A couple weeks ago, I went to an amusement park with friends.
Worlds of Fun boasted words like "TALLEST," "FASTEST" and "MEANEST" on billboards along the side of the highway for 20 miles before we even got to the park.
I should mention before continuing that I do not especially enjoy roller coasters.
While I applaud adrenaline junkies who leap out of flying planes or jump off Mexican cliffs, I like having my feet firmly planted inside comfy shoes (or if recently pedicured, safely inside my Ben Sherman flip-flops).
It's not like I scare easily, I did survive my childhood virtually unscathed - at least physically. And I assure you, coping with a Scarlett O'Hara-like grandmother trumps eating some potentially poisonous sushi.
While my closest friends, co-workers, editor and Jerry (the panhandler on the Plaza who smells like urine but uses the catchy phrase "I'm trying to make a down payment on a cheeseburger") would argue that I'm a control freak who goes postal when the smallest of carefully, detailed plans run amiss, I like to think of myself as someone who simply sees the beauty in stability.
I don't feel the need to willingly ride the Prowler when, as you may know from reading my column, I tend to date them, and have even threatened restraining orders on a few.
Once parked precariously between two high school buses almost a thousand miles from the entrance, we unpacked ourselves, our sunglasses, cooler, the gallon container of Gatorade bought at QT and made our way toward what could only be described as the line from hell.
To make myself more congenial and less apprehensive about my impending dismemberment and subsequent trip to the ER from a ride gone tragically haywire, I tried to tell myself that the line was just the park's first attraction and a foray into what was sure to be "the best day ever!"
Music was piped into the parking lot, which I assumed was meant to make the mile and a half trek to the ticket booth less daunting and the $40 ticket price seem like a bargain.
Making our way to the front of the line, we noticed a small sign over the ticketing kiosk that read, "NO COOLERS ALLOWED."
So Matt was ceremoniously voted to make the excursion back to the car. While most laughed at his misfortune, I prayed he would not suffer heat stroke and die alone in the far reaches of the wasteland known as the parking lot.
Once most of my group was safely inside the park, we agreed to ease into things by riding what looked like a pirate ship. It swung safely back and forth over a small, moss-covered, mosquito-infested, man-made pond.
Once off the ship, I was unanimously out-voted when I wanted to ride again because the group felt I was ready to graduate onto the Boomerang.
The loops of twisted metal and steel rose above me and all I could hear while staring up were screams of terror and delight intermingled with the pungent smell of vomit coming from the sidewalk below.
Last week, I met someone who swept me off my feet, took my breath away and left me speechless.
He did all the right things, said all the right things and even managed to work in a few perfect moments.
A week after that, he left.
No explanation, no goodbye, no returned telephone call. He just … left.
This behavior left me scratching my head in complete confusion.
My behavior left my friends wondering why I didn't ask, "Why?"
But I didn't want to know, knowing the reason would not have changed the outcome.
For me, a new relationship is wonderful and scary, all wrapped up in a terrifying splendor of mixed emotions. I have willingly avoided this kind of emotional rollercoaster for so long I had forgotten how fun the ride could be.
Although we never know if those new relationships will turn out to leave us with unanswered questions while lying in a heap of twisted emotional carnage, or if they will give us the ride of our lives, it is always better than looking up and watching as everyone else experiences the thrill.
crose@unews.com
