Cookies of Fate

I am not a superstitious person. Black cats don't scare me. I spill salt like its nobodies business. I even broke a mirror this year and laughed about it (I am working my way through all the bad luck omens). Then came the buxing (boo-shing). For those of you who do not know what the buxing is, I direct you to this wonderfully cheesy show called California Dreams. Think Saved By The Bell with Zak Attack, only much better diversity in their casting. Here is the episode I am talking about, with their "kick ass" intro:

I know what you're thinking. "The acting was so amazing. How did none of you become famous?"

For those of you who avoided the episode because 1995 was not a good year for TV or fashion (were Blossom hats really that cool?), allow me to explain. Sam (the one that looks like Desi) gets a batch of fortune cookies from her Uncle that is known for his accurate fortune. Tony's fortune cookie is empty, which Sam calls it the buxing, chinese for misfortune and an "empty cookie means empty fortune." This results in a tidal wave of bad luck for Tony.

A few weeks ago, I got my third buxing within the span of a year. Normally I do not take advice from such an "inspiring" piece of television. I reserve those rights to masterpieces like Buffy and How I Met Your Mother (you're welcome, Rod). But something made me come back to this show I had not seen in 17 years. Was it because I thought I was going to be cursed with bad luck? No. It was more because I wanted to see who remembered that show so I wasn't he who stands alone. But that's not why I don't believe in bad luck fortune cookies.

I have a system with fortune cookies. Whenever I go to a Chinese restaurant with a group of people, I am the one who always takes the last cookie. Why am I OCD about my cookie selection? My reasoning is three fold. 1.) Everyone else will pull that one lame on in the pile. 2.) If I do get a lame fortune, I can blame the asshole in front of me for choosing mine. And 3.) If there is such a thing as fate, I am going to make it work its ass off.

I'm sorry. As a Christian (some people just dropped their jaws in the reading of that) I don't believe in fate. And who would? Have you seen the fortune cookies today? They are a joke. The odds of one of these things coming true are lower then me learning Chinese from reading the opposite side of the paper or winning the lottery by playing those "lucky numbers." For starters, the messages that they tote are rarely accurate. Example: One night, my fortune said "I'm a nice and generous person" the problem is that I am rarely the one who pays for my meal, so when Jason (the person who usually pays for all food when we go out in a group) sees this, he gets pissed. His fortune cookies usually say something like "Your husband is amazing and if you leave him you are fucked". Accurate would be:

Also, making your fortunes sound like Yoda wrote them, does not make them accurate. Sure they are great for a laugh. And I appreciate the force as much as the next man. But my cookies should spout of things like:

Or when the say something rhetorical that leaves you in a state of confusion:

What am I suppose to do with this? Apply it to some life lesson? I asked for the Beef Broccoli, not for some cookie to tell me how to live my life. And what do you know about living? Your soul purpose is to sit in a box with thousands of others just like you until some asshole comes along and breaks you apart and rip out your insides. The fortunate ones get put out of their misery and eaten. Others are drowned in the left over sweet and sour sauce, living out their unfulfilled days in a trash bag.

Okay, that was kind of dark.

Two weeks ago I got one from the local Chinese food restaurant that said: "Go shopping." That was it. WTF is that? That's not a damn fortune! That's not even advice. It was still better then the one that told me to "Go Fly a Kite." Who flies kites anymore? This is not the last scene of Mary Poppins where everyone is happy and singing while flying kites. We have the internet now to amuse use. String and a piece of fabric was low tech in the 80s. Now a days people look at kites like the caveman and his wheel.

Then there are those ones that try and fuck with you:

I'm pretty sure it just called me a dumb ass. I don't eat at that restaurant anymore. If you're going to call me a dumb ass, just say it. Don't try and hide in some flashy poetry wrapped in a cookie. This is not the DaVinci Code. I am not that invested. The least it could have done was told me I'm pretty. I'm not the asshole who went to a sushi restaurant and got upset when they didn't give me a fortune cookie. That was Wayne. He didn't know that sushi is Japanese. See folks. That's a "You're pretty" moment. If you do something like that, you deserve for me to call you that. But I digress.

The last fortune cookie I got was pretty disappointing. It said "You will be singled out for promotion." If I wanted to have people make inaccurate guesses about me, I'd call one of those damn psychic hot lines and talk to Diane Warwick. It's cruel to provide false hope. I don't need pastries getting my hopes up and then smashing them back down, that is what Catholicism is for.

So there you have it. Who could believe in a buxing, when all this other bullshit is feed to me on consistent basis. There is no misfortune in a faulty fortune cookie machine. If a Chinese food restaurant really wanted to impress me, they would have fortune cookies like these:

  I like it when my food is a sarcastic prick like me. It makes dinning that more enjoyable.

Vacation, All I Ever Wanted

June is approaching, which means only one thing for me: VACATION. That's right. Every year for the first week of June I take a week of vacation to reflect on the last 364 days that has just passed and make plans for the year to come. Why the first week of June you ask? Think about it, I reply.

For Vacation Day #1, my best friend Steph took me to Magic Mountain. This was a huge deal for me on many levels. For starters, I hadn't been to Magic Mountain in 7 years. It's hard to believe that the last time I was on X2 it was still called X. It was like I had graduated and didn't get to see all my old friends like Batman and Riddler. It was like Goliath wasn't down the street anymore to hang out after to school and Viper went off and joined the Army and now is supporting a wife and three kids. Viper . . . that's a sweet name . . . I kinda want a friend named that. But I digress.

Stephanie had taken it upon herself to end my separation with Six Flags and make us reconcile ASAP. As we arrived at the Mountain, we parked in the very first row of parking. To those of you who live under a rock and never go to theme parks, that is a good omen. It means that the Heavens may have shown down upon you and blessed this day as a "minimal wait" day. Nothing sucks more at a theme park then having to wait an hour to ride something like Colossus, because all the badass roller coasters have a two hour minimum wait. Fortunately for us, today was not that day. The most we ever waited in line was 30 minutes, and that was for Tatsu (story to follow).

First through the gate we booked it to X2, because X was my favorite roller coaster and I was interested to see what they changed. If you have never been on this roller coaster, I am here to tell you that it is like a hug from Jesus. The thrill alone is intensity in ten cities. X the original never looked like all that. It could have been the colors that threw people off:

Seriously. It looked like the Pride Parade of roller coasters. But when you get on the ride and realize that you are going backwards, that is your first clue that something has gone a miss. Your next clue is that your seats rotate around. And if that didn't have you a little scared, they hang off the side of the track almost like there is no track at all. In one word, Amazing. In two, Fucking Amazing. This ride is so scary that I can't get half my friends to go on it (there is a 50% chance you reading this now are one of those pussys). You can see my fear that they may have changed the best roller coaster ever.

The good news, they didn't. They just made it less gay and changed the colors. Although they did add in pyrotechnics which is a little gay. It's like the diet coke of gay. Just one calorie, not gay enough. What's real important is that they kept the first drop. The one that makes you want to shit your pants the first time you ride it.

As you go over the first tiny bump, you're laying on your back thinking this may not be that bad. That's when the ride thrusts you over the first bump and flips your cart face down as you plummet 10 stories . . . face first. Oh yeah. Rush and a half. We went twice. It was the perfect beginning and the perfect ending to our day.

After that was a trip down memory lane. It was like catching up with old friends that I haven't spoken to in a long time. Some had moved on to that big theme park in the sky (Flashback, Deja vu, Freefall). Some were under the weather and didn't feel like being social (Superman was closed due to construction of Lex Luthor's Drop of Doom). And one had gone through an identity crisis and changed it's name (Cyclone is now called Apocalypse and has an alien theme now . . . yeah . . . I don't get it either.) I even got to see the theatre where me and a friend shared our first kiss. (sigh) Good times.

Next it was on to Tatsu, or as I like to call it, The Moment Where I Thought I Was Going To Die.

Let me take you back for a second. The year was 1986. Falco was Rocking Amadeus. Slap bracelets were the new craze. Little Topher Huckaby went on Pirates of the Caribbean for the first time . . . and it scared the bejeezus out of me. Who takes a five year old on a dark ride where there is a laughing skull, scary ass pirates, and drop into the pits of hell. Nazis and my parents, that's who. Flash forward to 1998, when that bitch Lesley (I feel I can call her that because of this story) made me go on Supreme Scream. I have a fear of heights (or more accurately, a fear of plummeting to my death), so naturally that's the ride she wants to go on. Her reasoning, "Just try it once, you may like it." There is a lot of things I haven't tried once because I know I won't like them, but I'm under the delusion that this is a family blog and feel that those things are inappropriate (side bar: if you are reading this to your family, I apologize for my language and remind you that I am Irish and it could be a LOT worse.) As she pried my hands from the kung fu grip I had on the rail in line, I knew this was the day I was going to die. When the ride began lifting us so hi I swore I could see up God's robe, tears were pouring out my eyes (see Jason, I can cry). Then came the drop, followed by the most profanities I have ever screamed in a 60 second window, while my arms and legs went flailing about like they were independent from my body. Lesley is no longer allowed to go with me to Knott's Berry Farm. She has lost that privilege.

Which brings us to Tatsu. If you know nothing of this ride, I will now provide you with two visual aids. This is the track:

These are the seats:

You go from a nice seated position, to flipped facing straight down. Awesome right? For someone who has the frame of a linebacker, it is really hard for me to fit into these harnesses that secure you to the ride. I usually have to contort my body into some yoga position just to get on most things. And as we went flying through the air, I became very aware that two tiny locks were the only thing that was holding my massive body into the seat. Now yes, I know this is no different then any other ride, but when you are watching the ground begin to fly towards your face then twist you around, slamming your body into the harness . . . lets just say I had a silent prayer that God didn't make my frame larger then he did.

I will admit something to you, good reader. I did not have the balls to let go of the handrails. Oh yeah. I even contorted myself as much as I could so that the harness locked into one more notch, just in case the first one popped, I had a back up. Call me a pussy, I don't care. I still went on it . . . twice.

The ride that I will not go on again is Green Lanterns: First Flight. Not because it was scary. Because it was the dumbest ride I have been on in years . . . and I've been to Castle Park. This is the track:

That's it. You stand in line for hours, for a ride that lasts 30 seconds tops. Think Flashback meets X. The spinning compartments are a fantastic idea, except for people who are the size of a Sasquatch. Of course I sat on the end that has this weird green arm condom to protect me from sticking my out to the side and getting sliced off. I am all for protection . . . until the ride sent me falling straight down on my head and the arm condom almost dislocated my shoulder.

Just like the Green Lantern movie, the ride was lame and painful.

That's all the time we have for today boys and girls. Tune in tomorrow where I will be giving you the low down on skinny jeans, and why parents who buy them for their children are going to hell. ;-)