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Not the Best Birthday

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Whenever people tell stories about their least favorite holiday, and get into the one-upper attitude, I think about that fateful birthday of mine that was so miserable.

I was at Grandmas. For whatever reason, my grandma had decided that June 20th (MY BIRTHDAY) was a great day for my great-great-aunts 90th surprise party, (right cause old people just LOVE surprises aka heart-attacks.) May I also point out I didn't really like my aunt that much? She wore too much perfume and accused my sister and I of stealing her candy. So I was bored to death at her party, surrounded by the older members of my family. Mostly I just hung out with my cousins and Jeb, the stinky, bug-eyed Boston Terrier.

After a few hours of that, my family returned to grandmas to see my mother off. My mom was leaving. For Mexico. To go surfing. On my birthday. This was depressing to me on many levels, so I started sobbing. After all with all the drug violence I was pretty sure there was a good chance Mom wouldn't come back alive.

To cheer me up, Aunt Karen and Dad decided it would be a good idea to take me, my sister Rivkah, and my cousin Parker to the fair. I love fair rides, and the thought of going on them excited me. So they succeeded in cheering me up. Temporarily.

My favorite Carnival ride was, is, and always has/will be the Octopus. It spins sort of at an angle on its axis, while going up in the air. Also, the individual cart spins. SO AWESOME! The cousins all got in, and off we went! Soaring high above the trees, screams all around you, cotton candy stickiness on hands, being thrown every-which way, wind-blowing your hair back...it was great. Until Parker uttered the words no one stuck on a spinning ride ever wants to hear.

“I feel sick”. At first me and Riv didn't think much of it.

“Don't worry,” we said. “Its almost over.” But it wasn't and as the ride progressed it became increasingly clear to us that it would not be alright, and that there was definite cause for worry. He was going to barf. As I encouraged Parker to lean over the edge, Rivkah frantically tried to get the attention of the Carny operating the ride by waving her arms and screaming:

“STOP THE RIDE! STOP THE RIDE! HE'S GONNA THROW UP! SERIOUSLY!” The man did, though he was laughing almost to the point of hysteria. Parker just made it out of the gate before heaving on the grass.

Rivkah and I moved on to different rides while Parker recovered, until 15 minutes later, he said he was much improved and ready to brave the next one. We picked one not as spinny or high.

Unfortunately, this didn't help. Same story. Except this time, there was another kid in our cart with us. I will never forget his terrified eyes, sure he was going to get projectile-vomited on. Luckily, again, Parker made it off the ride. At least the kid has the timing thing down. And so he barfed again.

I spent time with too many old people, an aunt I hate, my mom left to go surfing in Mexico, and my cousin threw up...twice. Definitely not my best birthday.



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