Tilt-o-blech
I truly believe that we all eventually regress to how we were as children.
So, I went to La Crosse's Oktoberfest this past weekend. I was so excited to do all the things I did when I was wee. I played pick-a-duck and won a kick-ass stuffed-flower thingy (much more substantial than the crap they gave you in my day), watched a parade, ate funnel cake, etc. I started actually remembering how thrilling this could be for child. But yet, there was that little voice in me, reminding me I often got sick as a child when I went to the fair. In true Emily-tradition, I ignored it. I thought, "Well, I'm older now. I don't get sick every time I blink. I'm a grown-up." So, I went about trying to make the day enjoyable. And it was ... until Saturday nite.
Saturday nite I was all revved up for a night of drinking, rides, and much frolicking. After a brief afternoon siesta, the Mister and I returned to the grounds early - 'bout 8 or so, and decided to walk around and check things out first. I, of course, being the queen of impatience, saw the Scrambler and decided that we must ride it right away. We did. It was fun. I started feeling the vibe of the fair - kinda felt like a kid again. I thought ... hmmm ... should we scope things out or do more rides? My mind opted for rides.
Big mistake.
So we get on the tilt-o-whirl and I tell angelstoil about my first experience with this ride. I was about 7 or so, and went on it with me mum and me sis, lollipoptrollop. All I remember is this extreme feeling of nauseousness and my kin-folk looking at my blanched face and laughing. It was bad. I feared that damn thing for years. Yet as I grew past childhood, I actually learned to love this ride. And on Saturday nite I figured I'd still love it; I was so excited to ride it again in my ... er ... late twenties ... ahem! I had fun for about 1.37 minutes. Then it started a tiltin' and a whirlin', thanks to the Mister finding the key to the twirl. I felt my face turn white and that iggly-squishy carbonated feeling start in my stomach and rise to my throat. I gripped tight onto the rail and prayed I wouldn't puke on the ride. Erik was having a blast, and I didn't really want to ruin his fun, yet a memory came into my head that I'd once puked ON a ride. I didn't think I could deal with that embarrassment at my age. So everytime we went around and I saw the Carnie-guy, I tried to put a look of sick on my face. I clasped the railing, held my head, everything ... but to no avail. I think this guy got his rocks off watching people get sick. Finally, I told Erik that I needed to get off the ride ... now ... seriously. I think when he saw the green coming into my face he realized I wasn't kidding around. Needless to say, he motioned to the Carnie it was time to quit unless he wanted to clean up puke. So said Carnie stopped the ride (just in time, I may add) so kill-joy Emily could get off. Although I'm proud to say I didn't barf on the ride, I was still humbled by the fact that little children go on this damn thing and have a blast. I am not those children. From this day forward, I will look at the tilt-o-whirl and feel nothing but anger and resentment. I mean, really ... they had to stop it so I could get off!
How embarrassing.
I am 7 again.
*edited to add*
And NO to all you skeptics out there - I was not drunk; not an ounce of liquor in me. Just some old-fashioned sick. derp.
So, I went to La Crosse's Oktoberfest this past weekend. I was so excited to do all the things I did when I was wee. I played pick-a-duck and won a kick-ass stuffed-flower thingy (much more substantial than the crap they gave you in my day), watched a parade, ate funnel cake, etc. I started actually remembering how thrilling this could be for child. But yet, there was that little voice in me, reminding me I often got sick as a child when I went to the fair. In true Emily-tradition, I ignored it. I thought, "Well, I'm older now. I don't get sick every time I blink. I'm a grown-up." So, I went about trying to make the day enjoyable. And it was ... until Saturday nite.
Saturday nite I was all revved up for a night of drinking, rides, and much frolicking. After a brief afternoon siesta, the Mister and I returned to the grounds early - 'bout 8 or so, and decided to walk around and check things out first. I, of course, being the queen of impatience, saw the Scrambler and decided that we must ride it right away. We did. It was fun. I started feeling the vibe of the fair - kinda felt like a kid again. I thought ... hmmm ... should we scope things out or do more rides? My mind opted for rides.
Big mistake.
So we get on the tilt-o-whirl and I tell angelstoil about my first experience with this ride. I was about 7 or so, and went on it with me mum and me sis, lollipoptrollop. All I remember is this extreme feeling of nauseousness and my kin-folk looking at my blanched face and laughing. It was bad. I feared that damn thing for years. Yet as I grew past childhood, I actually learned to love this ride. And on Saturday nite I figured I'd still love it; I was so excited to ride it again in my ... er ... late twenties ... ahem! I had fun for about 1.37 minutes. Then it started a tiltin' and a whirlin', thanks to the Mister finding the key to the twirl. I felt my face turn white and that iggly-squishy carbonated feeling start in my stomach and rise to my throat. I gripped tight onto the rail and prayed I wouldn't puke on the ride. Erik was having a blast, and I didn't really want to ruin his fun, yet a memory came into my head that I'd once puked ON a ride. I didn't think I could deal with that embarrassment at my age. So everytime we went around and I saw the Carnie-guy, I tried to put a look of sick on my face. I clasped the railing, held my head, everything ... but to no avail. I think this guy got his rocks off watching people get sick. Finally, I told Erik that I needed to get off the ride ... now ... seriously. I think when he saw the green coming into my face he realized I wasn't kidding around. Needless to say, he motioned to the Carnie it was time to quit unless he wanted to clean up puke. So said Carnie stopped the ride (just in time, I may add) so kill-joy Emily could get off. Although I'm proud to say I didn't barf on the ride, I was still humbled by the fact that little children go on this damn thing and have a blast. I am not those children. From this day forward, I will look at the tilt-o-whirl and feel nothing but anger and resentment. I mean, really ... they had to stop it so I could get off!
How embarrassing.
I am 7 again.
*edited to add*
And NO to all you skeptics out there - I was not drunk; not an ounce of liquor in me. Just some old-fashioned sick. derp.