trinity of Water Slides, The Blue Lagoon. I remember very little of this slide, other than it's bright color, a loud Crayola shade of blue.

Afterwards, my Uncle Russ and I decided to go on Captain Hook's Lazy River Adventure. I love Lazy River rides. They're very relaxing and pleasant.
My uncle and I grabbed some yellow inner tubes and headed for the water. I bypassed the awkwardness of asking for help with my inner tub, by getting on it in the shallows and having some kids push me out into the current.
Unlike last year, when a lifeguard told me I could only go around the lazy river once, my uncle and I went around three times. The first time, I let my uncle get his revenge for the Sasquatch Incident by letting him shove me under the giant pipe, from which pours gallons of icy cold water.
Also during my pleasant ride down the river, I had bit of a surprise. Floating in the water, was a little body! For one frightful moment I was afraid a child had drowned, but as it turns out the lifeguards were doing a rescue drill with a small dummy. When I expressed my relief, they told me that I wasn't the first person to jump to conclusions.
All in all my triple trip down The Lazy River was pleasant, except for a moment when a group of very ill-mannered teenage girls mimicked and laughed at my squeals of displeasure as I got sprayed by a fountain. I found their teasing to be rather uncalled for, to say the least and had a few choice words for them, which out of good breeding, I kept to myself.

After our third trip, we decided we should ride The Mega Wedgie slide before the lines got too long. So we got out of the water, passed off our inner tubes to the next person and went on our way. We stopped to check on our towels and giant plastic drink cups, which we had left on deck chair, and headed towards the slide.
We grabbed one of the figure eight shaped blue inner tubes, designed for two riders. The line to this slide was longer than the other ones we'd ridden on today. I think this is because it was getting to the hottest part of the day, and more and more guests were starting to drift into Splashwater Kingdom, ready to cool off.
While waiting in line, my uncle and I were surrounded by children. Most of them were between the ages of eight and twelve, and wearing these ridiculous rubber bracelets called Silly Bandz. These things, are apparently the latest fad. They're brightly colored rubber bands, shaped like different things- animals, methods of transportation, and other random objects. They even have Harry Potter Silly Bandz. This trip to to The Great Escape was the first time I had ever seen them, and I have to say, the fascination with them quite confuses and annoys me. Maybe I'm just getting old.
Last year, when I rode the Mega Wedgie, Acacia and I had gotten stuck. This year, I dreaded a repeat of those traumatizing events, but did not voice my anxieties. We got in the inner tube, my uncle sitting in the back, myself in the front. Then, we pushed forward and went speeding down the drop, and out into the basin. This part, spinning around in that bowl, is actually quite daunting, but still very exciting. Luckily, we didn't get stuck, and only went around twice before going down another drop and shooting out into the receiving pool.
Afterwards, my uncle told me that he didn't think the slide was worth having to wait that long. There are very few water slides that are worth a long wait.
We wandered down towards The Lumberjack Splash Wave Pool and Paul Bunyan's Bucket Brigade, but the former was closed, and I neither one of us seemed very interested in the latter. I think we were sufficiently cooled off at that point, and we decided to get our things and end our soggy adventure.

Coming up, there will be thrills, chills and soda spills! Well, there won't be chills, but I need a third word to rhyme with thrills and spills.

Saturday Part 3

I've really slacked off, here's to blogging for the first time in two months!


Part 3: A Thirteen Dollar Soda
It's a little bit strange how the beginning of my 2010 trip mirrored my 2009 trip. Last year, Acacia and I had first ridden the Sasquatch, and then gotten on the Boomerang, which is just what my Uncle Russ and I were doing. It makes sense though, seeing as these two rides are closest to the park's entrance.
So Uncle Russ and I got in line for The Boomerang Coast to Coast Coaster. It was warm and a little muggy, and I was very thirsty. My Uncle and I planned the rest of our day. After this could I get a drink? Maybe we could go to Splashwater Kingdom soon?
As we got closer to the ride, (the line can be very long) we got to watch people get on and off, and watch their reactions. One teenage girl was loudly protesting having to sit in the very last car, for when it ascends, it sits at the very top of the coaster. I understood her aversion to the seat, but wished she would protest more quietly, as I found her loud "Oh hell no!'s" to be very obnoxious. Eventually she was coaxed into the car, and the ride started. When it was over, I could hear her voice above all other shouting "omigawd omigawd". I cannot pass judgment here, as I have often found myself saying some very silly things on thrill rides. Confessing my love for Harry Potter comes to mind.

Just before we were to get on the roller coaster, one of the women behind my Uncle and I collapsed. She was still conscious, but the heat was making her ill. I had noticed that she had been crouching a few minutes before she collapsed, but I hadn't thought she was sick, just tired of waiting in line. But here she was, sitting on the metal steps leading to the roller coaster, looking very faint and flushed. My uncle had turned around, and was offering her his water, as was her companion. The ride attendants put everything to a halt and called the park infirmary. During this whole scenario, I stood still and silent, not sure what to do or say. I'm very socially awkward. The Park EMTs came along, but I don't know if they took her away or not, for it seems after they arrived all the ruckus had settled down, and my uncle and I were boarding the roller coaster.
After we were secured, the ride began its ascent. This is the worst part of the ride, because it takes so long. I tried to keep from panicking, and somehow found myself engaged in conversation with my uncle, when I would normally be closing my eyes and praying fervently.
Finally, the rattling sound of the chains pulling us upwards, ended, and we sat at the top of the coaster. There was an eerie silence, a calm before the storm. And then we were rushing, rushing down hill, the wind in my face, my stomach dropping to my feet. My screams were more joy than fear.
For eleven long years, I had been terrified of this roller coaster. Then last year, in 2009, I rode the coaster with Acacia, finally conquering my fear. Now, here I was, enjoying the object of my girlhood terror with wild abandon.
We went through corkscrews and loops, and then repeated the process backwards, and still my whoops and cries remained those of excitement.

When we got off the coaster, I had hoped we would get something to drink, but instead we trekked all the way to Ghost Town so we could ride The Steamin' Demon.
The Steamin' Demon is a favorite of mine, it is a relatively short ride, but it is fast and it is very exciting. Last year I hurt my head on it, when my ears got boxed by my shoulder restraints, while going through a corkscrew.
This year, I was eager to ride the coaster, but worried about hurting my ears again. So when we went through those particular corkscrews, to avoid hitting the restraints, I craned my neck outward, like stretching a chicken's neck over a a chopping block. It strained my muscles, but at least my ears didn't get boxed!
We may have ridden the coaster a second time, though that second ride may have come later in the day. As usual, my memory is as fuzzy as a squirrel.

Afterward, we went to get some food and drink. We went back to Storytown, where my uncle ordered from the Papa Johns stand and I bought a thirteen dollar soda. Why did I pay so much for soda? Because the soda came in a special lime green collector's cup and with purchase of said cup and a special wristband, I could get free refills all day long. Any refills I got on future trips would cost me 99 cents. My uncle asked me if I was hungry, but I told him I was too excited to really eat anything, and instead opted to buy some Dippin's Dots. Unfortunately, the stand was some distance from the pizza stand, and I had to cross a small bridge to get to it. But I wanted ice cream, so I made the trek to get my chocolate ice cream pellets, which cost me five dollars and fifty cents. It was a bit of a juggle carrying my giant soda and my ice cream, but luckily the fantastical cup came with a handle, so I could loop it over my wrist like a hand bag, while I carefully carried my precious Dots back to my uncle's table. I was terrified of spilling, or having someone bump into me (people at amusement parks can often be very rude or inattentive and plow into innocent bystanders.). But my ice cream and I made it unharmed, and I sat down with my uncle, so we could enjoy our respective goodies.

I ate my delicious frozen dairy treat, despite the fact that it was quickly melting. My uncle enjoyed his pizza. He managed to get me to eat some bread sticks, which were pretty tasty.
As I ate my bread sticks, I noticed some ducks and geese lurking behind an iron fence. These ducks and geese lived along the banks of The River Dee (that delightful little body of water that runs through the amusement park), and the iron fence kept them from bothering the park guests. It's against the rules to feed them, but I ignored the little sign posted on the fence and threw pieces of bread to them. The geese and ducks ate the bits voraciously, and I hoped to god I wouldn't get caught. But I'm probably not the first nor the last person to feed these birds.

After we ate, I think we decided to ride the Steamin' Demon again. During the ride, I had a small anxiety attack and wondered if I had mislaid my wallet. This was my one and only moment of panic during this entire day (which is a record for me, I once had five anxiety attacks in one day when I went to Salem). It was difficult for me to enjoy the ride while worrying about my wallet, so I was eager for the ride to finish, so I could get off an check my purple backpack. Luckily, my wallet was right where I had left it, and while my backpack was open, I let my uncle deposit his phone and his wallet in there for safekeeping.
After our second ride on the Steamin' Demon, I am almost certain that we rode The Canyon Blaster. It's a family coaster so it's not very exciting, but we rode it anyway. I don't remember if we rode it after our first or second trip on the Steamin' Demon. I suppose it doesn't really matter does it? I always try to make these memoirs as accurate as possible, but what's the point? I'm the only one that reads these, after all.

It was hot, and we decided that it was high time to visit Splashwater Kingdom and cool off. This is what I was looking forward to, since I had enjoyed the water park so much last year. I wanted to fulfill the promise I had made to myself. The promise to ride all the slides at the Great Escape that I had never been on before. Would I be able to achieve that goal?


Coming up next...things get very soggy, and I have a traumatizing experience on a water slide.

Saturday Part 2

Now, after several weeks of delays, I present part 2!


Part 2: Orthanc and Barad-Dur
Our drive to the Great Escape was relatively uneventful. My uncle and I discussed a great many things, including my idea to eventually become an undertaker (it's a job to put bread on the embalming table, what my heart really desires is to become a writer). At one point my uncle stopped at the bank, while I waited in the car patiently.
Because my Uncle lives so close to The Great Escape, we made it to the park much quicker than Acacia and I had last year. We managed to snag a decent parking space, and made our way to the pedestrian bridge. Walking ahead of us, I noticed a young blond woman in short-shorts and cowboy boots. Amused, I pointed this out to my uncle. I was surprised that there were people who actually went out in public dressed like that. I was the exact opposite of this girl, rather butch compared to her slutty femme.

At the ticket booth, my uncle presented his season pass, and paid for my ticket. The woman at the booth told us that for no additional charge, I could get a pass that would get me six free trips. I told my uncle that such a thing wouldn't be necessary but he overrode my protests and got me the Big Six deal. It was very kind of him to do this, but I am certain I won't be able to use up all the free trips by the end of the season.
After we paid, my uncle ushered me into a special building where my Big Six pass would be made. I filled out my name, address and number on a computer, and then had my picture taken by an employee. The heavy plastic card was printed out and handed to me. I looked at my little portrait on the purple and blue rectangle; it looked like a police mugshot. Then my uncle and I set off to sample the delights of the Great Escape.

The first thing we went on was the Sasquatch, which is a pair of 192 foot tall towers that I've nicknamed Orthanc and Barad Dur. One of them launches riders to the top very suddenly and the other takes them up to the top slowly, and then drops them at an alarming speed. It's a very fun and terrifying ride.
Uncle Russ and I tried to get in line for the Drop Tower, but it was in the middle of a maintenance check, so we had to get in line for the Launch Tower.
While we waited in line, something very silly happened. An employee dressed in a Bigfoot costume came ambling along, greeting people who were waiting in line.
"I don't want to high five Sasquatch," My uncle muttered as we watched the "beast" mingle. Unfortunately, I misheard my uncle, and thought he was declaring a desire to make contact with Bigfoot, so I beckoned to it, and asked for a hug. For a moment, I was enveloped in scratchy polyester fur. Once my fuzzy embrace had ceased, I cried "Uncle Russel, give Sasquatch a high five!". And to his credit, he did do just that, despite the fact that he had not wanted to do it in the first place. When I found out that I had misunderstood him and led him into an unwanted encounter, I promised him he could have his revenge.

After Sasquatch shuffled away, Uncle Russ and I went to get on the ride. I was only mildly nervous, but since I had enjoyed it last year, I knew I would enjoy it again. So we buckled in, pulled down the shoulder restraints and waited.
The ride starts by rising at least 10 to 15 feet in the air, look down and you can see the camouflage print netting that catches things like gum, glasses, cell phones, shoes and if needed, a fallen rider. Look outwards, and depending on where you are sitting you can see the booth where the ride operators sit.
After a five or ten second countdown by the ride operator, we launched upwards, at a delightfully terrifying speed. I could hear my uncle laughing as we ascended, and I was cheering and whooping. We hit the top of the tower, and the inertia lifted us out of our seats, much to my amusement. Then we descended, bounced a few times and landed. It was all very quick, but very fun. We may have ridden the Launch Tower a second time, but I'm not entirely sure.
By the time we were done on Orthanc (the Launch Tower), The Drop Tower's maintenance was finished, so we got in line for that.
Barad-Dur, as I have named it, is a little bit scarier than Orthanc, because it takes a long time to get to the top of the tower. Then once it is at the top, all is very still before finally plummeting.
I tried to stay as calm as I could as we ascended, and took in the view. It was very breath-taking, I could see the whole park laid out before me. I saw the water slides, and some of the roller coasters. I didn't have long to gander at these sights though, for suddenly we were plunging down, cheering all the while.

We walked away from The Sasquatch, after riding both towers at least twice. I felt energized, happy. I could do anything, even ride The Boomerang, just as I had last summer, when I had faced my fear of the coaster. But this time, I'd be getting on the ride not with fear, but with joy.

Coming up...Uncle Russ and I ride the rides, and I break one of the rules.

Volume 2 of the Vow Renewal Weekend: Saturday

Here is the account chronicling my day at the Great Escape with my Uncle.

Part 1: A Few Minor Setbacks
I woke up on July 10th, wrapped in my favorite purple Afghan, the sweet coolness of the air conditioner blowing on my face. This morning I would be going to The Great Escape. I got out of bed, and shuffled downstairs to use the bathroom, which was adjacent to the kitchen. Why is it bathrooms are always right next to the kitchen? In almost every house I've ever lived in or visited with the exception of a few, the bathroom is near the kitchen.
My aunt was already awake and she asked me if I wanted any breakfast, and told me she had eggs, toast, fruit and cereal. I took a bowl of cereal, even though eggs did sound very good, mostly because I didn't want to heat up the kitchen with any kind of cooking. In hindsight though, I probably should have had my leftovers for breakfast, after all, I ended up leaving them at my aunt's.
So I poured myself a bowl of Life cereal and ate it as fast as I could. Life is one of those cereals that gets soggy very quickly. That sounds like a wonderful metaphor, doesn't it? But I'm being literal here, as tasty as that cereal is, you have to eat it fast or it will become Mush City.
While I ate, my cousin watched Futurama on their Netflix. It was the Beast of a Billion Backs episode arc.
My mom was up, and she joined us in the living room. I got out my Vermont Monster Guide to show my cousin, he flipped through it and then quickly gave it back to me. I
Eventually, I wandered upstairs to get dressed. I put on my bra and underwear, my plaid Bermuda shorts (which make me feel incredibly butch), my Repo! The Genetic Opera t-shirt and my socks. I went to put on my pentacle, but was shocked when I found that the chain was broken! This was the first of a few minor setbacks. The second occurred when I descended the staircase and stepped right in a puddle of puppy piddle, (a present from Lucy) ruining my only pair of socks. Then to top it off, it was raining, when I was supposed to be at an amusement park all day. Trouble always comes in threes.
My aunt told me she would get me a pair of socks, then told me she'd made me a cup of coffee. It was just the way I like it too, with plain milk, no sugar or fancy creams.
While I drank my coffee, I checked my facebook and my Stardoll account on my aunt's laptop. I played around idly on the computer waiting for my uncle to get up.

My Uncle Russel descended the stairs. He seemed excited about the coming day, despite the weather, which was beginning to clear up. My aunt lent me a pair of her socks, which were almost exactly like the pair I had been wearing. I packed all my things. My duffel bag and bedding went into my mother's car. My backpack, which contained my bathing suit, towel, wallet, moist towelettes and medication would be going into my uncle's car.
While my uncle and I would be riding roller coasters and water slides, my sister and mother would be spending a day with my grandmother at Aunt Jenny's cabin in Schroon Lake. My mother and uncle discussed how I would get from Lake George to Schroon Lake at the end of the day, while I finished up my business online.

Eventually it was time to leave. As my uncle and I headed out the door I promised my mother that I wouldn't die in a horrible roller coaster accident. She told me to give her a hug and a kiss in case I did die. I did just that, giving her a big hug and kiss.
I threw my backpack in my my uncle's backseat, then climbed over the driver seat to get into the car. I was excited, but oddly calm. Usually when ever I go on a trip like this I'm like a pot ready to boil over. I suppose this is a good thing, perhaps it means that at least some of my anxiety is beginning to get under control.

Coming up next...the beginning of an epic adventure.

Friday Part 4

Wow, this took much fewer chapters than I had imagined. This chapter also may contain spoilers for a crappy movie that none of you may ever see.


Part 4: A Picture of Batman Eating Noodles
The Pasta Factory is a restaurant which mainly serves Asian and Italian noodle dishes. They also serve things like salads and soups, but most people come for the delicious noodles.
Allover the walls were drawings kids had done of their pasta dinners. Most of them were scribbles, but I saw a few cute anime drawings done by older kids and even a drawing of The Flying Spaghetti Monster! With this portrait of FSM came some sort of joke, that clearly came from a certain anonymous forum, which joke it was, I can't remember. This was very amusing to me and I wanted to draw my own lulzy pasta related picture. I recall asking my sister to draw me a picture of Batman eating noodles. Not that she ever did. Or would.
I ordered a sesame noodle dish with chicken. I had originally planned on getting an Italian dish, but at the last minute decided I would prefer some Asian fare. Then after we ordered, I got my drink and sat down at the large circular booth with my family. I sat with my sister at my left, and my uncle at my right.
Dinner passed pleasantly, with plenty of conversation. I didn't get to eat very much though, because Uncle Russel wanted to take my sister and I to see a movie, which would be starting soon. But my noodle dish was very delicious and I wish I had eaten more of it. I never got to eat the leftovers either. I would end up leaving them in my aunt's fridge.

My uncle wanted to take us to see Predators. The movie theater was in a mall adjacent to the restaurant, so it was only a minor trip across the parking lot to get to there. I wasn't sure I would like the movie, but I went anyway. Who knew, it might be good.
As my uncle bought the tickets, we heard some people discuss the new Last Airbender film. I said, loud enough for them to hear, that I had heard that the movie was so awful that it punched you in the soul. I wonder if they still went to see the movie. I haven't heard the very best reviews for it.
We bypassed the concession stand and went straight into the cinema. We took seats near the front, and I made a quick bathroom run before anything started.
I'm going to tell you this now. I found the previews more interesting than the movie itself. I recall in particular seeing a trailer for a movie based off of the Scott Pilgrim comic book. I had a minor geek out, seeing as I had read the first volume a month prior.
God, Predators was awful. The 'plot' (if you can even fucking call it that) was this whole stupid thing about the Predator Aliens, who look like Rastafarians with vagina dentata mouths, kidnapping Earth's best warriors and place them on their home planet to use as prey in their little hunting games. There wasn't much by way of a back story, the movie starts with the group of kidnapped humans: a couple of soldiers, a Yakuza gangster, a Mexican drug runner, a Russian Spetsnaz, a deathrow Convict, an African Guerrilla soldier and Topher Grace. That's right friends and neighbors, our sci-fi gorefest had Topher Grace in it.
The movie was boring as fuck. I actually fell asleep within the first twenty minutes of the film! I was a little bit ashamed by this, but figured that it only made sense, seeing as I'd been on the road all day. Hoping to wake up a little bit, I got up and went to the bathroom. On my way out, I briefly made conversation with the guy who collects ticket stubs (I used to work at a theater, and the kids who do that job are always so bored), then entered the ladies room.
There was a woman with two small kids and an infant in the ladies room. She was changing the baby on the counter by the sink. I asked if there was a changing table in the bathroom (not rudely, just with exasperation and surprise. It was pretty obvious that they lacked a changing table). When she replied that there wasn't, we briefly discussed the ludicrousness of this situation. Why wouldn't a bathroom have a changing table? In this day and age it just seems strange. But changing the baby on the counter was better than changing it on the floor, which is what I think people used to do.
After I washed my hands I applied my Hard Candy lip stain and gloss. After I painted my lips with the berry colored stain, I added the thick minty scented gloss, hoping the smell and taste would keep me awake. During this glossy procedure, the woman's kids watched me intently, which I found unnerving. Why is it when you put on makeup in a public bathroom the other people in there stare at you? It's not just kids that do it either, I've had adults eyeball me while I'm doing a few touch ups. At least when kids do it, they're just being curious, they don't know that it's rude to stare. Adults should know better than to stare. Their stares always seem so judgmental.
Oh, but I digress.

I returned to the movie, and stayed awake for some of the action. The humans got picked off one by one, and I have to admit that some of the death scenes were pretty badass. There was even a scene where a guy had his skull and spine ripped out. It reminded me so much of Repo! The Genetic Opera that I quoted a RepoChat in-joke.
"He's got your back"
But despite these gruesome death scenes and cheesy gore (the Predator's blood look like Nickelodeon slime!), I fell asleep for a second time.
I woke up long enough to see the end of the movie, complete with a twist ending (Topher Grace is a bad guy! WTF). When the credits rolled, strange cheerful music poured from the speakers, music that did not match the film's "seriousness". It was as if the filmmakers had simply given up. My sister, uncle and I left the theater, unimpressed with the mediocre quality of the movie. It was one of those films that relied only on its special effects.

The passenger door to my uncle's car did not work. If you wanted to sit in the passenger seat, you had to climb over the drivers seat to get there. Since I was wearing a miniskirt, my sister took the front passenger seat, so I wouldn't flash my swirl patterned knickers to the world. So I took the backseat, which I didn't mind doing.
The drive back to my aunt and uncle's house was very pleasant. We talked about all kinds of things, mostly movies.
Back at my aunt's house, my mom had gotten my cousin bathed and into bed. We had to get ready for bed ourselves. We took our bedding out of the car, and went up to my cousin's room (he would be staying on a couch in the office) to inflate the air mattress. I would be sleeping in my cousin's bed, and my sister and mom would take the mattress. After we were all set up, I changed into my over-sized wolf t-shirt (stolen from my dad) and my Mutts PJ pants with the delightful hole in the seat. I then shuffled downstairs where my uncle was watching South Park and my mom was reading. I tried to read too, but got distracted by the TV.
My mom went up to bed, and my sister joined us in the living room. After South Park finished. my uncle deliberated on what to watch next. He has Netflix for Wii, and so we sifted through titles of different movies, including horror movies. On the list I saw a favorite of mine, called Imprint. It is a really fucked up Japanese horror film that I like for its visuals and disturbing quality. It's strange that I saw it on there too, since I had mentioned it to my uncle in the car. A movie my sister had discussed was there too.
My uncle chose Imprint. Before the movie started, there was a creepy opening sequence for a production company. I do not know if it was a company that brought the film to the US, or the company that initially made it, but it was a very disturbing sequence. My cousin happened to walk in the room at this moment with my aunt, which made my uncle and I scramble to pause the film. Sam asked what we were watching. I didn't know how to answer. My aunt explained to him that we were watching something scary and that he should be in bed.
The movie was very gross. I had forgotten how gross it was, and because of its gore, I was kind of ashamed that I had picked it. I even apologized to my uncle for it. There is a torture scene, that is horrifying not just because of the content, but because of the sound effects. My uncle and I were both sitting there wincing and making noises of disgust. There were also a lot of aborted fetuses in this movie, but I didn't find that very gross. I'm not sure what my uncle thought of them. I do not know if he liked the movie or not either, just that he and I both thought it was very fucked up.
After that fucked up, disturbing movie finished, I went up to bed. My mom was reading and my sister was asleep. Or was it the other way around? I talked briefly with my mom, and then tried to read a little bit.
The next day, I would be going to the Great Escape with my uncle. I needed to get some sleep, so I would be rested for the next day. Thankfully I fell asleep as quickly as I had in the movie theater. After all, I had had a very long day.
The End of Volume 1.

Coming up: Volume 2 starts off with a fizzle instead of a bang! What is a girl to do?

Friday Part 3

Merrily merrily and onward we go...


Part 3: Beauty In Decay
Crossing the border into New York from Vermont is almost like entering another country. The landscape is different for one thing. The roadsides of the Empire State are dotted with billboards, usually displaying some kind of public service announcement about drunk driving or buckling your seatbelt. We don't have billboards in Vermont, they're illegal. Why? Because tourism is our main source of income, and billboards clutter up the beautiful landscapes that attract travelers from all over the country. So when you drive down our interstates and winding country roads, your view of our gorgeous fields and foliage is untainted by gaudy advertising. This is another reason that Vermont is awesome.
There are other differences in New York's landscape, but I can not name them. For some reason, New York always seems more drab than Vermont. Ah well...perhaps I am just biased.

It's not that driving through New York is a complete and total bore. We did see some interesting things. We drove past a country store with a stuffed moose on the roof. We drove past a furniture store that had over-sized chairs, sinks and beds. Katie snapped a few pictures of some of these sights. And as always, there were plenty of cemeteries and abandoned buildings to admire, including a creepy looking abandoned church.
Eventually, we reached Troy, NY. I've driven through there before, in fact my mom and I blew a tire there once, and ended up spending an hour or so in the Hess parking lot, in the middle of a not-so-good neighborhood.
Luckily, there were no blown tires or other automotive mishaps, though we did have to endure some wretched traffic. While we drove through the bustling, ghetto-tastic metropolis we were treated to more interesting sights. There was a Popeye's Chicken, which we don't have in Vermont, as well as some really cool graffiti. We drove under some great bridges, which mom said would be great to live under, if you were homeless. We also saw really cool old buildings. We drove through dilapidated ghetto neighborhoods, but I found them, in an odd way, quite charming. I'm one of those people that finds beauty in decay.
Then we drove over a bridge which spanned across the Hudson River. I always like driving over the Hudson. The Hudson is as wide as the Connecticut (which I live near), but it seemed rougher, wilder, and more badass than the Connecticut. The water in the Hudson even looked darker and choppier than the Connecticut.

So we drove and drove, until Mom decided it was time for a pit stop. We stopped at Stewart's gas station, not far from Mechanicville, where we used the bathroom and got some drinks. Mom and I got bottles of water and fruit punch flavored Gatorade, but I don't remember what Katie got. I suppose it doesn't matter.
Once we were back on the road, I took my medication and finished off my chicken fries from earlier that day. I would have eaten the onion rings, but they had tasted weird in the restaurant, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to eat them now.
Finally, we made it to Mechanicville, NY, where we would be staying at my aunt's house for the night. We arrived at my aunt's house rather quickly, where, once getting out of the car, I expected to see my grandmother, whom I had not seen in a full decade.
The only person at the house was my Uncle Russel. He invited us in, and asked us if we wanted to eat or drink anything. We declined politely, and he informed us that my Aunt Elizabeth and cousin Sam had gone to pick up my Grandmother from my Aunt Jenny's cabin in Schroon Lake. Then, he asked us if we would like to sit in the living room, where there was air-conditioning.
Inside the living room, it was much cooler. We had some pleasant conversation, and mom showed off pictures of my nephew, John Peter. She also showed my uncle a picture of our 35 pound orange tabby cat, Kirby.
My aunt's dogs, a Greyhound named Tony and a Dachshund named Lucy were very eager to see us. Tony hopped into my sister's lap. Lucy could not hop into anyone's lap, since she was sitting in her crate. This is a good thing, she pees whenever she gets very excited.
Eventually she was let out, and I was the one she chose to jump on, covering me in happy slobbery little dog kisses. Thank god I had moist towelettes in my backpack. But I enjoyed snuggling with her, she has the softest fur I have felt on any dog, and she is very loving and affectionate. Tony, who reminds me of a little pony, with his eager little trot and short, smooth fur stayed with my sister. Dogs like my sister very much. So do children.

Then, at long last, my aunt arrived with my cousin and grandmother in tow. I was struck with some shyness. I hadn't seen Grandma in such a long time after all.
My cousin Sam stuck his head around the living room curtain and said a curtly and shyly: "Hello, Sara" before running away. Sam is very shy around me, for reasons I can't quite fathom.
Mustering my courage, I got up out of my chair, and walked slowly from the living room to the kitchen to greet my Grandma Libby. I had intended to speak in Spanish to her (she's Cuban), but upon seeing her I forgot, and merely spoke shyly in English and hugged her tightly.
She seemed older than she had been the last time I saw her. This was of course, inevitable, seeing as I had not seen her in ten years. I had also grown taller than her in the decade since we had last seen each other. This shouldn't have been a surprise either, but I couldn't help but be slightly shocked by this. But still, it was so very good to see her.

After we sat a spell in the living room, we decided to go to The Pasta Factory for dinner. Sam would not be going with us, because he wanted to go swimming at a neighbor's house. So it was just the adults. I would ride with Aunt Elizabeth and Grandma, Katie and Mom would drive in the Sunfire and Uncle Russel would drive in his own little red car, which is twelve years older than God and has been around since my childhood.
The ride to the Restaurant was very pleasant. I felt so happy, being near my Abuela again. I counted another cemetery and chatted with my aunt and grandma.
But alas, the ride was much too short, and soon enough we had arrived at The Pasta Factory, to enjoy a nice family dinner.

Coming up next...a tasty noodle dish, a bad movie and some really gross sound effects.

Friday Part 2

Let get on with this...shall we?.

Part 2: A Beautiful Testament to the Finality of Death
We set off for our grand journey. We drove towards Brattleboro, where it was agreed that we would stop for lunch. As we drove, I decided that I would count and mentally record each cemetery I saw, throughout the entire weekend.
I am a taphophile. This means that I have a great passion for cemeteries, gravestones, an epitaphs.While use of the suffix -phile may lead one to believe that this is a passion of a sexual nature, I assure you that this is not the case. I do not get aroused by cemeteries or graves, I merely have a love for them that borders on obsession.
We drove through Westminster, where I counted one cemetery, and then we drove through Putney, where I counted a second.
I enjoyed driving through Putney, there I admired old houses (including one that we had almost bought five years ago) and marveled at the campy splendor that is Santa's Land. As we barreled down the road, Katie snapped pictures with her camera.
At one point, we got stuck in road work. Summer in Vermont is road work season, and it is not uncommon to get stuck waiting for the road crew to wave you through. It is particularly annoying, especially when it's hot out, but I feel that the guys out there working on the road have a worse time of it than the drivers do. To combat my feelings of frustration as the traffic piled up and we sat boiling in the July heat, I squeezed my bright orange stress ball. It kept my hands busy but did not soothe my mind.
Eventually we were granted permission to continue down the road, but not before being yelled at by an irate road worker (I have no idea what we did to incur his wrath). We eventually made it into Brattleboro, where we would eat lunch.

This is where the trouble began. Mom suggested McDonald's . But no one (including she who suggested it) really wanted to eat there. We couldn't afford Friendly's either. I suggested that we eat at Burger King. Of late, we had been enjoying eating there, mainly because of the little Twilight: Eclipse promo they were running, which involved winning free food and even money. I hate Twilight with a burning passion, but I love winning free food.
The catch was that Burger King was all the way on the other side of town, and Brattleboro traffic is a bitch. An unrelenting, aggravating bitch. Brattleboro is also a confusing place when it comes to its traffic, so it shouldn't have been a surprise that we got lost. It wasn't anyone's fault; like I said, Brattleboro is just confusing and annoying. We drove through neighborhoods and through downtown (which always seems shorten everybody's temper), trying to get to The Burger King. I felt guilty. If I hadn't suggested that we eat there, we wouldn't have gotten in this frustrating mess. When we finally got to the restaurant, we ended up driving past it. More frustration. We pulled into a nearby gas station, turned around and pulled into the Burger King parking lot. We were all hungry, hot and angry with the town of Brattleboro.

We entered the fast food joint. The place was festooned with Twilight decorations, including two nearly life-sized window clings of Edward and Jacob, (the promo centers around choosing between the vampire and the werewolf). While I hate Twilight, I have to admit that the actors playing the two male leads aren't bad to look at.
Burger King was crowded, but not too crowded. It was mostly old people and families with small annoying children. We ordered our food, I used the bathroom and then we sat down to eat.
But something was wrong. I couldn't eat. I felt like I had to force my self to bite, chew and swallow. I felt claustrophobic sharing a bench with my sister. The booths on either side of us were crowded with families with loud children. The bad pop music that screamed from the intercom filled my ears, relentless and invasive. My food tasted strange. I felt myself descend into a full-blown panic attack.
I squeezed my stress ball frantically, my hand clenching around the foam orb like a claw. I began to hyperventilate, and a wave of dizziness swept over me. Eventually my mother and sister noticed. They kept asking what was wrong, but I couldn't rightly answer. I felt like I was going to die. The dizziness felt like someone had broken an egg over my head and I put my head down on the table. I thought I was going to pass out. A feeling of pure terror washed over me, but I could not figure out why.
With some difficulty, I managed to explain some of what was wrong with me. The dizziness, the sudden loss of appetite, the fear. Mom thought it could be the noise and crowding of the restaurant. I wondered if it could because we were going to be around the extended family that weekend. It didn't matter what caused this inexplicable episode. The only cure was Ativan.
A couple of month previously, a doctor had obtained a prescription for me, to treat my bad anxiety. I use it whenever I'm particularly stressed out or if I'm having an attack.
Mom pulled my bottle of Ativan out of her purse (she keeps it for me, for reasons I would rather not discuss in this blog. I am sure you can figure out why) and handed me one of the diminutive white pills. I took it with some soda, and the effects seemed almost instantaneous. I calmed down enough to take a few bites of my chicken fries, though I would end up taking them in the car with me.
I still haven't entirely figured out what caused that sudden and frightening panic attack. It was one of the worst I have ever had, and there weren't any events preceding it, that would have warranted such a reaction.

We left Brattleboro, and drove west towards Bennington. We took long winding roads, where I saw old houses, cemeteries and beautiful rich green trees. The only drawback was that the people driving in front of us were slower than death. (though I often find that death, in fact moves very quickly.) Their slowness was caused by the fact that far ahead of us, was a truck that was moving at a snail's pace, in an effort to keep their cargo from sliding around and being damaged. It was all very frustrating. I put in my headphones and waited out this boring stretch of our trip.
Naturally, I do not remember every single detail of our trip. And even if I did, what would be the point of sharing it with you? I'm sure you're already bored to death with this blog, and wondering when the hell I'm going to quit this self-indulgent trip and write something with some goddamn substance. The trip was long. I counted cemeteries and listened to music. My sister took pictures. My mother did the driving.

When we got to Bennington, Mom wanted to get out and stretch her legs. She parked in front of the cemetery where Robert Frost is buried, The Old Bennington Cemetery. I desperately wanted to go in and explore, but Mom denied me such a pleasure, saying we didn't have the time. We had just ten minutes to stretch our legs. I spent my ten minutes running along the length of the cemetery's white fence, reading what epitaphs I could, and geeking out over the different carvings. Soul effigies, and vines, beautiful poems, all of them a beautiful testament to the finality of death. I even climbed the fence, in order to get a better view of a table tomb (and I don't mean that it was a tomb belonging to a deceased table. A table tomb is a marble slab supported on pillars). Inside the cemetery, I could see a family admiring the stones and taking pictures. I envied them, getting to explore more of the beautiful place than I was able to. There really were some amazing gravestones.
When our stretch was over, I reluctantly got back in the car. If it were up to me, I could have spent the entire weekend in that gorgeous necropolis.
We drove out of Bennington, and were treated to more familiar sights as we did, such as the creepy house across from the cemetery, the slabs of rocks that looked like Stonehenge and the strange metal sculptures that spun in the wind. I've said it once, and I'll say it again, Vermont is truly an amazing place.
Eventually, we crossed the border into New York. But we'll save that for the next chapter.

Coming up...New York yields some strange and entertaining sights.

Volume 1 of The Vow Renewal Weekend: Friday

This is the first volume of the last weekend's trip to NY. I have decided to title them by the day of the week. Simple but effective. This is the beginning of a long and dense read. So enjoy! Or not. And as usual, my memory might be slightly hazy.


Part 1: Doctor of Shut The Fuck Up
I woke on the morning of Friday July 9th, to the sound of my fan on my face, and my sister's voice, reminding us all to get up. We had just barely survived a heat wave of epic proportions and I was pleasantly surprised to find that the air was slightly cooler than it had been the day before, though it was still quite humid. I rolled out of bed, and put on my Crocs, ready to finish packing, and get ready for a long journey ahead.
The very first thing I did was take my cat outside for his daily jaunt. Dommie is mainly an indoor cat, but once in awhile I take him outside, for just a few minutes, to let him run around and eat grass. I sat on the back steps watching him eat grass and pee on things, making sure he didn't run off. After about ten or fifteen minutes, I took him inside, much to his furry dismay.
That morning, it was my job to clear all the crap out of the car, to make room for all of our luggage. I was reluctant to do it, and held it off for as long as possible. But eventually, armed with plastic bags, I went out to our little bright red Pontiac Sunfire, to do some cleaning. I threw out trash and collected recycling, cursing the heat and how gross the car was. I was nearly done cleaning out the foot well, when my mother came outside. She needed to make a quick trip to the store, much to my frustration. I was trying to clean out the car like she asked me to! But her errand provided an excuse for me to get out of the sun, so I climbed out of the car and headed for the stairs to our back porch. She asked me if I wanted an energy drink, but I declined, explaining that they wreaked havoc with my stomach. A few years ago, I would have eagerly accepted such an offer, but now I find that energy drinks have an odd aftertaste, and as I mentioned, make me feel gassy and bloated. Mom offered to get me a bottled Starbucks Mocha Frappuchino, instead. It was exactly what I wanted.
Mom drove off, and I went inside to continue packing and read some Sandman. I had packed my paisley duffel bag with my clothes for the weekend and my makeup and toiletries. I was going to fill my lavender and black backpack with my music, a couple of books, my teddy bear and anything I would need for my trip to The Great Escape the following day.
My mom returned from the store with our drinks and some breakfast. She got me a Koffee Kup Bakery cruller, which is my favorite. It's your basic twisty little cruller, dusted with cinnamon and sugar; it's delicious. I retreated to my room to eat my pastry and drink my mocha frappuchino, I read more Sandman while I ate.

After I finished, I went back outside to finish cleaning the car. Mom had parked it in the shade, so I wouldn't stew in my own juices while I worked. My elderly neighbor's son was outside painting some wood. I greeted him, and set to work.
I put recycling in one bag, and trash in another. Clothes and shoes got put in a plastic bag of their own. Anything that needed to stay in the car, found a home in the foot well behind the passenger seat. Country music wafted in from next door; I recognized one of the songs from my Willsboro days (The school bus driver only let us listen to country and nothing else.). I found myself singing along softly as I worked.
When I was done cleaning the car, I brought the bags of trash, recycling and clothes upstairs into the apartment. Then I went into my room to finish packing and get dressed. Yes, I hadn't even gotten dressed yet, I was still clad in my PJs.
I got easily distracted by Sandman. I should have been getting dressed, but I was too busy reading about The Endless, Hob Gadling and Cluracan of Faerie. I bet you're thinking, why didn't I just pack it up, so I could read it in the car? I would have, but I happened to be reading The Absolute Sandman, which is roughly the thickness of a phone book, and one of the longest and widest tomes I have ever held in my hands. It is also heavier than a newborn baby. Mom suggested that I could just carry it loose in the car, but I never got around to doing that. I would endure a weekend without my favorite comic.
I finally managed to get dressed and do my toilette (I love saying that). I powdered my body and put on deodorant. Then I dressed in my black t-shirt with the white stripes, my denim miniskirt and a pair of flip-flops. For a final touch, I pinned my "I Need Adult Supervision" button onto my shirt.

I'm going to tell you right now, that I'm not describing every single detail of Friday morning in this blog. There really isn't a point. Between all the packing and preparing, nothing of note really occurred. I'm omitting minor events, that really have no place in my narration. I tend to make my blogs too rich and dense, and you'll notice that this time around, my writing has taken on a very simple tone, with slightly plainer details. I haven't gone off into any tangents...yet.
By noon, we had managed to get most of our luggage and bedding out onto the back porch, ready to load into the car. My sister and I kept this activity interesting by engaging in banter. At one point when I jokingly informed her that I was a doctor she asked:
"Doctor of what?"
At a loss for words, I responded: "Doctor of Shut The Fuck Up, that's what!"
Next door, the neighbor's middle-aged son (the guy who was painting) erupted into laughter, as did my mother and sister, I do believe. I admit that the spontaneous zing was vaguely amusing, mainly because of its delivery. I'm usually only funny when I'm not trying to be. I had been searching for a wittier reply, but had only come up with that. Unexpected gold.
Finally, we had the car loaded up. The trunk and the backseat (save for where I would be sitting) was stuffed to the gills with suitcases, duffel bags, pillows, lawn chairs and the odd battle ax (I kid, I kid). We piled into the car and pulled out of the driveway. We managed to leave the house sometime between 12:00 and 12:30, just when my mom wanted to. So far, so good. We were on our way.

Coming up in part two...a few minor setbacks, and a surprise celebrity appearance (in the form of a window cling)!

What's coming up for Musings and Ponderings

I've been trying to avoid writing more memoirs. So far it's been easy, because I haven't had any ideas for new ones. Nor was I in the mood to write any non-memoir entries, simply because of my ever-present writer's block.
But this morning, I had idea for a new memoir. Yes, I know, I write too many of these, and they're usually about Amusement Parks, most notably The Great Escape and Splashwater Kingdom. I swear, I blog about them so much they should pay me!
This coming weekend, I will be attending my Aunt Jenny's vow renewal ceremony, in upstate New York. The main event is taking place on Sunday, but my mother, sister and I will be leaving this Friday. On Saturday, my Uncle Russel will be taking me to The Great Escape, since the Vow Renewal Ceremony will be nearby. The entire weekend I think, will be perfect fodder for my blog. I will be writing this in three or four volumes. The first volume will cover the events of Friday, when we will drive from Bellows Falls, VT to Mechanicsville, NY. This will be a fairly short volume, with few chapters. The second volume will involve my trip to The Great Escape with my uncle. This might be my longest volume, for you all know that I can describe an amusement park trip in great detail. The third volume will be an account of the Ceremony and following reception. I do not know how many chapters this one will contain. The final volume will describe the trip home. This will possibly be the most boring memoir I have ever written.
This is clearly the most ambitious and self-indulgent blog project I have ever undertaken. It might be a bad idea. It certainly won't earn me any more followers.
Why don't I lump the entire weekend into one single memoir, instead of writing four separate ones? I did that with Hershey after all; I certainly didn't divide that entire adventure into parts. So why am I doing it for this adventure, before it has even started? Have I finally lost it? Writers are horrible people. We take every aspect of our lives and use it for our art. I feel like I'm exploiting this weekend. I feel perhaps, with this epic four volume memoir series, I'm going too far. Who knows if I am or not? I may not even write about everything, just Saturday's events. I'm afraid that intending to write about this event may raise my expectations, or somehow make my feelings about the weekend less genuine. Tell you what, I'll stop thinking about it, and put these plans on the back burner. I'll enjoy this weekend for what it is, spending time with family, witnessing two people renew their vows and seeing my grandma for the first time in ten years.

Finished at Last!

I have finally finished my massive memoir rewrite! I just finished editing Fox and Squirrel Go On An Adventure, not a few minutes ago. Even though I'm supposed to be done, I still feel the urge to continue editing. I'll probably do another rewrite in a few months. Especially since I've noticed that I keep using the word linear when I should be saying chronological in some of my entries.

So now I ask myself for the millionth time, what do I write next? Should I dredge up another memoir? Or should I write something with some actual meaning? I've got some new blog ideas floating around, but I'm not sure which ones to use. What I do know is that I'd like a bowl of soup. BRB, Soup.

Two Down One To Go

So now I've finished rewriting the Hershey Memoir, meaning that I've only go one more to finish. I don't know if I like how I finished it, though. I never used to doubt my writing skills, before. I've never had anyone tell me I'm a bad writer, though. I usually have people say "You're really good!" Well, what makes me a good writer? Are you only saying it to be nice? If I'm such a good writer, why do I only have four blog followers?
Lately, I've been getting ideas for my blog, great ones, only to lose them before I can get to a computer. They usually involve food or culture and I usually get them when I'm half asleep. Other times I'll get an idea, and then realize it's too personally motivated to put on my blog. Or that if I write it, I'll piss someone off.
I do not like getting involved in drama, even though I am oft times embroiled in it. I try to avoid it, but I can't help it a lot of the time. I regret to say that I am ruled by my emotions. My emotions , my compulsions get me in a lot of trouble. I have to learn how to keep my thoughts to myself, and not dig my own grave with my verbal diarrhea. I would post some of my thoughts in my blog if I could, but the tricky thing about the internet is that anyone can see what you post anytime. Once it's there, it's like a tattoo.
So I keep the private, explosive thoughts in a diary. As for the blog ideas which are viable, I'll have to write those down to, so I can remember them. I'll have to remind myself to do that. Forgetfulness is a vicious cycle.
So I'm almost done rewriting my little memoirs. With any luck, I'll be finished in about six months.

One down, two to go.

I finished rewriting at least one of the memoirs, My First Trip to The Great Escape. This was no great feat, considering that it is the shortest of the three memoirs, having only six parts. I will certainly finish the Hershey Memoir next, for it has seven parts. The most recently written one will take the longest, for it has a whopping eleven parts.

My life has been a little difficult lately, for personal reasons. I've been dealing with a lot of my issues. This won't affect my writing too much, because I don't write a lot to begin with. It is a stroke of luck that I managed to finished editing two entries today, for most days I can't even bother to even start a brand new entry. I've been plagued by anxiety and general malaise, despite the pleasant weather. I do not know when things will start to look up, or if they will at all.

Have I gone too far?

I'm starting to wonder if I've gone too far with my memoir rewrites. At the beginning I vowed I would only fix a couple sentences and mend grammatical errors. But now I find myself rewriting entire paragraphs! Yes, I do have paragraphs. The formatting of this blog doesn't allow the indentations to appear. So I just break up my story into spaced chunks.

So I'm rewriting entire chunks now! Soon it'll get to the point where I'll delete an entire entry and just start from scratch!

I'm just trying to improve my writing. Is that such a bad thing? Am I taking this too seriously? I mean, they do sound better after I'm through with them. They make more sense after I revise them, they truly do. I still don't have an outside opinion though. Damn.

Disgust and Dismay

A few minutes ago, I logged into my blog with the intention of continuing my memoir rewrite. To my surprise, I noticed I had a new follower. A new follower! A strange coincidence, after writing an entry lamenting my lack of followers, right?
My surprise and delight was shattered when I realized that my new follower was none other than my ex-boyfriend, Bryan. This discovery filled me with a mixture of disgust and dismay, as the title suggests. He followed both my blogs, including my inactive blog from a high school health class.
How did he find me you ask? Well, several months ago, I left a mildly snarky comment on a blog entry he'd written regarding health care. Why, I don't know; I'm very impulsive sometimes. He responded with sincerity, clearly missing the snarkiness in my tone. Did he know who I was? Most likely, seeing as the title of my abandoned Health Class Blog has my last name in it. After all, how many people have my surname?

Why would he want to follow the ex-girlfriend who broke his heart and (literally) broke his balls? Is he still obsessed with me, as he was in the months after I dumped him? Does he follow me to keep tabs on me, wondering if my life if better or worse than his?
I check up on my exes via the internet whenever I'm bored. My motive is generally one of curiosity, I want to see they're doing with their lives, if they ever still think about me. Lots of people do the same thing, especially women. Women relish the idea of their exes still thinking about them, it strokes our egos.
For me, it strokes my ego and disgusts me to find an ex still thinking of me. On one hand, I feel a certain pride knowing that I made such an impact on their lives.

My relationship with Bryan lasted one month and three weeks. I was twelve at the time, and he was fourteen. It was for my part, unpleasant, mainly because I was not emotionally ready to have a boyfriend. I panicked, and fled. He reacted by following me around, attempting to win me back. Then, when he realized he wouldn't ever get me back, a rivalry began. Who was the better thespian? Who was the better singer? Who was cooler? With the rivalry came an abundance of bitterness.
We both hated each other, and both tried to constantly outdo the other. The whole thing created plenty of amusement for our peers, and plenty of frustration and humiliation for me. I regretted ever meeting him, and I still feel that way.

When I moved to VT, I thought I had escaped the drama. But thanks to the internet, the drama sought me out and found me, causing more trouble. He's messaged me on Myspace, followed me on my blog. I'll never be able to evade my juvenile mistake of dating him. The internet makes it easy to find anyone you want. All these social networking sites, like Facebook and Twitter only make it easier. It's a problem that we are only just beginning to grasp.

This unspoken rivalry, as old as it is, will probably never go away. The urge to one-up a nemesis never does. I can hold a grudge for a damn long time, too. I was a kid when this started, just a kid who made a stupid decision that should have meant nothing at all. But instead it turned into an epic clusterfuck, one I can never escape. Normal people don't hold death grudges with former childhood sweethearts, you know?

So I blocked him from my blog (let's hear it for alliteration!). I only wish that I'd written this blog before hand, so he could see this and answer for himself. I want to know his intentions, and then I want him to go the fuck away.

Memoir rewrites!

I started to write a blog about some of my obsessive compulsive rituals involving food, but had an attack of writer's block. The thought of writing more memoirs kept taunting, teasing and tempting me. I couldn't settle upon another idea for a memoir, nor did I want to make this blog redundant, so I resisted the urge. But the urge grew stronger, and my obsession with self-indulgence and rich details began to consume me. So I decided to re-read my already published memoirs. Doing so left me dissatisfied and frustrated, for nothing about my published works sounded right. The language sounded stilted and awkward, and I found a few grammatical mistakes peppered here and there. My writing didn't make any sense, and didn't sound as intelligent as I had previously thought.

So I decided to fix it. I've started rewriting them, though not completely. Nothing drastic, just a few touch-ups here and there. Rewrite a few sentences, add some semicolons (the semicolon obsession persists!) and fix mistakes. I'll add more information in some places, to flesh out my already florid and corpulent details. I have a few doubts about this clean-up though, a feeling that I'm simplifying my work and making it as dull as Stephenie Meyer's prose. A writer is often her worst critic though, so I need a second opinion to tell me if these changes are for better or worse. Unfortunately, it looks like my followers don't seem very interested. I think perhaps they don't really care about the memoirs (which is why I've decided to avoid them from now on). I must admit that the memoirs are more for me, than the reader, and I use this blog as an outlet for my memories and opinions. I didn't start writing to garner attention (though that is an incentive, sometimes); I started writing for my pleasure, a reason I think a lot of people start writing for. Very few people write for unselfish reasons I think.

I've begun to doubt my talent. I suppose a lot of writers doubt themselves, like Stephen King. He was never going to publish Carrie, but his wife took the manuscript out of the trash and convinced him to go through with it. Sometimes, all a writer needs is a sensible person to slap them in the face and say "you don't suck!". I haven't had anyone do that for this blog though. This little corner of the internet goes widely ignored, no matter how often I pimp it out to friends and loved ones.

But I'm going to keep on trucking. I enjoy writing, whether or not anyone notices that I'm doing it (though it would be nice if someone did). I'm going to obsessively rewrite my self-indulgent, florid memoirs and maybe even write some new ones. At some point, I'll write some regular blogs, when the mood takes me and my mind allows me such a boon. Who knows what I'm going to do next with this blog, or if anyone is going to ever see it? Maybe it won't be such a big deal if I stop thinking about it.

What to write next?

Now that I've finished my third self-indulgent memoir, I am at a loss of what to write next. Should I discuss politics or literature? Should I write an articulate rant? I considered writing another memoir; perhaps about something that has nothing to do with amusement parks. I have also considered editing all my memoirs, for I feel that they do not have enough semicolons. I do not know why I treat these memoirs with such reverence. Perhaps it is the amount of detail and work I put into these, taking days or even weeks to write even a single entry, editing and re-editing them. I certainly don't put as much effort into my other entries.
If I wrote another one, what would it even be about? One idea I had was that I would write about a trip my father and I took to The Shelburne Museum. I've also thought about writing about another amusement park trip, but I was afraid I would make myself redundant.

Normally, my mind is swimming in ideas about what to write, ideas I quickly forget due to the fact that I've got the attention span of a squirrel. But lately, I've been having some 'writer's block'. I don't know what ideas to use (if I can even conjure any to begin with) and when I do actually start to compose something, I begin to doubt its quality. Am I using too many details or not enough? Is my grammar correct; where do I put a semicolon? Did I use that semicolon in my last sentence correctly?
It seems of late, that my anxiety has gotten worse and worse. Every aspect of my life is fraught with intense feelings of anxiety and nervousness. My mind overcrowded with screaming obsessive thoughts. Then, the depression and the despair sweeps through. Nothing seems right, and everything my friends do or say annoys me.
I've had a lot of unwanted drama in my life lately, most of it of my own making. Things I should have left unsaid, now out in the open. Misunderstood words coming back to bite me in the ass. It feels like my life is falling apart, and at this point, I'm willing to let it. What else can I do? There does not seem to be much I can do to stop fate, so I am going to have to take things as they come, and learn to accept the inevitable.

Fox and Squirrel Pt. 11

This is the final chapter of my longest, most self-indulgent memoir. And this time, I mean it. I don't know what I'm going to blog about after this. I might start another memoir, or I might actually blog about something other than myself. Who knows? Also, I'm tired of writing this, so it might be a little bit sloppy.
Part 11: Time To Go Home
As you already know, we had chosen The Flying Trapeze to be our final ride. Since it was the end of the day, there was virtually no line. So we got on the ride much quicker than usual.
We selected our swings, and fastened all the safety restraints. While we waited for the ride to start, we swung ourselves back and forth, just like one would on a regular playground swing. I think a lot of people do this whenever they go one one of these rides.
The ride began, lifting us into the air, then us spinning around. It was pretty fast, though not as fast as the swings at Hershey Park (which are prettier as well, thanks to the art, which features Victorian women right out of Godey's Ladies Book). The view was pretty amazing though, one could see the setting sun, and The Boomerang Coaster. I could hear the kids behind us, talking about The Boomerang. Then one of them idly mentioned, that whenever they ride the swings, that they're afraid that the chains of their swing are going to snap off and send them flying to their deaths. I laughed, I have that exact same fear myself. I'm terrified that one day, I'll be riding one of these things, and the chains are just going to snap, sending me flying out to my certain doom. This is of course, very unlikely, since the chains are generally very strong, and one would have to be immensely heavy in order to make them break. You'd have to be, like 500 pounds in order for this to occur. But it's unlikely a 500 pound person would even be on one of these swings, because the seats would be unable to contain their ass, after all. Also, I think most rides have weight limits.

When the ride was over, it was time to go home. The park was closing, and crowds of people were navigating their way to the park's exit. We joined this great herd, which moved slowly, as if everyone was reluctant to leave or just too exhausted to move quickly. The latter is more logical. By park's closing, most people just want to get home, or to their hotel rooms and collapse. Amusement parks take a lot out of you.
Usually, whenever I leave an amusement park, I take a moment to muse upon its fading magic. During the day, an amusement park is loaded with magic. Its loud noises, its bright colors, the way they draw you in and enchant you. At night, when all the lights turn on and the place sparkles, there's a different kind of magic, but a magic all the same. But then, when the park closes, the fey glamor of the place wears off. The rides are still and silent, the concession stands no longer give off luscious smells. The place is going to sleep, and when it's sleeping, it can't work its magic on anyone.
But as we left, I was not musing upon these thoughts. I was just too tired, too sore and too uncomfortable to think. I just wanted to get out of this crowd, get to the car and go home. I wonder how Acacia felt. I think she was just as tired as I was, and probably not looking forward to driving all the way home.

We entered the little International Village, where, as you already know, the parks entrance and exit are located. We'd had our picture taken there that afternoon when we walked into the park, and meant to pick up the photos (supposedly they were free if we presented the ticket that the photographer given us). We never even got close to the photo kiosk though, because it was so crowded. It was as if every single park guest had rushed to that kiosk at once, and so we decided to head on home.
We exited through the gift shop, stopping to admire a few things, but since we had no money to spare, we moved on pretty quickly. After all, we really wanted to go home.

We made the long trek back to the car, our bodies sore, our legs unwilling. Up the ramp, over the bridge and into the vast parking lot. I wished we hadn't parked so far back. My bra was chafing my skin and my feet were hurting.
When finally we made it to the car, Acacia and I stripped off any garments we found uncomfortable. I whipped off my bra, for the under wire was poking and irritating my skin, the straps cutting into my shoulders. Acacia rid herself of those damp shorts, which she had been wearing all day without any complaint (though she had declared earlier that she would not wear them for the ride home). We threw our stuff into the back seat and got in the car. I peeled off my shoes and socks, and let my feet breathe.
The ride home was subdued. Every part of my body hurt, and I fell asleep quickly. I only woke up when we stopped at the Stewart's gas station. I had to pee, plus it was my job to pay for gas, seeing as Acacia was clad only in a t-shirt and bright orange underwear, and would not put those shorts on again for anything. So, I pulled on my sneakers without putting my sweaty socks back on or even bothering to lace them, and got out of the car with the rest of our cash.

I felt awkward, stumbling into Stewart's without a bra on. I'm very subconscious about my breasts (you would be too if you were my cup size) you see, and felt uncomfortable going into the station with them in their unbridled state. So I crossed my arms over my chest, as if trying to keep them from wandering away, and shuffled over to the bathroom.
It was occupied. Of course it was occupied. It's a well known fact, that whenever you're at a gas station and in a hurry, the bathroom will be occupied, or the line will be ridiculously long. Whenever you're in a hurry, there will always be some obnoxious obstacle.
Eventually, the man in the bathroom finally vacated (and naturally, it seemed like he took an eternity. It's as if they do it on purpose you know, because they know someone is waiting, and want to be a total dick about it.) and I had my turn. Then I went to the counter and bought our gas. It was my first time buying gas, and I had no idea how to do it. We didn't have enough money for the amount Acacia wanted, so I had to ask for as much gas as our money would buy. I don't even remember how much money it was nor do I remember which one of us pumped the gas. I think it must have been me, because in her pants-less state, Acacia could not get out of the car. I had to have her guidance of course, seeing as I don't know how to pump gas, much less even drive a car. The whole experience at the gas station was very surreal.

The rest of the ride home was very much a blur. I dozed on and off, my body screaming in pain from the day's excursions. At some point, we passed the state borders. We were back in Vermont.
But we weren't home yet. We still had aways to go, for we were on the west side of VT, and home was on the easternmost edge of the state. Luckily, we were in the narrowest part of the VT. But the ride still seemed to last forever, and not in the exciting way our ride to the Great Escape had been. After all, we were very tired. Also, I felt strangely melancholy, as I often do after a fun trip. There's all the emotional build-up and excitement. Then during the event itself, there's a kind of emotional climax. It's like being high on my own feelings. When it's all over, and I come down from this high, I find myself drained and depressed.
That's what I was feeling at the moment. Usually it goes away after a couple of days filled with feelings of uneasiness. But for some reason, after this trip, I sunk into another depression, which would land me in group therapy.

When we were approaching Chester, Acacia asked if I wanted to stay another night at her house, seeing as she would be too tired to drive into Bellow's Falls. As much as I adore Acacia, I didn't feel like staying another night in an unfamiliar place, and begged her to take me to my own home. I wanted to see my mother, and to sleep in my own bed. Kindly, she agreed, on the condition that I hand her a Rice Krispy treat to give her enough energy to get us both home. I obliged and we continued on to Bellow's Falls.
We pulled up in front of my house. I knew it was late, but I didn't know what time it was, only that it was dark. It may have been anywhere between 10 PM and Midnight. I gathered my things, my overnight bag, my backpack, the tote full of food and the cooler. So much stuff to drag inside! Then Acacia and I said our farewells, and I staggered into the house.

The end of our adventure is rather anticlimactic, I'm afraid. As soon as I got in the house, I dropped all the bags on the nearest chair, and changed into a pair of pajamas. I told my mother all about my day, describing rides, telling her how expensive it everything was.
I was exhausted, my body ached and my throat was hoarse from screaming on the roller coasters. Emotionally, I felt a little drained, the excitement of the day being over and all
And as I went to bed that night, physically and emotionally worn out, I knew one thing for certain.
I was going to write about this day in my blog.

Well, that's it. The damn memoir is finally finished. Maybe now I can write about something meaningful. Or, I can just write another self-indulgent memoir.