Work is kicking my ass to the point where I fully expect to drop dead in front of a customer so rude he’ll probably kick me in the head and tell me to finish what I started so he can get home to abuse his wife.  If that happens, I’ll never get to complete my bucket list.

Long ago when my skin was smooth, my breasts perky and my vocabulary limited by my ignorance of the value of a good blow job joke; I’d never heard of a bucket list.  Today I’m retroactively scratching the following two items off from that period of my life.

I piloted an airplane (without a single lesson) after first being an accomplice to its theft.  Oh, grow up people.  Most of you secretly yearn to commit some type of victimless crime.  Quit judging me and don’t expect me to elaborate on that story because I’m not certain if the statute of limitations is up yet.

Most of the remaining items on my list involve travel, but only to places that aren’t as hot as Texas.  If my pits are wet while climbing to the top of an ancient temple, I’m someplace I don’t want to be.

Despite suffering from acrophobia and debilitating vertigo, many of the things on my bucket list involve heights.  I’ve almost successfully completed two of these height-related adventures.  By almost, I mean there were some glitches in the process.

The first was the Roller Coaster of Death.  Fiesta Texas calls it the Poltergeist because my name for it probably wouldn’t draw a crowd.  I’ve always liked roller coasters, but haven’t ridden one since I became menopausal.  I wanted to see if I still have what it takes, so my son-in-law, Mortified Daughter Defiler agreed to join me.

The glitch occurred halfway through the long wait to get on the ride.  I peed before getting in line, but since I usually have to pee ever thirty minutes, my dismay and imagination reached epic proportions the moment I felt a tingle in my nether regions.

The Roller Coaster of Death has one of the fastest starts of any roller coaster in the country, going from zero to sixty mph in a few seconds.  I could imagine the g-forces pushing my pee back up my urethra, into my bladder, through my kidneys, up into my nasal passages and out my nostrils.  The g-forces would cause the pee to spray me in the face before hitting the people in the car behind me.  To cover my upcoming embarrassment, I mentally concocted a scenario where I could blame it on Mortified Daughter Defiler.  It should be obvious to even park security that the culprit would need a penis to accomplish such a heinous crime.  Luckily no DNA samples had to be taken as I managed to hold it in through the exciting ride.

My next bucket list fuckup came when I got a helicopter ride from my brother, a corporate pilot.  He had recently been rated on the tiny flying fishbowl and flew in to the local airport to give me a ride.  Even with bifocals I can recognize a deathtrap; but my list is full of unscratched off items, so I got in.  We took off and my door flew open.

“You’re supposed to lock the fucking door!” the pilot shouted.

“You’re the fucking pilot!  You’re supposed to tell me shit like that!”  I shouted back.

And that’s how I became involved in an emergency helicopter landing.

My third bucket list adventure seemed to be going smoothly.  South Park Happy Holidays t-shirt in June. Check.  Harley-Davidson.  Check.  Genuine biker dude.  Check.  Me on bike behind genuine biker dude.  Check.  No helmet.  Check.  Fool  baseball cap personally given to me by bestselling author Christopher Moore flying off as we zipped along in a school zone at 70 mph.  Checkmate.  And what did I tell you people about judging me?  School’s out for summer! The chances of hitting a third grader in a crosswalk were slim.

This bucket list story does have a happy ending.  My cap got caught on the back of the Harley so now I don’t have to hound the shit out of Chris Moore until he gives me another one.

The biker dude turned out to be a hoot.  He told some great stories about naked bike-riding in Kansas.  I’m certain the two of us disagree on many topics, but we got along just fine.  Man, I love that biker dude and his bike even though we just met and will probably never see each other again.

Thanks for the best ride of my life, Orval!