Spring Breakdown

I can't believe that, as I was driving through a construction zone, my car got hit by a flying piece of metal. It didn't end up killing me, which it would have if it had gone through the windshield, but it did leave a huge gash in the front bumper which caused it to whistle loudly if you speed over 70 mph. Oh, man! I had just washed it, too...

That was the day before we left on our road trip last Friday afternoon.

There's one version of the story: In this version, which is actually true as well as the one which I prefer, everything went perfectly. We left pretty close to on-time, we arrived in time for the last tour of the underground caverns. The boys (4 of 'em) were all excited about the trip and got along better than we could have imagined. The adults were courteous to each other and we had nice conversation in our brief trip together and we became better friends. We went San Antonio, Texas to visit Sea World and Ryan got to pet a dolphin! We saw every show we wanted to see, picnicked in the park, and the boys were so giddy that they couldn't stop playing. We even got to ride the log ride, a fun "big kid" experience for Ryan. The boys also got to experience Texas history when we went to the Alamo--Ryan proudly signed his name in the ledger as a guest. After a trolley ride back to Market Square and a feast of wonderful, authentic Mexican food, we took a boat ride through the riverwalk and ended up with the kids asleep in the backseat as Fran and I drove home.

If you're a "glass half full" type of person, as I tend to be, this is the version for you. But, sometimes to me I entertain myself my exposing my critical self-talk to the events of the day. So, here's the disclaimer: We Really Did Have a Good Time on this Trip!

Fran had conspired with a couple of her friends, and we all went out of town together to San Antonio to go to Sea World. There were 10 of us in all, including my two-year-old daughter (in other words, the other 2 families, with full willingness and knowledge of the circumstances, chose to go on vacation with a 2-year-old). At this point, our families are good enough friends to politely sit down together at a meal, but not just cut loose and really talk about things. That was kind of fun, except for the minor issue that it brought out the psychotic asshole personality in me.

The basic assumption I have is that everyone is paying attention to my family, and constantly judging us and determining that we aren't doing things right and that we're bringing the group down--basically, that they are outraged with our poor organization, being slow/late, and behavior of our kids (who are actually extremely well-behaved but, *gasp*, not perfect).

Example 1 over psychotic overthinking of the situation: We were caravaning together on this 250-mile trip. They asked me to lead the way in our whistle-mobile. My mind starts working overtime way too much...What if I drive way too fast for what they want to do? Do I have to follow the speed limit? Is that a nerdy way to drive? What if I lose them? Will the whole vacation be over? Which way should we go?

At this point, I would also like to register my extreme discontent that I am cursed with this double-curse of being overcourteous to the extent of driving myself crazy, and then being given a beautiful, loving wife who sees that it tortures me and can't figure out why in the hell I'm doing this to myself--and then mocks me.

After all that, when we got on the highway, one of the other guys took the lead and I followed him down there...

Our first stop was Longhorn Caverns, a huge cave system with neat crystals and things like that--the tour took us a mile and a half inside. We had the funniest tour guide--he was a cross between Rain Man and Elmer Fudd. He really had a quite low mental capacity, and had memorized the tour (which he confusingly pronounced "choor")Fran tried to ask him a question and he looked all panicky and quickly repeated the statements he had previously made. He told very simple stories, such as "We call this rock formation "Abraham Lincoln's Face"...um, because it looks like Abraham Lincon's face." Then he pointed his flashlight at different parts of it, calling out anatomical characteristics: "Nose, eyes, beard..." (If it really looked like that, someone wouldn't have to point out these features, right? I'm that way about constellations, too--I don't get it) Every formation seemed to have some boring, overly simplistic name, and every anecdote would end in "but we really can't confirm if that's a true story or not."

I sidled up to Fran and said in a Rain Man monotone: "This next room we call the Baloney and Cheese Sandwich Room because it's said that one time a guy named Bill ate his baloney and cheese sandwich there...but we really can't confirm if that's a true story or not." Yes, I'm a jerk like that sometimes.

We managed to eventually fish all of the kids out of the cave and get back on the road, stopping for dinner at the Bluebonnet Cafe in Marble Falls, Texas. By that point, the sun had gone down and we were on a tiny, 2-lane road, which is a little nerve-wracking to drive on. We got into the hotel quite late, and the three guys went inside--we stood around in a small semi-circle and stared at the front desk clerk. He asked to help us, and there was a funny, awkward pause--I'm pretty sure everyone wanted to go but was trying to be polite, so I stepped up and registered first. Then, when I was finished, I waited for the others to be registered as well--that way, I got things going but they couldn't accuse me of rushing in and being rude while they had to wait.

Now, rationally, I don't believe that people generally think this way. This is a sickness that I have from being around hyper-critical people during some periods of my life. Unfortunately, it has resulted in this powerful internal dialog which makes me hear that type of critical viewpoint of whatever I'm doing just as I'm doing it, and makes me act very neurotically. I wish it wasn't there, but it felt very proper to sit and wait for the other two guys to get their room registered instead of just naturally getting a key like normal people, and then loading my exhausted family into the hotel room.

The next morning, we had another incident--the hotel had a waffle-maker. Unfortunately, only one. Forces conspired to keep that damn waffle-maker busy every time I got up to make a waffle for myself. Finally, I got there when the machine was unused and a teenage girl looked up at me very panicked--clearly, she was was there first and wanted me to know it. Then I heard her debate with her mom whether or not she would make a waffle or...whatever, get something else. Damn, fickle teenager. Finally, after a full minute of debate she decided to make one for herself--and then proceeded, giving me sheepish glances, to make one for every member of her extended family! After about five minutes of waiting, I made myself something else and returned, agitated, to the table. Fran sensed that something was up, and then, incredibly, got mad at me for being in a bad mood.

"What's wrong? You look like your head is about to come to a point!" (quoting a line from "The Manchurian Candidate").

"Nothing. I'm okay."

"What is it?"

(talking through my clenched teeth) "No big deal--" (then, pissed off, sighing) I was just waiting for a )(#)* waffle and...what the hell is going on, here?"

I just realized that my 2-year-old daughter has shredded a blueberry muffin to bits all over the floor in a pretty shocking display.

"Fran! This is a huge mess! Why did you let her do that?"

Of course, now, I'm totally screwed.

"What?! YOU try controlling a 2-year old every second! Besides, why do you care that the maid is going to have to clean up this room? It needs a good cleaning to begin with, anyway! You're just mad for some stupid reason--don't take it out on her!"

I had a choice--I could just accept my lumps for being critical, or defend why I was upset, you know, like stating that it is a common area of the hotel and, well, nobody wants to eat their breakfast sitting amidst shards of blueberry muffin broken up like the leftover baskets of the feast of the loaves and fishes. But instead, I got down on the floor and started picking up the crumbs as well as I could, which ultimately was probably more irritating to Fran.

The weather at Sea World was HOT! It got up to 94 degrees, and no one had really expected that this early in the spring. They should have given out T-shirts to the survivors at the end of the day...

For some reason or other, my neurotic behavior had continued to irritate Fran, so I volunteered to take Kaitlyn to the kid's play area instead of herding the group of four boys that we had with us. I took her on the rides, which she enjoyed, except for the Ferris Wheel, which really terrified her and caused her to remove her seatbelt and dive into my arms before the ride was over.

Sea World has a neat pool where you can pet dolphins--that is, if the dolphins let you. Mostly they just swim by closely but not close enough. I've been there three times and never got a chance to touch one, so Ryan and I went together to try it. The first time, we sat there for about half an hour, with no luck. But the second time, we had been at the shallow end of the pool for about ten minutes when a dolphin swam right up to my hand under the water and bumped it with it's nose--I was so excited! Ryan was right next to me, and he gently stroked the side of his head. Then, Conner, one of the boys that was with us, poked his finger down on top of the dolphin's head, right next to his blowhole. The dolphin turned and promptly bit my hand, which was still by his nose, and thrashed, swimming away quickly. It was funny, though, because everyone thought it was really cool that the dolphin had swum up to us, so I was embarrassed that I had a less than "hail-mammal-well-met" experience with the dolphin and didn't want to mention that the slimy bastard had bitten me. People are superstitious about dolphins, much as they are with dogs. If a dolphin doesn't like me, maybe I'm a bad person or something...

San Antonio itself was great as always--it almost feels as though you are in Mexico. You can get great, authentic Mexican food, and we did at every opportunity. We took the kids to the Alamo, where we waited in line for nearly half an hour before getting in-everyone was commenting that we have never had to wait to in the past.

Oh yeah, and I had another mental meltdown. Somehow, I was appointed the ad hoc leader of our group when we got to San Antonio. We wanted to go to three places--one of which had no parking at all. Since I had been to San Antonio and had a vague idea of where to go, everyone took a huge step back and appointed me to lead the group to park. I decided to go to the last place we would visit, park there, and ride the trolley to the Alamo. Then we could go and do other activities and ride the trolley back. In my neurotic mind, this made me responsible for the well-being of the group from that point on, and it was truly a miserable state of being for someone like me. Then Fran decided to try out a very risky move--we didn't come prepared with a route map for the trolley, but I knew there was one a block away in one direction. Fran decided we could risk walking down the street in a different direction to "see if we could catch one". This drove me crazy, because I knew there was a trolley stop just a mere 200 yards away in a different direction. As we started walking the wrong way, I felt an overwhelming sense of dread that we would wander the streets for days looking for a trolley stop when I KNEW there was one close by. I asked "Can we just go one block north?" The group got quiet.

Exasperated, I stated, probably a little too excitedly, that I KNEW that there was a stop nearby in the opposite direction and that I would rather go there than try to guess where one might be. I got blank stares from the group and then we all turned around and went my way. Fran shook her head and said, quietly (so no one else could hear) "Congratulations, now everyone knows you're a spaz!"

Normally when this happens, she just shakes her head sadly and knowingly and mumbles something about "Turret's"...

Since I felt like a tour guide who was now completely responsible for everyone having a good time, I was racked with guilt that the town was so crowded. My tour group had to walk behind street vendors selling tacos, and I felt guilty that it smelled like old food and thrown-up beer. The thumping bass of the amped-up street bands was deafening. The overdue trolleys made us wait, sweating, on the street corner--it was all my fault. In short, being "in charge" seemed to suck every remnant of enjoyment of the trip from me, just due to my self-conscious nature, which I am fully aware of but can't break myself of. To make matters worse, all the boys in our group bought old-style muskets and coon skin caps from the Alamo Gift Shop and were continually re-enacting a combination of the Battle of the Alamo and Yoda fighting Count Dooku by bouncing off the walls and waving his light saber. Since the streets were crowded, Ryan was literally weaving in and out of people walking down the sidewalk, using their bodies for cover and firing his musket at his buddies, whacking people in the legs and nearly knocking down and old lady has he used her walker as cover.

As I told Ryan that this was inappropriate (very calmly), Fran shot me a glance that told me that I was in danger of ruining everyone's good time. Even the old woman seemed to smile at the boys once we got her back on her feet.

Fran and I also made the risky move of selecting a place to eat lunch--in my mind, at least, that subjected us to the group's (continued) scrutiny. We went to La Margarita, a very historic restaurant which is in some kind of battle with another establishment over whether or not drink called the margarita was invented there. But we went there for the food and the atmosphere--it really feels like Mexico. One of Fran's friends, Linda, wanted a mariachi band to play a song for us at our table, and Fran told the bandleader in Spanish that we just didn't want to hear "La Bamba" or "Guantanamera"--songs we have heard tourists typically request--could they play an old song? They glanced at each other and seemed to be delighted at the instructions.

They played and sang beautifully--they were wearing black and white formal mariachi suits and sang with gusto and clear voices, smiling to each other. They played a violin, an acoustic guitar, and a huge bass guitar strummed right by my head--I held Kaitlyn, and she was still and stared at the singers during the whole song. I got a lump in my throat, and knew that Fran was fighting back tears throughout the soulful song--old mariachi songs always remind her of her dad, who she loved and she has dearly missed since he passed away right before Ryan was born. When we were first dating, we would sometimes listen to old records of these songs--I really enjoy listening to them--I think they are as beautiful as any opera. I made a point of not looking at her, and she later told me that she was choked up and not making eye contact with me as the mariachis sang. The rest of the table was enjoying it as an authentic Mexican experience, a curiosity, and they were oblivious to the fact that we both felt a connection with the music, immersed in it and reacting to the song emotionally. As subtle as it was, that moment was a highlight of the trip. My ragged nerves needed the soothing, and the rest of the day was restored at that point.

We had another, less serious musical moment when REO Speedwagon's "Keep on Lovin' You" came on the radio during the ride home, and I did a cheesy two-fingered point and one-eye-closed pose to Fran and said "You know, this song is about you, baby!" I was re-enacting a story from when Fran was riding in a car with her sister and a guy who was a friend of the family. According to legend, he had a huge crush on Fran's sister and, when the song "One in a Million Girl" came on, he turned to her, pointed to her (possibly executing the dreaded double-index-finger-with-thumb-extended-upward point) with a very cool, '70's attitude (including '70's fro), and said that to her...Fran said it was an incredibly awkward moment but the guy was unaffected and turned back to driving. I know, that's a horrible thing to make fun of, but when I think about it it makes me burst out laughing. I may end up going to hell for that particular reason.

Despite being foolishly unnerved at many of the inevitable twists and turns which happen when traveling out of town, I had managed to hide it pretty well, so despite my neurotic behavior everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. As we pulled in at 11:00 pm last night, I breathed a sigh of relief, and Fran just laughed at me and shook her head.