Ok, so once upon a time a couple years ago, a relative of mine wanted to set me up on a blind date with a young man from her ward. She was very excited, and I figured, "What the heck." She gave him my number, and later that week he gave me a call. Unfortunately, I cannot remember his name, so we shall call him Harry. Harry sounds like a good story name. Anyway, so Harry called me and we got to know each other just a tad via cellular phone and he seemed like a decent guy.
D-day (Date Day) came around, and I'm sure I was nervous. I was ALWAYS nervous before dates, and this was a guy I'd never even met, which was kinda scary. (Boys were scary in those days.) But anyway, he knocks on the door and we are on our way.
We drive to campus, and he says that we are going to show. I was immediately excited. I love shows, whether they be symphonies, plays, ballets, tap dances...I'm all over that kind of stuff. But then he asked me, "Do you know where the Eyring Building is?" For those of you unfamiliar with the BYU campus, the "Eyring Building" would be the Eyring Science Center (ESC). Not exactly a place conducive for shows. In fact, almost all shows were in the HFAC (Harris Fine Arts Center). So I was rather curious as to what kind of show we would be seeing.
We made our way to Eyring Science Center, making "I-feel-awkward-and-don't-know-what-to-say-so-let's-mutually-interview-each-other" questions. The more we talked, the clearer it was that we were not exactly compatible. He was some kind of computer major, which I have no problem with, don't get me wrong, but it was clear he did not exactly have any kind of appreciation at all for the arts.
....I am an art major.
Nonetheless, I try to enjoy my dates whatever the circumstances. We went inside the ESC, and made our way to the top of the building where the "show" was. I asked him how he knew about these tickets, as I hadn't seen anything even advertising any kind of show here on campus, and he lived all the way in Salt Lake. He pointed in pride, "See the name of the room? That's my grandpa--it's named after him." Ah. How random.
When we got there, we had missed the first "showing," but there would be another one in a half hour that we could go to. I began to wonder what kind of show was only a half hour long. So, for the next half hour, we awkwardly wandered the halls of the ESC, analyzing the strange featured science experiments that mysteriously inhabited the yellow-tinted halls.
Most thankfully, the half hour eventually ticked by, and we entered the planetarium along with some other people. We were each handed a small pair of yellow binoculars and our seats in the rather comfortable reclining chairs. The lights darkened. A man in charge instructed us to lean our seat back so we were lying down. We gazed up at the dark artificial sky gleaming with carefully placed gleaming stars. A man began to speak.
As the man spoke, and pointed out various constellations with his spiffy little red laser pen, it did not take us long to figure out that this was not a show at all. It was a lecture on star formations.
After about fifteen minutes, I looked over at my date, who appeared to be fast asleep. Awesome. My date had fallen asleep during our date. But he couldn't have been sleeping too deeply, because about five minutes later I felt a touch on my shoulder. Harry leaned over and said, "I am SO sorry--I thought this was going to be something else!" I told him not to worry about it, that I liked stuff like this (I actually did...) and that it was really no problem. Nonetheless, our already awkward date had just been made about fifty times more uncomfortable, besides the fact that we were lying next to each other in a dark room, and little yellow binoculars are not exactly the coolest fashion craze.
The lecture finally ended, and Harry walked me home. We continued more uncomfortable conversation along the way, and after an eternity, we finally reached my door. We hugged good night, and Harry disappeared.
....I never have heard from him since.
....and I am okay with that.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Creating...
So, I had a really crummy day the other day, so I composed a song to make me feel better. I'm no pro at music, but I felt this as pretty decent for my first time, although a little rough. It takes a few seconds for it to start.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
#16: One of the many reasons why my mother is BRILLIANT
I have asthma. As such, about once a year I get pretty sick with asthma attacks, which means taking nebulizer treatments every few hours for a few days. It looks pretty intense if you've never seen it before, but really isn't.
Well, when I was nine, I got a bad attack from a school soccer game. Inhalers did not work, and after a couple of days of treatments, those did not work either. We went to the doctor, who immediately told us I needed to be hospitalized. We will skip the trauma I had and feeling like I was going to die.
After the initial fears had past, it was apparent that this was not to be an overnight stay. That weekend also happened to be Halloween. And so, to make lemonade out of lemons, my mom came up with something genius: the went to the pet store and bought 5 live goldfish. Then, with little convincing, asked my nurse, Peggy, if we could have an unused IV bag. The goldfish were placed into the IV bag, which was promptly hung next to my real IV bag. At first glance, it appeared that my body was being pumped with goldfish water.
Then, Nurse Peggy decided to take it a step further. She called up the woman who was in charge of bringing in the hospital's medical supplies. Upon opening the door to my hospital room, she cried, "Look what they did!!"
The woman about had a heart attack right there.
The next 2 minutes sounded like this: "Oh my GOSH!! You poor thing!! How could they do this!?..."
It was all I could do to not bust up laughing right there. Eventually, my mom looked at me and asked, "Should we tell her?" The woman stopped ranting, had that deer in the headlights look for a brief second, and then began cracking up when she realized the whole thing had been a joke.
For the remainder of my 5-day stay, the goldfish display spread around the hospital and periodically doctors would peek in my room just to see it. We were famous. :)
To this day, one of my most favorite photographs is a polaroid of a little girl with oxygen tubes up her nose, her mother and nurse on either side, and a bag of little orange fish swimming innocently around in a hospital IV bag.
Well, when I was nine, I got a bad attack from a school soccer game. Inhalers did not work, and after a couple of days of treatments, those did not work either. We went to the doctor, who immediately told us I needed to be hospitalized. We will skip the trauma I had and feeling like I was going to die.
After the initial fears had past, it was apparent that this was not to be an overnight stay. That weekend also happened to be Halloween. And so, to make lemonade out of lemons, my mom came up with something genius: the went to the pet store and bought 5 live goldfish. Then, with little convincing, asked my nurse, Peggy, if we could have an unused IV bag. The goldfish were placed into the IV bag, which was promptly hung next to my real IV bag. At first glance, it appeared that my body was being pumped with goldfish water.
Then, Nurse Peggy decided to take it a step further. She called up the woman who was in charge of bringing in the hospital's medical supplies. Upon opening the door to my hospital room, she cried, "Look what they did!!"
The woman about had a heart attack right there.
The next 2 minutes sounded like this: "Oh my GOSH!! You poor thing!! How could they do this!?..."
It was all I could do to not bust up laughing right there. Eventually, my mom looked at me and asked, "Should we tell her?" The woman stopped ranting, had that deer in the headlights look for a brief second, and then began cracking up when she realized the whole thing had been a joke.
For the remainder of my 5-day stay, the goldfish display spread around the hospital and periodically doctors would peek in my room just to see it. We were famous. :)
To this day, one of my most favorite photographs is a polaroid of a little girl with oxygen tubes up her nose, her mother and nurse on either side, and a bag of little orange fish swimming innocently around in a hospital IV bag.
#15: My Worst Birthday. Ever.
As a warning, this particular chronicle is not funny. It's actually rather depressing. But is somewhat embarrassing. I'll let you be the judge.
There are certain birthdays that people look forward to more than others. 8 for baptism...12 to get out of primary...16 to start dating...18 to be an official "adult"...21 (although since we don't drink as Mormons this birthday isn't quite as hyped).... Anyway, I was about to have one of those special days. The big 1-8. March 27. It even conveniently fell on a weekend. I was about to become an adult, and as my birthday neared I couldn't help but be excited. Of course, family traditions were what made these kind of events even more special. The main thing that I always looked forward to was the impeccable and creative cake my sweet mother would make the night before. I wasn't planning any kind of birthday party--at the time I sort of had a phobia of social situations. But a party just with my family was good enough for me.
Then, somewhat unexpectedly, my great-grandmother passed away just a few days before my birthday. I mean, she was 89 years old, but she hadn't been terribly sick. My grandparents even came home from their mission in Ecuador to deal with the situation since they hadn't exactly been planning on it. The funeral was planned for Saturday, March 26, and my out-of-state siblings flew in to be there.
Since she was elderly, her passing wasn't terribly difficult at first. It was simply her time to go. But I was the closest to her out of the great-grandchildren, and had spent many hours with her conversing about her life and my life and just life in general. So after the initial reaction wore off, I found myself needing to mourn, but had no convenient way of doing so, as now my home was full of people. I just needed a little "cry time" but there was no feasible way of doing so with so many people around, and I refused to cry in front of people. This naturally created some inner tension and emotional turmoil, but I handled it. At least all of my siblings would be here for my birthday, right?
Saturday rolled around. The funeral was really nice. My mom had taken the assignment of the "after-funeral party" (what exactly would you call that???) which meant providing most of the food as well. The typical finger foods and a chocolate Costco cake were bought and partially consumed. Throughout the day, I kept having a gnawing feeling that tomorrow's birthday festivities would not be exactly how I'd hoped. More inner turmoil. That thought made me feel extremely guilty--it was my great-grandma's funeral and I was worrying over my birthday! Really?? Guilt fest. More inner turmoil. I held on to a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I would still at least get a birthday cake. But it wasn't looking too good.
I arose the next morning. I walked into the kitchen and made a quick scan. I knew it had been too much to expect my mom to make me a birthday cake after everything she'd had to do the day before, but I'll admit I still felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Then, my eye caught something else. There, on the counter, sneering at me in subtle mockery lay the half-eaten brown frosted glob of a funeral cake... yes....my birthday cake. I tried not to think about it. But I couldn't help but make the mental connection that in some sick twist of fate a funeral cake was laying there presenting itself on the day of my 18th birthday. In my mind, I tried to laugh it off as an ironical joke. But all of the emotional turmoil inside me had gradually been building up over the course of the week, and I was probably PMSing on top of it. I tried hard to contain myself.
Shortly after, my mom came in. She sincerely apologized for not having been able to make me a birthday cake. I understood--please don't judge me as selfish. But at this moment, I tried to brush it off by pleasantly joking, "Don't worry, haha, I'll just have a funeral cake as my birthday cake!" I began to laugh. And then, as if someone had turned a switch, my laugh suddenly transformed into hysterical, wracking sobs. It was like a trigger had gone off and I had no self-control. The dam had broken and there was no stopping it. I was so ashamed of crying (crying is an understatement--it was a full-on emotional breakdown) that I began to leave. But as I was trying to leave, my older brother happened to be walking in. He pulled me to him and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into his chest. Bless his heart for the mascara and drool stains I probably smeared onto his white shirt. Somehow, in the course of the next few minutes, I ended up in my bedroom sobbing my eyes out into my pillow, feeling like a horrible person and that my birthday had been ruined.
I found out a couple years later, that while I was having a teary pity party by myself, my dad had called everyone else to a "family counsel" in the parental bedroom to discuss what to do with the situation, as me having complete breakdowns in front of everyone wasn't a common occurrence. I don't know exactly what was decided. But once I had gathered myself together, we celebrated my birthday, not with funeral cake, but with some pink "sympathy" cupcakes that our friend Robin had dropped off for us sometime that weekend. It was a step up to say the least. At least pink was my favorite color, and much more cheery-looking than a morose dirt brown.
Thank you Robin, for saving my birthday. :)
There are certain birthdays that people look forward to more than others. 8 for baptism...12 to get out of primary...16 to start dating...18 to be an official "adult"...21 (although since we don't drink as Mormons this birthday isn't quite as hyped).... Anyway, I was about to have one of those special days. The big 1-8. March 27. It even conveniently fell on a weekend. I was about to become an adult, and as my birthday neared I couldn't help but be excited. Of course, family traditions were what made these kind of events even more special. The main thing that I always looked forward to was the impeccable and creative cake my sweet mother would make the night before. I wasn't planning any kind of birthday party--at the time I sort of had a phobia of social situations. But a party just with my family was good enough for me.
Then, somewhat unexpectedly, my great-grandmother passed away just a few days before my birthday. I mean, she was 89 years old, but she hadn't been terribly sick. My grandparents even came home from their mission in Ecuador to deal with the situation since they hadn't exactly been planning on it. The funeral was planned for Saturday, March 26, and my out-of-state siblings flew in to be there.
Since she was elderly, her passing wasn't terribly difficult at first. It was simply her time to go. But I was the closest to her out of the great-grandchildren, and had spent many hours with her conversing about her life and my life and just life in general. So after the initial reaction wore off, I found myself needing to mourn, but had no convenient way of doing so, as now my home was full of people. I just needed a little "cry time" but there was no feasible way of doing so with so many people around, and I refused to cry in front of people. This naturally created some inner tension and emotional turmoil, but I handled it. At least all of my siblings would be here for my birthday, right?
Saturday rolled around. The funeral was really nice. My mom had taken the assignment of the "after-funeral party" (what exactly would you call that???) which meant providing most of the food as well. The typical finger foods and a chocolate Costco cake were bought and partially consumed. Throughout the day, I kept having a gnawing feeling that tomorrow's birthday festivities would not be exactly how I'd hoped. More inner turmoil. That thought made me feel extremely guilty--it was my great-grandma's funeral and I was worrying over my birthday! Really?? Guilt fest. More inner turmoil. I held on to a small glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, I would still at least get a birthday cake. But it wasn't looking too good.
I arose the next morning. I walked into the kitchen and made a quick scan. I knew it had been too much to expect my mom to make me a birthday cake after everything she'd had to do the day before, but I'll admit I still felt a sharp pang of disappointment. Then, my eye caught something else. There, on the counter, sneering at me in subtle mockery lay the half-eaten brown frosted glob of a funeral cake... yes....my birthday cake. I tried not to think about it. But I couldn't help but make the mental connection that in some sick twist of fate a funeral cake was laying there presenting itself on the day of my 18th birthday. In my mind, I tried to laugh it off as an ironical joke. But all of the emotional turmoil inside me had gradually been building up over the course of the week, and I was probably PMSing on top of it. I tried hard to contain myself.
Shortly after, my mom came in. She sincerely apologized for not having been able to make me a birthday cake. I understood--please don't judge me as selfish. But at this moment, I tried to brush it off by pleasantly joking, "Don't worry, haha, I'll just have a funeral cake as my birthday cake!" I began to laugh. And then, as if someone had turned a switch, my laugh suddenly transformed into hysterical, wracking sobs. It was like a trigger had gone off and I had no self-control. The dam had broken and there was no stopping it. I was so ashamed of crying (crying is an understatement--it was a full-on emotional breakdown) that I began to leave. But as I was trying to leave, my older brother happened to be walking in. He pulled me to him and I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed into his chest. Bless his heart for the mascara and drool stains I probably smeared onto his white shirt. Somehow, in the course of the next few minutes, I ended up in my bedroom sobbing my eyes out into my pillow, feeling like a horrible person and that my birthday had been ruined.
I found out a couple years later, that while I was having a teary pity party by myself, my dad had called everyone else to a "family counsel" in the parental bedroom to discuss what to do with the situation, as me having complete breakdowns in front of everyone wasn't a common occurrence. I don't know exactly what was decided. But once I had gathered myself together, we celebrated my birthday, not with funeral cake, but with some pink "sympathy" cupcakes that our friend Robin had dropped off for us sometime that weekend. It was a step up to say the least. At least pink was my favorite color, and much more cheery-looking than a morose dirt brown.
Thank you Robin, for saving my birthday. :)
Sunday, February 13, 2011
#14: Don't Drink Too Much Liquid at Bedtime
Alright, so I know that this story becomes even more embarrassing by me sharing it in a public place...but I figure someone will get a good laugh about it. This is a mission story, and is copied straight from my journal, with a few insertions as noted by the brackets.
Background: I am in my first month in the mission field, and was still getting used to the groove of missionary work, people skills, and being assertive. I am in a trio with Hermana Ortiz, my Argentine trainer who was intense and who I always wanted to be like, and Hermana Hayes, my "Legally Blonde" companion, who I was put with again 9 months later--love her!! But...takes her time in the bathroom :)
Please don't judge me after reading this.
"So it;s about 7:30 in the morning, but I had to write a funny story. I can't ever tell my companions about this or else everyone will know [I later told them and now everyone will know by me posting this] and they wouldn't look at me the same. But I'm sure someone will get a laugh our of this later, and it kinda makes for a good "mission" story.
So lately I've been waking up at about 5 a.m., usually to go to the bathroom, and then I fall back asleep. Well, this morning I woke up, had to kinda go to the bathroom, but I really just wanted to go back to sleep [I cherish my sleep deeply] and I didn't want to wake up my companions, as my bed creaks a lot [it was basically old wooden planks crudely nailed together]. So I went back to sleep and woke up at around 6:10 or so. Hermana Hayes was already up and praying, and I had to go to the bathroom but I thought I'd try to sleep until my alarm went off as I hate not getting enough sleep. I woke up about 10 minutes later, and Hermana Hayes was in the shower, and now I really had to go to the bathroom. Hermana Ortiz was still sleeping and I laid there figuring as soon as Hermana Hayes opened the bathroom door I would just book it to the bathroom before Hermana Ortiz could. So I waited...began to squirm because I had to pee so badly...thought about walking around to try to not think about how badly I had to go to the bathroom but realized I would pee my pants for sure if I stood up longer than 20 seconds....figured I should at least say my prayers, but I couldn't concentrate because I had to go so bad, and was praying instead that I wouldn't explode.
Each minute kinda dragged on and Hermana Hayes was kinda taking awhile. I debated what to do. I was desperate. I couldn't just walk into the bathroom because there's no shower curtain [the idea of seeing my comp naked would not have been appealing to either of us]. I turned off my alarm at this point, 6:26, as I was already awake and clearly wasn't going to fall back asleep for another 4 minutes. I laid there squirming. And then I took hold of a thought--in our kitchen we have 2 sinks--one normal one [for washing dishes] and then another one in the corner for hand washing clothes that we sometimes use to wash our garments. I debated for all of 2 seconds--which was worse--peeing my pants (which I actually was only wearing garment bottoms and no PJ pants) or doing the other option. Without further hesitation I opted for Plan B. I flew out of bed, threw a skirt on so I wouldn't be seen later by my comps in just my garment bottoms, and I rushed into the kitchen, trying to quickly close the bedroom and kitchen doors behind me. As fast as I could, once I was in the kitchen I pulled down my skirt and bottoms, hopped up on the clothes-washing sink, which was a little higher than I expected--and just let it all go. I hoped Hermana O wouldn't walk in on me--I don't know how I would have explained why I was sitting in our sink going to the bathroom in it, but I wasn't too worried. I finished my business, slightly embarrassed at what I'd done, but mostly relieved and grateful that the sink hadn't collapsed under my weight. I spent the next 10 or so minutes scrubbing the sink out with lots of soap [three different kinds actually, just to be sure], hoping again that neither of my comps would walk in on me, as that would look super suspicious and I didn't have a good enough reason of why I was giving a thorough cleaning of our clothes sink, which I'd only used once for my clothes. When I finished I threw away the sponge I'd used to clean the sink so no one else would use it and I concealed it in a box in the garbage so it wouldn't be found.
I went back to the bedroom. 6:42. Hermana Ortiz was saying her prayers, and Hermana Hayes was just getting out of the shower. Yeah, there's no way I would have lasted. And hopefully my comps will never know of this [they do]. Haha, oh man.
Well, time for personal study.
Hasta luego."
Background: I am in my first month in the mission field, and was still getting used to the groove of missionary work, people skills, and being assertive. I am in a trio with Hermana Ortiz, my Argentine trainer who was intense and who I always wanted to be like, and Hermana Hayes, my "Legally Blonde" companion, who I was put with again 9 months later--love her!! But...takes her time in the bathroom :)
Please don't judge me after reading this.
"So it;s about 7:30 in the morning, but I had to write a funny story. I can't ever tell my companions about this or else everyone will know [I later told them and now everyone will know by me posting this] and they wouldn't look at me the same. But I'm sure someone will get a laugh our of this later, and it kinda makes for a good "mission" story.
So lately I've been waking up at about 5 a.m., usually to go to the bathroom, and then I fall back asleep. Well, this morning I woke up, had to kinda go to the bathroom, but I really just wanted to go back to sleep [I cherish my sleep deeply] and I didn't want to wake up my companions, as my bed creaks a lot [it was basically old wooden planks crudely nailed together]. So I went back to sleep and woke up at around 6:10 or so. Hermana Hayes was already up and praying, and I had to go to the bathroom but I thought I'd try to sleep until my alarm went off as I hate not getting enough sleep. I woke up about 10 minutes later, and Hermana Hayes was in the shower, and now I really had to go to the bathroom. Hermana Ortiz was still sleeping and I laid there figuring as soon as Hermana Hayes opened the bathroom door I would just book it to the bathroom before Hermana Ortiz could. So I waited...began to squirm because I had to pee so badly...thought about walking around to try to not think about how badly I had to go to the bathroom but realized I would pee my pants for sure if I stood up longer than 20 seconds....figured I should at least say my prayers, but I couldn't concentrate because I had to go so bad, and was praying instead that I wouldn't explode.
Each minute kinda dragged on and Hermana Hayes was kinda taking awhile. I debated what to do. I was desperate. I couldn't just walk into the bathroom because there's no shower curtain [the idea of seeing my comp naked would not have been appealing to either of us]. I turned off my alarm at this point, 6:26, as I was already awake and clearly wasn't going to fall back asleep for another 4 minutes. I laid there squirming. And then I took hold of a thought--in our kitchen we have 2 sinks--one normal one [for washing dishes] and then another one in the corner for hand washing clothes that we sometimes use to wash our garments. I debated for all of 2 seconds--which was worse--peeing my pants (which I actually was only wearing garment bottoms and no PJ pants) or doing the other option. Without further hesitation I opted for Plan B. I flew out of bed, threw a skirt on so I wouldn't be seen later by my comps in just my garment bottoms, and I rushed into the kitchen, trying to quickly close the bedroom and kitchen doors behind me. As fast as I could, once I was in the kitchen I pulled down my skirt and bottoms, hopped up on the clothes-washing sink, which was a little higher than I expected--and just let it all go. I hoped Hermana O wouldn't walk in on me--I don't know how I would have explained why I was sitting in our sink going to the bathroom in it, but I wasn't too worried. I finished my business, slightly embarrassed at what I'd done, but mostly relieved and grateful that the sink hadn't collapsed under my weight. I spent the next 10 or so minutes scrubbing the sink out with lots of soap [three different kinds actually, just to be sure], hoping again that neither of my comps would walk in on me, as that would look super suspicious and I didn't have a good enough reason of why I was giving a thorough cleaning of our clothes sink, which I'd only used once for my clothes. When I finished I threw away the sponge I'd used to clean the sink so no one else would use it and I concealed it in a box in the garbage so it wouldn't be found.
I went back to the bedroom. 6:42. Hermana Ortiz was saying her prayers, and Hermana Hayes was just getting out of the shower. Yeah, there's no way I would have lasted. And hopefully my comps will never know of this [they do]. Haha, oh man.
Well, time for personal study.
Hasta luego."
Sunday, February 6, 2011
#13: Fall Documentation (AKA: F.D.)
I have tripped, fallen, or completely eaten it more times than I can remember. I will refer to these moments as F.D.'s--Fall Documentation. They will be short blurbs for a quick laugh and humorous mental visuals. There won't be any specific order to them...just whichever one I feel like writing about at the time.
Location: 9th East
Date: winter semester 2008
Scenario: I have just finished classes and stopped by the Creamery on 9th to get some groceries. Unfortunately, the block between my apartment and the Creamery has been neglected by the sidewalk salter man. Sidewalks are slick and thick with ice. My California sneakers have zero traction. The light has inconveniently turned red, which means there are lots of cars stopped. With groceries in one hand, and my art kit in the other, my zero-traction shoes hit a piece of ice smoother than a recently zambonied ice rink. I'm down on my knees in the blink of an eye in front of all of the stopped traffic. Awesome.
#12: Beware of Sunscreen
Let's admit it, growing up in California has some serious benefits: the beach, the mountains, Hollywood, and a plethora of fantastic theme parks. As such, at Monte Vista Middle School, every Eighth Grade Class was treated to a trip to Six Flags Magic Mountain at the end of every year.
Our long anticipated trip came, and my best friend Meghann and I teamed up quickly in excited glee to conquer every rollercoaster that dared to tempt us. Since it was around summertime, we knew it would be a hot day, and cherry sunburns were all too common of Magic Mountain patrons who neglected to protect their skin. As such, before we did anything, we lathered up our arms, necks, faces, ears, and foreheads with banana-scented creamy white sunblock, and then we were on our merry way.
One of the first rides that we came across was the famous Goliath, the park's tallest rollercoaster. Its orange metal tracks loomed above our 14-year old heads, gleaming in the sunlight, beckoning to us to dare a thrill. We quickly joined the line. However, it became apparent rather quickly that it would be a long wait, 1 1/2 to 2 hours at best. But we had committed to this ride, and we knew that the 3-minutes of glorious screams and near black-outs would be worth the wait. So wait we did.
The line inched forward, snaking around in elaborate patterns as the sun mercilessly beat down upon our heads. Our adolescent bodies began to sweat, and about an hour into our wait, a cry of agony ushered forth from Meghann's lips. Because of the long wait under the hot sun, Meghann's perspiration had mingled with her sunscreen, creating an excruciating concoction of pain that had slowly dripped into her eyes. Not a minute later, my own eyes began to burn under the same fate. But we had waited this long, and we were not ones to give up quickly. So we waited in line, as sunscreen chemicals slowly and maliciously burned themselves into our corneas. Our first reaction was to rub our eyes: bad idea. That only spread the plague and buried the sweat-sunblock mixture deeper into our sockets. Our eyes watered in pain, but we stayed strong.
I'm sure by the time we reached the boarding deck of the rollercoaster, our eyes were probably bloodshot. The pain had gradually become more intense through the long wait of the next hour, and so by the time we boarded, we did not even care about the ride. We just wanted to make it to the nearest source of water to flush our eyes out. Even during the ride itself, all I could think about was how much I wanted it to end and neither of us enjoyed it.
As soon as we disembarked, we rushed to the nearest bathroom, which, fortunately, was close by. Our eyes received an amateur treatment of water flushing, and then, so as to be out of sight of public viewing, we hid behind the bathroom, concealed by some convenient bushes with dripping paper towels over our eyes. The only thing I remember being said during that time was the moan, "It buuuuurns...." uttered by both of us intermittently for the next half hour, plus a comment or two that we probably looked like we had been using drugs and hoped no one would catch us.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided, and we enjoyed the rest of the trip, although I can honestly say I remember nothing else about it, and I have been very cautious of sunscreen ever since.
Our long anticipated trip came, and my best friend Meghann and I teamed up quickly in excited glee to conquer every rollercoaster that dared to tempt us. Since it was around summertime, we knew it would be a hot day, and cherry sunburns were all too common of Magic Mountain patrons who neglected to protect their skin. As such, before we did anything, we lathered up our arms, necks, faces, ears, and foreheads with banana-scented creamy white sunblock, and then we were on our merry way.
One of the first rides that we came across was the famous Goliath, the park's tallest rollercoaster. Its orange metal tracks loomed above our 14-year old heads, gleaming in the sunlight, beckoning to us to dare a thrill. We quickly joined the line. However, it became apparent rather quickly that it would be a long wait, 1 1/2 to 2 hours at best. But we had committed to this ride, and we knew that the 3-minutes of glorious screams and near black-outs would be worth the wait. So wait we did.
The line inched forward, snaking around in elaborate patterns as the sun mercilessly beat down upon our heads. Our adolescent bodies began to sweat, and about an hour into our wait, a cry of agony ushered forth from Meghann's lips. Because of the long wait under the hot sun, Meghann's perspiration had mingled with her sunscreen, creating an excruciating concoction of pain that had slowly dripped into her eyes. Not a minute later, my own eyes began to burn under the same fate. But we had waited this long, and we were not ones to give up quickly. So we waited in line, as sunscreen chemicals slowly and maliciously burned themselves into our corneas. Our first reaction was to rub our eyes: bad idea. That only spread the plague and buried the sweat-sunblock mixture deeper into our sockets. Our eyes watered in pain, but we stayed strong.
I'm sure by the time we reached the boarding deck of the rollercoaster, our eyes were probably bloodshot. The pain had gradually become more intense through the long wait of the next hour, and so by the time we boarded, we did not even care about the ride. We just wanted to make it to the nearest source of water to flush our eyes out. Even during the ride itself, all I could think about was how much I wanted it to end and neither of us enjoyed it.
As soon as we disembarked, we rushed to the nearest bathroom, which, fortunately, was close by. Our eyes received an amateur treatment of water flushing, and then, so as to be out of sight of public viewing, we hid behind the bathroom, concealed by some convenient bushes with dripping paper towels over our eyes. The only thing I remember being said during that time was the moan, "It buuuuurns...." uttered by both of us intermittently for the next half hour, plus a comment or two that we probably looked like we had been using drugs and hoped no one would catch us.
After what seemed like an eternity, the pain subsided, and we enjoyed the rest of the trip, although I can honestly say I remember nothing else about it, and I have been very cautious of sunscreen ever since.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Still in Mission Mode sometimes....
This isn't an embarrassing moment, but just a normal post.
So, there are times when I realize the effect that being a missionary in Paraguay still takes its toll on me, despite having been home for a few months now.
For example:
-when I hear fireworks, I immediately associate them with the world cup, strikes, or political campaigns, and never the fourth of July
-when people follow too close behind me, I fear that they will rob me
-if I were to see a cow in the middle of the road, I would not think twice about it, but I freak out every time I see a deer
-if my food falls on the floor, I don't eat it because here it is socially unacceptable, not because I actually think it would be gross. Which means sometimes I eat it anyway, especially if no one is there watching
So, there are times when I realize the effect that being a missionary in Paraguay still takes its toll on me, despite having been home for a few months now.
For example:
-when I hear fireworks, I immediately associate them with the world cup, strikes, or political campaigns, and never the fourth of July
-when people follow too close behind me, I fear that they will rob me
-if I were to see a cow in the middle of the road, I would not think twice about it, but I freak out every time I see a deer
-if my food falls on the floor, I don't eat it because here it is socially unacceptable, not because I actually think it would be gross. Which means sometimes I eat it anyway, especially if no one is there watching
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