Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Wanting to get off in a variety of ways.

"Do one thing every day that scares you."

Eleanor Roosevelt said that. Mind you, while overloaded with smarts, Eleanor fell short in the looks department. That first glance in the mirror every morning likely scared the crap out of her. Just think how poor FDR felt.

Yesterday, Jack and I embarked on a bit of an adventure that has already seen me face-to-face with a number of my fears, with more to come today.

We are in Toronto taking part in the Canada's Wonderland GM Equinox Adventure. I am here to blog about the experience that has thus far found me white-knuckled and stone-cold sober on a flight through thunderclouds; and up close and personal with an old boyfriend I haven't seen since, well, two pant sizes ago. My pants, not his. Yesterday was my first taste of that sick, sad truth that ordering even a Barbie-sized bottle of vodka on Monday morning is somehow erroneous – and men really do get better looking as they get older. How fucking wrong is that.

But that was yesterday. Today will be the bladder, bowel, and acid reflux test of a lifetime. This morning after our briefing, I have to ride the roller coaster at Canada's Wonderland – the mother of all rides: The Behemoth. The tallest and fastest bitch of a roller coaster in Canada. As I sit and type this I have that sick feeling in my stomach, like a bed wetter at a sleep over. I'm a control freak. Control freaks don't make the best passengers on any ride. The last "amusement" park adventure we went on was the Reindeer Ride at Santa's Village and I swore it was the last. Jack was about 4, and we had somehow ended up at the only dry resort in Muskoka, where I sat drinking red wine out of his sippy cup all night. That rickety Reindeer Ride went 3 feet off the ground and I sat terrified behind Rudolph, squeezing Jack so hard I almost suffocated the poor bastard.

Last night I asked him what he'll do if I suffer a heart attack on The Behemoth and die in a pile of my own filth, mouth frozen open in horror. He just laughed and said he'd walk away and pretend he didn't know me. Fair enough.

And, here's the good news: if I survive The Behemoth, I get to hop in a shiny new 2010 Equinox where I'll likely test the vomit resistance of the leather interior as I head up Highway 11 to go trail riding on a nasty old horse with a chip on his shoulder who can already sense my fear from 200 miles away.

The sun is up. I can see my nemesis – The Behemoth – from the hotel window. Fuck my fears Eleanor, this room as a mini bar.