I went to Six Flags yesterday. I am proud of myself because I didn't puke on a single cuddly mascot. I did make Porky and Petunia Pig kiss. That really amused me, because I was certain that it was two men wearing those costumes. "That was hot," I said in my best Paris Hilton voice.
There were lots of celebrities there yesterday. Evander Holyfield had his own reserved train on a ride. I was going to say something about how unfair it was to those of us who had paid extra to not wait in lines with the ordinary people, but I didn't want to get into an altercation and have to bite off his other ear, so I kept my mouth shut and waited an extra turn.
When Lisa and I finally boarded Superman (the ride, not the superhero), we sat motionless for several minutes. The operator came by and checked my harness. Twice. Then, he came back with a special tool and tightened up a screw holding me in place in my seat. I didn't know whether to feel safe or worried. I told Lisa that I loved her and that I wanted to be buried with all of my shoes just in case. "There is one thing that I need to know," Lisa said. "Did you sleep with my brother?" I couldn't believe that this was the last thing she wanted to hear from my pouty lips before I potentially plummeted to a horrible death. I deflected the question by asking her if she felt like her harness was secure and wondered out loud if the operator should have tightened hers as well.
After the ride, I really needed a beer. It is simply impossible to me that Six Flags does not serve beer. The words "Family Establishment" mean nothing to me. As I looked around at all the parents at the park with seemingly infinite numbers of children, I knew that they were thinking the same thing. Beer is a family value.
I keep a flask in my car. It is full of water, but I really enjoy taking a swig of it in traffic. People just stare and stare and give me plenty of space on the road. Yesterday, I secretly wished that it held more than water. Finally, Lisa suggested that we smoke to take our minds off of the fact that we hadn't had any beer since breakfast. We lit our cigarettes and were approached by a park employee who informed us that we couldn't smoke and walk. I told her that I thought that we were doing just fine, but that she should see Lisa try to chew gum and walk. It is a hot mess, I assured her. The park employee informed me that we could be ejected from the park for that kind of talk. I asked her how long we would have to wait in line to be ejected. She didn't laugh as she escorted us to the front gate.
I hate parking lots because I never remember where my car is parked. I lost my convenient alarm clicker a long time ago, so I usually have to wait for the parking lot to clear out before I can find my car. After a long search, we found the car in the West lot. I screeched out of my parking space to demonstrate my great displeasure with being ejected. At the stop sign, I took a swig from my water-filled flask for effect. The people in the minivan stopped across the intersection stared in horror and gave us the right of way.
I let go of the clutch and sped off.
Lisa and I laughed and felt immensely cooler than the people in the minivan. Then, I drove over the spikes in the parking lot. It turns out that those signs that warn of severe tire damage if you drive over the spikes the wrong way are not lying.
We debated about what to do for awhile. I called my auto club while Lisa spelled out "Send Booze" in stones and pieces of funnel cake that she collected in the parking lot.