Thanks for going with me to the Haunted Mine at our university (aka place of business).
I know we are coworkers who barely know each other, but you came through. People I knew better begged off (because haunted, because mine, because both).
Even though I’m an Explosives Technology student, I had not yet been to the experimental mine. I read all about the prep, though.
“Scaring starts at 6.”
Too bad I live 1.5 hours away and couldn’t get in some hours.
I’m glad we met up at the Tater Patch. I don’t know what any of that means.Sporting saucy hard hats!
We got the safety briefing (“It’s a mine. The walls are made of rock. If you hurt yourself, let a scarer know immediately.”). Then it was time.
It was genuinely terrifying, especially the bit with the clown with the chainsaw.
This is the photo that one accidentally takes when running from a clown wielding a chainsaw.
NO, THANK YOU.
I had to remind myself that the scarers were not allowed to touch me. (And I was not allowed to touch them either. Consent goes both ways.)
Huddled together, we screamed/laughed our way through it.
Well, the screaming/laughing was me. You were mostly laughing. At me. For good reason.
Anyway, it was great, and I appreciate you going with me. Thanks again!
My guy, WHAT were you smoking when you created City Museum? Whatever it was, it was some good stuff. City Museum is like nothing I’ve ever seen in my life — in person or in movies/on TV. Not even “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” comes close to this crazy place.
When I moved to St. Louis, people kept telling me I needed to visit. However, I don’t like museums. (It’s true. I’m sorry. But I don’t think you do either.) Finally, my friend Kate said that it is not a museum in any traditional sense of the word. She tried to describe it, then basically gave up.
“You have to see it,” she said. “It’s … sensory overload.”
So I went. And she’s right.
City Museum is like a museum in the way that I am like Beyoncé: barely any resemblance in form or function.
It is a building that houses artifacts — artifacts presented in chaos. It’s a 10-story fever dream.
I’ve now been four times.
Why?
You created notable features such as:
• An actual school bus cantilevered on the top floor over the street
• A Ferris wheel on top of the building
• A 10-story slide
• A five-story slide (that has not been open any of the four times I’ve been)
• A cave system
• The world’s largest (maybe) pair of underpants
• Two airplanes
I can’t even begin to summarize what is there. And every time I go, I discover something new.
Dominic and Gideon were in town, and I said we were going. They, like me, are not into museums. I said, “Hold that thought.”
Neither of them could believe what you created. Dominic lamented that, at 6’2″, he is too big for some of the tunnels.
“I wish we had come here when I was a kid.”
I fully agree. This could have entertained them for HOURS, and they would have slept well. (Every parent knows a day that wears out the kids is a good day.)
Here is just a sample of what we got into at your creation.
A seagull disgorges Dominic.Gideon finds a tunnel under the first floor. No, thank you.Dominic goes where I won’t.This is the entrance to a slide. Seriously.The caged bird yells, “Take my picture!”My hips don’t lie, nor do they fit in this opening.Dominic makes it to the top of one of two castles.
Speaking of the castles:
I’m sorry, TWO WHAT NOW?
There were a few moments where I worried about their safety and mine. I was right to worry. From the actual City Museum website:
The do-it-yourself, trying-anything nature of the museum led, not surprisingly, to injuries and, also not surprisingly, to dozens of personal injury suits. Mr. Cassilly’s response was to post telephone numbers of lawyers at the door.
The kids and I developed the habit of them going first into some cave/tunnel/hole to do reconnaissance then reporting back about the viability for me.
This tunnel was not for me.But this one was ok.
Yes, I used my own children as canaries in a coal mine.
I make no apologies. They were willing participants. And had a fabulous time.
Why are you still here? I hate you so much. I’ve managed to avoid you for more than two years (safety first!), but you finally got me.
How? I don’t know. You tell me!
Having an incubation period of 2-14 days makes tracking source difficult.
All I know is that I got my second booster Friday. By Sunday, I had a sore throat. I took two tests from two different companies. Both negative.
See? Negative.
On Monday, I felt like crap: headache, body pain. I was already scheduled to go to a new doctor to establish care.
Me: I got the second booster Friday and feel terrible today. Her: That’s the booster. I wouldn’t have recommended you get the second one so soon. Me: They recommended after six months. Her: Yeah, but you don’t have comorbidities. Me: Right.
The cough started Tuesday.
The runny nose started yesterday.
I decided to take another test.
Uh oh.
And then another from a different brand.
I was furious and mortified.
I spent my weekend living my best life as the infection vector I apparently am: garden tour and antiques fair with neighbors, dinner with a colleague, handyman direction on wall patches, “Stranger Things” with my sister, card games with neighbors.
It’s possible I was exposed to you on my flight home from Savannah: Two hours on the runway (weather delay), an hour at the gate (more fuel), an hour in the air. I was one of only three people wearing a mask (because, of course, you no longer exist 🙄).
I don’t know.
I do know that I had another busy week/weekend planned, including lunch for about 15 family members at my place. But now, thanks to you, I will spend the next 5-10 days on my own with just Leo Richardson to keep me company.
Leo, who also is not feeling well.
Leo, the cat who (likely) got COVID.
Gee, I wonder how he could have caught COVID. (Note: I am not kissing the cat. He was sleeping on my shoulder, and I turned my head for the pic.)
So thanks SO MUCH for your continued presence in all of our lives.
As they were playing on a Wednesday, I made a little trip to Market Tavern before I met my friend Hannah at the show.
I walked in to someone warbling a song I didn’t recognize. Then I realized it was supposed to be “Let It Go” from “Frozen.” That’s a bad AND good sign. It’s a good sign of bad karaoke.
Perfect.
I got a drink and chose a seat at the back of the bar where I could sit alone and not draw attention. Smart move.
It was in front of the men’s room. Not a smart move.
My first gentleman caller was a man with a fully tattooed face. Think knockoff version of The Enigma.
He asked me if was going to sing.
At least, I think that’s what he asked me.
He could have asked me if he could dismember me in the Gents, and I wouldn’t have known.
He was 102 and drunk with a very thick Stokie accent that was hard for these American ears to understand.
My view from the hostess stand for the men’s room.
My next new friend was a man with four teeth and four iron cross tattoos. Delightful! He also sported a Confederate flag wristband.
He wanted to know if I had a boyfriend.
I toyed with the idea of saying, “Yes. He’s a Jewish man of color from Poland.” I think I could have made him explode “Raiders of the Lost Ark” style.
An older woman at the next table came over.
Her: Are you alright on your own there?
Me: Oh, yes. I’m fine, thank you.
Her: You’re American!
Me: Yes. What am I doing in the middle of Hanley, right?
Her: Well, yes.
She went to the loo, and I checked my phone for word from Hannah. I suddenly felt hands touching my shoulders. I yelped and turned around.
Creepy George: I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.
Me: Well, you did. Please do not touch me.
Didn’t mean to startle me? Someone who doesn’t know you and has her back to you? What did he expect? “Hi handsome! Please come back to my temporary accommodation for stranger boning.”
When I went to the bathroom, I took my drink. Women know why.
Meanwhile, the show went on. It was definitely a crying-in-your-beer kind of vibe.
Your water fitness class almost made me tap out. That would have been a first.
I don’t know if it is because it has been a while since I went to a class (<cough> six months <cough>) or whether it is because you are hard core.
Either way, I had jelly legs at the end of the class.
So thank you.
This pool is great for families (see water slides) but not so great for fitness courses in the deep end. I actually accidentally touched another participant because of the proximity. EEEK.
Not your fault.
I laughed when you shouted, “We always like men in here” to the man picking out a water noodle. To be fair, he did suggest he could be a shark among the mermaids (yuck).
And I appreciate that you gave the chatty ladies hell. (No, lady with pink hair, I don’t want to hear another word about your elbow, thankyouverymuch.)
Anyway, as that great sage Arnold Schwarzenegger said: “I’ll be back.”
I had no idea this place had COVID repellent. They need to bottle it and sell it.
I mean, CLEARLY they have some kind of protection because there were 4,352 people inside and no mask in sight.
Yikes!
I walked in and started hyperventilating. I told Lodell that he’d be the last person I’d see pre-infection.
It was a super-spreader event, for sure. Great for the band to have so many fans. Not great for my health.
But you showed up and normalized mask wearing.
The fear is real.
I am grateful.
I’m also oddly grateful to the nearby couple who decided a Southern rock show was a good place to practice the dance moves they learned after Bible study.
They were fascinating.
And Freebird USA put on a great show.
I’m a fan.
I’m willing to go out again, but only if you are with me in mask solidarity.
I’m so glad I learned to drive in Atlanta where Nascar has nothing on I-285. If I hadn’t, there’s no way I would have been prepared for you.
Perhaps you didn’t get any drivers education. Let me help.
Pro Tip 1 People getting onto the highway need to be able to merge. Let them in, for crying out loud!
Pro Tip 2 When someone has his/her/their turn signal on, that means the person wants to get over. Oh but wait, none of you seems to know what that is.
Pro Tip 3 The turn signal is a lever on your steering wheel that, when activated, lets other drivers know you want to make a turn or get into a different lane. You are in the Show Me state, so show me your freakin’ turn signal.
Pro Tip 4 It’s helpful to other drivers for you to pick a lane and STAY IN IT. Weaving in and out is annoying and dangerous.
Pro Tip 5 The posted speed limit is not a suggestion. It’s the max. It’s right there on the sign!
Maybe y’all drive this way to avoid all the potholes and road damage.
Seriously, these roads are about as bad as the ones I had the misfortune of driving in Antigua. That’s saying something.
Please, for the love of God, think of your fellow drivers.
Maybe you do have a cold. But also, you might have COVID. Let’s recap the Omicron symptoms:
Cough
Fatigue or tiredness
Congestion and runny nose
That’s right: Also symptoms of a cold.
So before you get around anyone, TAKE A COVID TEST. They are available in stores (you can use your FSA/HSA), and there are free testing sites all over the place.
If it’s positive, ISOLATE, FFS.
And let’s be clear: You shouldn’t be around anyone if you have a cold either.
It’s because of one of you that my son and sister in law had a lonely Christmas.
Gideon hung out with some friends. Two days later, he didn’t feel well. Typical cold symptoms. We sent him to his room. Tested him: positive. Then Eddie, Dominic and I tested ourselves: negative. We waited a day. Tested again. Negative. Waited. Tested. Negative.
Only then did we feel like we were safe to be around other people.
Even though we didn’t have any symptoms.
See how that works? Protecting others?
We just tested again to be safe.
Waiting for resultsStill negative
But Christmas 2021 is the one Gideon will remember as the one where we made him wear what amounted to a HazMat suit to open his gifts.
Poor Positive Gideon
I haven’t ever gotten Coronavirus [knocks wood], and I don’t plan to get it. I’m not taking chances.
The bottom line: If you think you have a cold, get tested anyway. Don’t be a Typhoid Mary.
I’m going to have to ask you to stay in your lane.
Spiders, please stay out of my basement.
Squirrels, please stop looking in my bedroom window.
Birds, please don’t come into my house.
I got home last night and opened my front door to get the mail. One of you flew in uninvited. Then had the nerve to fly upstairs.
My dustmop and I followed.
Luckily, your fowl emissary was smart. He (she?) settled on the floor. I gently placed the dustmop on top of him (her?) until I could grab a hand towel. I wrapped the scout in the hand towel, and we both went outside.
My niece said she thinks it’s a House Sparrow (which would be appropriate) or that I’m a Disney princess.
I had to make your rep skedaddle by flapping the towel.
But why? There’s nothing for any of you inside. No supply of worms. No room to fly high. No comfy nest.
Stay outside!
This is not the first time you outside critters have been lured by the great indoors, though. In my first apartment in Savannah, a rat came up from the dumpster outside. (I lived above a famous Southern restaurant. Loads of food waste.)
Luckily, my friend Brenon was on patrol with an ax handle. He went ham. Sorry, Remy.
That was the same night my immediate downstairs neighbor dealt with a bat from the chimney. And the neighbor below her had a random cat in heat show up.
Rat. Bat. Cat.
What’s up with that?
Anyway, you stay in your habitat, and I’ll stay in mine.
“Fake” ones rely on jump scares, which are too much like pranks for me.
However, when your children — whom you haven’t seen in almost two weeks — want you to go with them someplace, you say, “Yes.” Or at least I do.
Our group consisted of three moms and five teenage boys, ages 15-16.
Someone needs to shave.
Here are the things that I found scary upon arrival:
The ticket price. It was $30 each. Yikes!
The porta potties outside didn’t have lights inside them.
The lack of masks indoors. COVID isn’t gone, y’all!
Once inside, there were other things to scare me:
Just as I started to walk in, the dude pulling back the curtain stuck his hand in front of my face. I screamed from shock. Then giggled because HOW DUMB?!?
A huge animatronic demon face bum-rushed me and shoved me into a wall.
The floors were designed to match the “rooms.” Squishy flooring to represent grass in a cemetery, for example. What’s scary about that? The broken-ankle potential. I don’t need that again.
There was a corridor of clowns. HORRIFYING. I loathe clowns.
Each of the two haunted houses ends with a chainsaw-wielding madman. Or three. I loathe chainsaw-wielding madmen. (That comes from a certain movie seen at an impressionable age.)
One of the boys’ friends putting on a badass act. “What? I can’t help it if I’m not scared.” OK, then, Buzzkill.
I did have a good time, though. One of the best things was the boy banter.
Dominic: Gideon, be careful they don’t put you in one of the exhibits. Gideon: What? Dominic: “Oh, here’s another skeleton.” Dylan: More bones, all Fernbank style. Gideon (laughing): My superhero name can be Bones. Dominic: I feel like this right here is a villain origin story.
