Just a Ride?

It's just a ride, it's just a ride
no need to run, no need to hide
It'll take you round and round
Sometimes you're up
sometimes you're down
It's just a ride, it's just a ride
don't be scared
don't hide your eyes
It may feel so real inside
but don't forget it's just a ride
-JEM-

I think I'm getting old.

I genuinely enjoy "Everybody Loves Raymond"--a show I swore I would never add to my list of must see TV--can no longer finish gin & tonics--a drink I effortlessly guzzled in college--and write my parents long e-mails on a fairly regular basis. What's up with that? And so, committed to reconnect with my kickass, young, fun, self, I did what any unemployed 23-year-old, teetering on the verge of a quarter-life crisis would do. I went to Six Flags.

Determined to find the ultimate thrill ride, hours of consideration led my two friends and I to "Kingda Ka", a colossal, lime-green serpent of a catapult, which promised "a 129-foot hill designed to induce negative-G weightlessness." (Yeah, I'm not sure either, but sign me up for anything that has the phrase "negative-G" in it). After 2 hours of inching along in line, in 90-degree weather, we strapped on our harnesses, willed ourselves not to puke-up the overpriced pizza slices we'd had for lunch, and prepared for the next 32 seconds--a blur of speed, wind and blood-curdling screams. If you don't believe me, look for yourself.

I'm still dizzy.