Monday, November 3, 2008

One Day I'll Learn...Maybe...

Okay, so, I'm not particularly known for making the best decisions ever. Like the time I was curious to observe the effects of rolling a bowling ball down a flight of stairs and into a glass panel (I concluded that the result was copious ammounts of adult yelling). Or the time that I tested the effects of pulling my Stretch Arm Strong doll from one end of the bathroom to the other (I concluded that the result was also copious ammounts of adult yelling). In fact, most of my finely-tuned childhood experiments resulted in copious ammounts of adult yelling.
A couple of weeks ago, I naively decided to test the effects of informing my mother that I would be traveling to Ohio for a few days and I was met by a rather familiar conclusion. Even before she knew the circumstances of the trip (going to a wedding as my ex's date). She insisted that I was not allowed to travel to that particular state because it would always be accompanied with incredibly negative consequences. It temporarily slipped my mind that my mother is always right. It also temporarily slipped my mind that I tend to have rather bad out-of-state experiences. From the time I almost caught hypothermia in a mud pit on a Canadian island to the time I starved in the mountains of Colorado to the time I was imprisoned in Kansas.

At the airport I always love to peruse the substancially pricey crap. I found it amusing that I was denied entrance to the terminal with my soda bottle because it could possibly be a secret soda bomb disguised as a regular non-explosive soda. So I was forced to discard it and purchase a new freedom soda at the terminals. They are about four times as expensive, but come with the added peace of mind that they are not secretly bombs. A fair tradeoff I think. And any liquid items I did bring had to be placed in a little baggie. I assume that the explosion-proof baggie is our first line of defense against a terrorist attack involving a partially used tube of toothpaste and a trial size bottle of shampoo.
Something else that kind of baffled me was a sign that made a rather big deal about Venezuelan airports not passing TSA regulations for security. So I wondered quietly to myself how long they spend in line at security compared to the number of planes they let fly into their World Trade Centers. Come to think of it, are we the best country to be judging the security standards of others?

I finally made it through and suddenly wished that I was still on the dangerous side of the checkpoint for I had to observe something that was incredibly tacky. That's right, something that was incredibly tacky. There was a blind woman riding in one of the little shuttle cars (too lazy to walk, I presumed) wearing huge opaque black sunglasses that somehow almost exactly failed to please the eye. Seriously, I know she's blind, but the rest of us aren't. So I proceeded to my gate as they warned us that the terrorist security level was orange (I assumed that either someone slipped a secret soda bomb through security or they were trying to scare away the lady with tacky glasses).

My Ohio destination was a small almost-sort-of-kind-of-like-a-town-but-smaller-and-more-frustratingly-out-of-the-way-kind-of-place called Circleville. Seriously, the name Circleville itself tells you how insignificant this place is. And if that doesn't do the trick then you'll understand when I tell you about their annual Pumpkin Show I attended.

The Pumpkin Show was, on the whole, unspectacular. That's because all pumpkins really do is sit there and be orange. Hell, I could do that if I were orange. And they had a lot of pumpkins there on huge tables. And there were things that were not exactly pumpkins, but seemed kinda similar. And things that were less pumpkin-like than those but were somehow scientifically related to the pumpkins and some things that were rather unlike pumpkins altogether and pumpkins that sat around and did nothing but be orange in their previous bhuddist pumpkin lives and were thusly reincarnated into much the same form but with slight differences that made them somewhat less appealing. And then there was a parade where every middleschool or highschool band marched by and showed everyone how displeasing music can be and how untalentedly they managed to almost hit drums properly. Everyone loved this extravagant display of inadequacy. I clapped when I was relieved it was over.
The wedding itself was nice. I was kind of nervous with it being my first Catholic wedding and all (along with the fear that I'd burst into flames upon endering sacred grounds). It turned out not to be so bad when the attractive groom assumed a kneeling position in front of the Catholic Priest. I stepped aside, however, when it came time to cannibalize the symbolic flesh and blood remains of the Christian Zombie Messiah. That's when I burst into flames (or not so much).

Then, due to a rather unexciting string of coincidences I ended up wandering around this nowhere place quite stranded. It's amazing that I only realize that my mother is right when it's too late to do anything. So I decided to make the best of a bad situation and pose dramatically lost-looking as I took pictures of me emphasized by the vast stretches of fields behind me. Then I got back on the road again. And I did come across a storage unit that, much to my pleasure, complimented the color of my luggage fantastically. So I took a picture of that too.
Then through another chain of only mildly-entertaining events that I don't care to record I ended up back in Texas. Just like always.
I'm tired of typing, so this is the end.

Quote of the Day:  "I refuse to have children not because I'm afraid of what I'll do to a child of mine, but rather I'm afraid of what a child of mine would do to the world."

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