Tuesday, November 4, 2014

The Story Leading Up to the Story

I've gotten behind on my blogging lately. I'm not even sure where to begin.

Here's a definition for you:


back·fire/ˈbakˌfī(ə)r/

verb
  1. (of a plan or action) rebound adversely on the originator; have the opposite effect to what was intended.


So let me start with early October. I had planned what I thought would be a really fun date for me and Brian - a trip down to Charlotte to go to Carowinds Halloween Haunt. I was really looking forward to doing something fun together,  something like we would do in the earlier days of dating. To be quite honest, we haven't been having much fun together lately, so I wanted to get back that spark.

Well, we get to Carowinds and, two rides in, I was throwing up in the grass beside the concession stand. Brian, showing no sympathy over my motion sickness plight, was annoyed he had to ride the roller coasters by himself the rest of the day. At one point, I'm waiting for him on a bench and I see him on the front row of a roller coaster overhead. He's sitting beside a cute girl and waving at me. I obviously can't hear what he's saying to the girl, but it was probably something like "That lady over there is my boring wife. She's so lame - she puked after the Intimidator!"

So, yeah. We didn't get back any spark. In fact, I think it actually made things worse.

When planning this date, I knew we would be leaving the park around 1AM and I knew Brian wouldn't want to spend too much money on a hotel, so I booked us a room at a Motel 6.

I don't know how to best describe this particular Motel 6 1 AM crowd without being offensive, so I'll just use a picture I found on the internet:


I would say that I'm fearless. Brian would say that I make poor choices. Either way, we've recently been finding ourselves in dicey situations and I'm definitely the one to blame.

At one point around 1:30 in the morning, I exit the room to get a bucket of ice and I'm...surrounded. One of the guys looks at me and says "All these niggas and a little white girl. Are you scared?"

(Mind you, Brian can hear this encounter through the paper thin wall of our luxurious Motel 6 hotel room, but he chose not to come to my rescue. I think he saw an opportunity - he could find himself a more fun wife that doesn't puke on roller coasters).

So, I told them I wasn't scared (I wasn't) and then pushed my way through the crowd to go get my ice. Much to Brian's chagrin, I made it back alive, and we cuddled in bed listening to other people's conversations the rest of the night.

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