City Museum: Round 2

A couple of wildcards came to visit over St. Patty’s Day weekend, so of course I took them to the City Museum. There are few things as fun as climbing on stuff (and few things worse than realizing just how old you are when you try to wriggle through caverns).


We immediately lost one of them. He took off through a gap in the caverns that the two remaining were not enthused about. After a Roger Murtaugh-esque we’re getting too old for this shit moment, we finally wrenched our bodies through twisting gaps made for children to find the first wildcard had vanished. A trek through near-pitch-dark, winding pathways full of tiny pockets children would randomly pop out of led us (somehow) to the second floor cafeteria. After a couple more disorienting tries, we remembered we’re adults with cell phones and so we coordinated a regrouping and plunged into the caves a happy trio once again.

The caves lead round and through and up to the top of the 10-story slide. About halfway up, it’s all tightly spiraled stairs that one of us (okay, me) charged up with wild abandon, only to nearly pass out from hyperventilation at the top. The guy watching the slide entrances was slightly misleading when he said “Slide 2 is open!” and did not add that it is slightly shorter (ending about a story above Slide 1). Also, I got stuck a couple times and had to kick my feet to get moving again. And by the time I exited the slide, my quad muscles had seized up after all that stair-climbing and I was confronted for the second time with just how old I am.


We were also all sweating from the exertion and the heat pumping into the building on top of all the tiny bodies clogging everywhere (don’t these kids have school!?) so we headed out to Monstrocity and the blessed chill of early March in the Midwest. Once again, the youthful-hearted wildcard took off into the cages, climbing higher than I swore I ever would, while I waved like a proud-yet-slightly-worried mama from the catwalk over the giant ball-pit.


His adventurous spirit was contagious, though, and before long we all found ourselves monkeying up wire ladders and strutting across catwalks that lead out from the plane wings. We found a terrifying slide that was very short but very steep. When I finally let go of the bar and slid, I shot down it so fast I skidded across the sidewalk. An older couple went down, and he almost took her out at the bottom. We went down twice.


I loved the City Museum the first time I visited, but I also had a sort of “been there, done that” feeling when presented with the opportunity to go again. I’m really glad I did check it out a second time. I climbed higher than I ever believed possible of myself, and I got to play like children with some of my favorite people.

 

Advertisements

Tequila Dance Party

Once upon a time, I worked in residential property management, which meant I got paid very little to get yelled at a lot by people for things like charging them late fees when they didn’t pay rent or sending out “pick up after your dog” letters or when a lightbulb needed to be changed but they didn’t report it until the end of the day after our maintenance team had already left and what do you mean that isn’t an emergency, it’s dark in my dining room!

There were good days, too, and wonderful residents, and the team I worked with was made up of some of my favorite people ever. The good parts don’t work for this post, though, because they did not contribute to my discovery of the best stress relief exercise ever.

After one such day that left me feeling like a total failure, I went home planning to lay on my couch and watch TV until my eyeballs bled. Instead, for reasons I still do not know, I decided to take a shot of tequila and watch YouTube videos of zumba dance moves set to Enrique Iglesias’s “Bailando” (I do not remember in which order these happened — it’s a chicken/egg situation). Next thing I know, I’m tequila-tipsy and trying my best to sexy-dance to Spanish music — AND RECORDING MYSELF. I think the recording was to show my mom I was okay. Or maybe because my friend was laughing hysterically at theĀ idea of my tequila-dancing, and I wanted to show her how epic it was. Either way, it was horrendous and so mortifying I couldn’t possibly share it with anyone.

Except of course, my mom and my friend. I have a pretty high threshold for humiliation at my own hand. I lay on my floor and belly-laughed until I thought I was going to throw up, and it was amazing.

It became something of my own ritual: have an especially horrible day, come home, drink tequila and dance it out. I always text someone if I’m drinking alone, because drinking alone is usually frowned upon. The last time I had a tequila dance party, I told all of Twitter, so I was extra covered.

img_4357

As you can see from the likes and retweets, I have a ton of followers who really care about my goings on. Regardless, I hadn’t had a dance party like that probably since getting engaged about two years before those tweets — because who has time for fun when a wedding needs to be planned amiright? — but now that I’ve found it again, I’m not giving up my dance parties.

Tequila is my go-to party liquor. I get that it’s a controversial choice that makes a lot of people gag just hearing the name, so you know, go with whatever works for you. Also, stupid dancing is amazing fun all on its own, so there’s no realĀ need for alcohol to have a great dance party for one. But it does help lower some inhibitions if it’s hard to get started. Closing your eyes helps, too. If you can’t see your windows, you forget people can see inside them. I try to think of the dumbest things I could possibly do with my arms or legs or head and then I do that thing, so the dancing is more kicks and jerks and wiggles and it-is-hilarious. Whatever gets your lungs working and your face hurting from grinning. The goal is to forget your worries and remember how great being alive can feel.