Skip to main content

Noodles: The Circle(s) of Death.

The first, and only, time my parents took me up in a Ferris wheel, I cried (a lot).
Now take that sentence and replace “Ferris wheel” with every other nausea-inducing motion device you can imagine, and you’ll have, in a nutshell, my experience with theme parks and carnivals throughout childhood.  Throughout my teen years as well, except my parents got wise sometime around my tenth birthday and never took me anywhere fun ever again.
Basically, carnival rides, water slides, roller coasters, and related torture-mechanisms are not my cup of tea.  Once, it took three grown adults (redundant, but redundant with purpose, for emphatic emphasis) to pry my apparently heroically-muscular fingers from a safety rail at the top of a water slide.  It took them literal minutes.  I’m actually a little proud of that.  How many seven year olds have “heroically-muscular” anythings?  
Another time, though I’ve mostly blocked the circumstances from my memory, I screamed so much on a ride that my parents had to beg the attendant to shut it down before I hyperventilated myself to an early grave (note, hyperventilation is more deadly than your average roller coaster).  They were humiliated (My parents and the attendant.  Basically, everyone within three miles was humiliated).  
In general, I’ve always preferred rides that move at a sedate pace and resemble horses or other friendly animals.  I see nothing to be ashamed of in this, and remain perplexed at my adult friends’ small enthusiasm when I suggest a spin on the merry-go-round.  Someday I will have children of my own and be able to enjoy such rides vicariously, or as a “good parent” who “does things with her child out of the goodness of her heart”, but in the meantime, I only have two options.  

1.  Avoid carnivals by any means possible, which is a weak plan because I really really really love merry-go-rounds.  OR, more practically,
2.  Fake sudden death while waiting in line for the Spin-Until-Your-Brain-Comes-Out-Of-Your-Mouthtm, and let my friends ride the ride without me while I lie happily motionless under the coroner’s blanket.  

Problem solved.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Welcome to Weirdness!

Hi, world, and welcome to “The Password’s Lasagna”!  One day I’ll share where that name came from - for now, just revel in the wonderful idioticity of the word “Lasagna”.  Say it over and over again.  Let it flip off your tongue in all its gleeful lasagnaness.  Say it until it means nothing, say it ‘til it means everything.  Lasagna.  It’s a word with many layers.  Moving on quickly now... I have to wonder if, in a year, I will regret this first post.  I’ll think “what kind of imbecilic idiot was I, to think starting a blog would be a good idea?”  As if there aren’t more constructive things to do.  Like...fishing.  Or hunter-gathering (which is the sport of gathering as many hunters as possible in one weekend and stuffing them all in the back of a closed pickup, preferably with a limb or so hanging out and dripping blood).  Or making clay...things.  Useful things.  Mugs and the like.  Or I could be chillin...
3 comments
Read more

Noodles: It’s autumn, all of you.

Hi world.  It’s me, your favorite super sheltered, extremely Scandinavian, strangely endearing pile of soggy, tomato-drenched crinkly noodles! Otherwise known as Baby Swedish Lasagna under an Inadequate Tent. The reason I bring up my origins is this: I grew up without hearing anyone say “y’all”.  I believe the contraction never crossed my path outside of a book until middle school, when it became trendy among my equally sheltered, pale-skinned friends. I started saying it often, with little understanding of its pronunciation, spelling, or proper usage. At some point, perhaps in a fit of cultural sensitivity, maybe after the madness of middle school had seeped out of my neurons, I stopped using it. Except in emails. Yes, my friends, I am an email y’aller.  It just works for the already-awkward group conversations.  There’s honestly no equivalent in northern dialect.  Check it out. “You guys.”  Offensive to feminists. “You girls.”  Offensive...
4 comments
Read more

Cheese: I think I know what “disconcerting” truly is now.

It’s hearing someone whisper the words “hot and spicy pizza” out of context while your back is turned to them and what they’re saying is literally none of your business and three inch long unidentified bugs are landing in your hair. But that’s beside the point.  Today is all about the cartoons, after all.  Unfortunately, I don’t have any prepared except one which might possibly be the most subversive cartoon I’ve done to date.  Again, most unfortunately, I’m not in the mood to shock and offend at this exact moment, so I’m going to take the easy road and publish this completely unnoffensive little sketch of a cute mushroom-hatted person.  (Psst, it’s not funny, it’s just cute and I don’t know why I expect you to want to look at it, but just humor me.)
2 comments
Read more