Over the weekend my sister Beth and her two sons braved the car jackings and smog that inevitably accompany a visit to the city and came for a visit. You all remember Beth – the one with the horrible IBS and shits her pants every time she shifts her car into drive? Good times.
Anyhoo, they live deep in downtown cow town so every time they come to visit we kick it up big city style.
On Friday we went to the Magic House, which incidentally now costs a weeks’ salary. Luckily Beth owed me some money from the birthday gift we bought Mimi (our Grandma), a carton of Cowgirls and 6 pack of Zima, or as Mimi calls it, brunch. So she footed the bill.
Also included in the price of admission at The Magic House: every germ in the history of the world.
Saturday we went to the zoo, which was an awesome outdoor activity for 102 degrees. At one point Lila’s hair burst into flames. We only stayed long enough to let the smell of the penguin cave permanently cling to our clothing so we spent the rest of the day smelling like we needed needed a dose of antibiotics from the local clinic.
As we were leaving there was a flood of new parents arriving and pushing their newborn babies in the stroller/car seat combo, all of whom thought they were doing their babies a good service by draping a blanket over the handle of the car seat for shade. What they didn’t realize is that in a half hour when they went to check on the baby it will have turned into a raisin.
We were trying to figure out what to do with the rest of our afternoon when I remembered that I had bought a Groupon for the Museum of Transportation. Our neighbors told me it was pretty cool so we decided to check it out.
What they didn’t tell me is that the Museum of Transportation is where dreams go to die.
The first bad thing that happened is that on the way in we were gang banged by a family of locusts.
The second bad thing was that the creation station (or something – it was how I convinced my 8-year-old nephew to come here over the Science Center because I told him it was the COOLEST thing in the world, even though I had no idea what it was) was closed for a private birthday party, sending him into a tail spin of pre-pubescent disappointment and turning me into a lying bitch.
We were the only ones in the entire place because everyone else who tried to come in was still getting ass raped by the locusts in the parking lot. Also, by now it was over 300 degrees.
The Groupon included four miniature train rides and we were the only ones on the train. My sister and I sat near the front, her with her 1-year-old son on her lap whose hair had now exploded into a righteous Afro, my pregnant ass holding Lila whose sweat was dripping down her face as she chewed the seat in front of us with one arm and trying to hold Ellie as she screamed her balls off because she didn’t want me touching her with the other, and my 8-year-old nephew sitting with his arms crossed, glaring out the side on the very back seat of the train, still pissed about the creation station.
The train took off like a shot and did two mind numbing laps around an overgrown field with some abandoned train parts scattered around before we pulled back into the station.
I mean, I guess it would have been a cool place if you care about trains and transportation stuff.
Which I don’t really.
In the least.
So then we went home and made nachos and I ate an entire can of queso dip and had my daily glass of wine and everything was better.