Thursday, March 17, 2011

The Basket Was Over Here, Dipwad.

You may have noticed a lack of St. Patrick's Day love on this here slice of the Interwebbing, and there's a bloody good reason for that.
I wasn't home.
I didn't plan a blog ahead of time.
I thought I would have Internet access at our hotel.
I should have known better (how do I always manage to do that?).
Reginald Kitty is not amused.

So, where the hell was I?
Wichita, Kansas.
Well, technically, this isn't Wichita, but I did take this somewhere in Kansas.

So, how did I end up in Wichita?
Let me explain.

Way back in the mists of time - when cell phones were eighteen inches long, and weighed three pounds - my mother and sister got tickets to see John Edward.
No, not that one.

This one.

I was told I was too young to go.
This happened three times.
I've missed him in Vegas several times since then, since our vacation schedules, apparently, do not mesh.
Long story short, bim-bam-boom, that's why we went to Wichita.

I shan't wax poetic about how impressed I was (I've followed this guy for many, many years now) - 'cause, you know, I was really impressed, regardless that I've seen him do his thang on television hundreds of times - but I shall talk about the theater the event was held in.
Opening in September of 1922, it's what one might call a bit run down.
Case and point: the ruddy thing didn't have air conditioning.
Did I mention it was over eighty degrees in Wichita yesterday?
I kinda sorta start to get a bit loopy if it's over eighty degrees.
Not in that Manny from Black Books kind of way...

I kinda sorta get really, really bad heat stroke.
Surprisingly, I can function pretty well in this condition; I've climbed a lighthouse with heat stroke, for heaven's sake!

At any rate, way up in the balcony, in a really, really, really old theater (read, claustrophobic, no leg room, i.e., we were practically sitting on top of each other), which did not have air conditioning, I was going to be down for the count very soon.
Fortunately, there was a little man passing out fans (which were selling like hotcakes!), and, after being passed by several times, we finally managed to get a couple of these coveted bastards...
...and spent the next two hours fanning myself with both of them.
The saddest part?
I still had to hold onto my mother's arm for support when descending the stairs back down to ground level.
This almost happened. Twice.

So, three things I have confirmed from this story:

I am SO not looking forward to summer.

I am a wimp.

I am moving to Oregon as soon as I ruddy well get the chance.

Oh, and here's a thought: you know the times are changing when you type in John Edward, and get Jedward.
You know your act crosses the line into child labor when they perform with Scooby.

This made me laugh. Really, really hard.

So did this...

Is It A Subscription Box, Or Something More Sinister? (It's A Subscription Box. Maybe.)