It was bound to happen

26 years, and I'd guess 100+ rollercoaster rides?  It was only a given that I'd finally one day be on a rollercoaster when it broke.  

Yesterday J and I headed to Busch Gardens to have a childlike day of fun with no stress.  I finally gave in and let J talk me into waiting in the extra long line to ride in the first row.  There were 2 little boys in the seats behind us and the 4 of us were having a lovely time screaming our heads off until the coaster came to a screeching halt on an uphill climb.  A nice calming soothing voice came over an invisible speaker and announced to us not to worry that an unscheduled issue had caused an interruption in our ride.  Please remain calm.  Seriously?

The little boys behind us were so calm and cool so I started yelling things over my harnessed shoulder to them about how they'd have the most awesome stories to tell at school this week.  They were like, 'Oh yeah!  No one's gonna believe this!'  And then I started talking to them to calm myself down.  I shouted things like, "At least we're not hanging upside down."  "At least we're not on the downward slope of the hill!"  J squeezed my hand and told me to calm down.  But just in case, that he really loved me.

It was about the point where I started considering that we were going to make the 11:00 news for falling off a rollercoaster when the same super sweet voice came over the speakers and assured us that the ride would continue shortly, and thank you for your patience.  And it did.  And it went at the same speed as it had before it broke.  And we should've bought the picture that it snapped as it took us in a loopty-loop right after it started up again.  Because I swear, everyone's facial expressions were absolutely priceless.  But just not for those ridiculous prices.

Total Panic in Level Four

One of my favorite authors is Richard Preston. My senior year of college I had to take a science class and I opted for Medical Geography. Its exotic title fit in well with some of my other college courses like floral arranging (1 and 2), pistol and rifle marksmanship, Alfred Hitchcock films, and Italian Cuisine. Before you judge or accuse me from graduating from Bob's Clown College, I happened to take enough AP classes in high school that I needed hours, not the actual credits. Medical Geography happened to be one of my most favorite class of all. The way we learned about how people working in this field track viruses to their original source...it left me dumbfounded. There I was, mere months before graduation wondering if I should drop my journalism major and become a virus hunter in Africa. Spending my summers in khaki shorts and rugged work boots with my hair in a knotty bun, winters in level four biohazard space suit probing the next likely source of Ebola. We read The Hot Zone and I was pretty much sure I was graduating into the wrong career field. I was born to work at the CDC. Right? I purchased every biology-related book Preston's written and I've pored over them multiple times. When I found out that he had a new book coming out I couldn't wait to buy it and my recent plane ride seemed the perfect occasion to indulge my inner unfulfilled virus hunter.

Well, I guess I can say now that I'm glad I didn't up and quit on journalism. Not that I'm using my major so much now -- however, I did find it necessary to point out a coworker's faux pas as he once again mispronounced nuclear as "nuc-u-lar" -- but I found out this past weekend that I made the right choice. Not only is Richard Preston an amazing writer, particularly amazing when he writes about biological terrorism (my not-so-secret guilty pleasure), but he is also quite graphic. While reading the much-anticipated "Panic in Level Four" (a collection of short non-fiction stories, seriously, it's amazing), I realized I'm firmly where I need to be...behind a computer monitor dilly-dallying about with bezier curves and clipping paths.

The last story is about a disease which causes its victims to self-cannibalize. At first my inner nerd said, "Stacy, this is a chance to learn about a strange new subject, keep going, and read with an open mind." All the while my inner girl voice is saying, "Stacy, proceed with caution, this will get gross." And I was right. Sooo right. I read. I read some more. I was fine. UNTIL--I read a line that said something to the effect of sometimes this disease causes its victims to remove their own eyeball--and I don't know what it said after that, because I gagged. Firmly shut the book. Put the book in my carry-on bag. And haven't touched it since. Honestly, I'm a little scared to put it on my shelf where it might infect a neighboring Augusten Burroughs book with it's awful eyeball horror.

Sorry, CDC. I totally feel like I let you down.

Why aren't you up the water spout where you belong?

So there we were, on the couch after dinner when J tells me it's time to go home. Before I could answer, he slowly says, "Don't...turn...around..." as he's staring at the wall behind me. I was a little confused, and my curiousity got the best of me, because after he got up to run to the bathroom, what did I do? I turned around. What did I see? THE LARGEST SPIDER IN THE WORLD. This is not a joke. It was black with yellow spots and was of the XL variety, at least the size of the palm of my hand. It had feet, and I'm pretty sure I saw toes. J killed it, but not before I let out a gut-wrenching scream/moan, hurled myself off the couch at light-speed, and refused to open my eyes for about 2 minutes as I stood on my tippy-toes to minimize the amount of surface area touching any sort of carpet. Oh.my.goodness. If he hadn't been over, I would've surely gone into cardiac arrest, and just died right there. He checked the rest of the room, under the couch cushions, behind all pillows, etc., but I still can't relax and all of the lights are now on. Moral of the story: when your boyfriend gives you simple instructions, heed them. And if you don't, bake him cookies to thank him for killing the beast that almost ate you whole. *Shudder*