Grae Pouty Face

I've been to Santa Land. It is just outside Colorado Springs, and is only open during the summer. Admission includes pictures with Santa and access to every attraction in the park. I remember it being a whirlwind adventure filled with candy canes taller than me (which was an achievement, even when I was a wee HellCat), lots of christmas lights, and reindeer. Red and green everywhere, and snow on the ground--yes, even in the summer.

My desire to think back to Santa Land is brought on by my quest to think of a time where I was worse off than I am right now. Today, I have a horrible migraine and am hovering on the brink of illness. No energy, slightly stuffy nose, sensitive throat. Not a full-blown cold, but close enough. The treehouse is beginning to look like Christmas exploded in it and much holiday straightening needs to be done, but I can do none of it. I can't edit because of the migraine, and I have no appetite and am forcing myself to eat and drink. This blows. But I know that it's been worse. So back to Santa Land.

As a youth, my parents packed up the whole family and hopped in the motorhome to head up to Santa Land. On the way up, I was reading an off-limits scary novel of my sister's about a musical boarding school for girls that turned them into zombies or something. I still remember the picture on the cover of a skeleton playing a baby grand that I always imagined was playing Melissa Manchester songs. To avoid prying mama eyes, I was riding in the back while my mom was busy playing hostess in the front. As long as there were cocktail weinies to be eaten, I knew I was safe. I flipped the pages of the forbidden book with delight, punctuating my disobedience by eating Doritos.

Unbenownst to me, there was a biological storm brewing within me.

Santa Land was great. We went on all the rides, took photos with the big man himself, and ate our weight in goodies. I ingested lots of things that day, with the most prominent of all being Funnel Cake in all its powdered sugar goodness. It was a wonderful day for a child.

Until the barfing started.

Apparently I was simultaneously learning about G-force and its effect in high altitudes as well as breeding a nasty strain of stomach flu at the same time.

So that's where the story ends, really. I was miserable. I was definetly in worse shape at that moment in time than I am now. The difference is that my mom isn't here to take care of me and make kissy-face-sicky-boo-boo voice when she asks me what I want for lunch. But my sister is going to bring my mail upstairs for me, Jeffy brought me some chicken soup the other day, and Pablo Honey purchased me some delicious sorbet and let me fall asleep on his tummy last night. I think I even drooled a little, and he didn't mind. So things are different but still nice in this adult-esque world I inhabit.

But will somebody bring me some Sex and the City DVDs anyway? Seriously. Usually, it's horror movies that make me feel better, but this time around, it's the horror of relationships and SJPs shoe fetish that is making me want to live. Please don't make me do pouty face.

Oh, and by the way, even 15-ish years later, I still can't eat funnel cake.

hack. g