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?).
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Reginald Kitty is not amused.

So, where the hell was I?
Wichita, Kansas.
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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.
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This one.
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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.
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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...
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...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.
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This almost happened. Twice.

So, three things I have confirmed from this story:

I am SO not looking forward to summer.
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I am a wimp.
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I am moving to Oregon as soon as I ruddy well get the chance.
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Oh, and here's a thought: you know the times are changing when you type in John Edward, and get Jedward.
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You know your act crosses the line into child labor when they perform with Scooby.

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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.)