How I do what I do: the whole roller coaster story.

Since my self-mutilation on a roller coaster story formed, I’ve been making a lot of people laugh with it, and who am I to stop people from laughing? I’m reposting the tale for all of eternity:

This has to be my second most loserish thing I’ve ever done.

So last night I met up with two friends at Coney Island. They had never ridden the Cyclone, so we decided to take it out for a spin. Don’t know if you are familiar, but it’s the infamous 80+ year old wooden rickety roller coaster. I haven’t been on a roller coaster in years, let alone the Cyclone, and totally forgot that roller coasters move really fast. After the first fall, my glasses flew off and I freaked and managed to grab them, at the expense of losing my positioning. When I grabbed for them, we were going for the second dip (I think, who knows) and ended up punching myself in the face. My nose, to be exact. I could smell (and possibly taste?) my blood and thought, well I’ll have to deal with that later. Meanwhile, I was stuck in a terrible position for the rest of the ride and couldn’t steady myself. When we finally got off, I realized a few things:

1. There was blood splattered across my shirt.
2. I had somewhere along the way banged my head against the bar and had a bump forming, not to mention my little non-Jewish nose was becoming increasingly Jewish.
3. My neck and back were completely in pain, only to get worse by the hour (making the drive home interesting and making last night painfully sleepless and making packing my bags today painfully… obvious).
4. I am not as young as I feel.
5. An octogenarian had chewed me up and spit me out.

Sigh. The comfort is that I wasn’t an awkward 14-year-old on a first date. It could be a comfort, too, that I can pack a pretty mean punch when suspended in a moving vehicle going downward. And of course, I don’t usually mind making other people laugh at my own expense.





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