Today I was told that I look like a screamer… Apparently my face, even in a totally composed state, screams, “Screamer.” Not moaner, or crier, or silent, bug-eyed rider, no, somehow, I definitely look like a screamer. I was just unaware that I wear a Screamer pride badge on my sleeve, until today. But, like duh-
OF COURSE I’M A SCREAMER!!!!!
Why the heck would I hold it in? Why would anyone want to hold it in? Screams should NOT be kept in cages and fed pellets and week-old vegetables. Screams should run wild and free. They should fizz and pop and explode. So if there is a scream hiding out, nesting somewhere inside of you, for fuck sake, LET IT OUT!!! And if you don’t think you have one in you, Fuck off! You’re totally lying.
LET LOOSE PEOPLE, and let those screams take you places you’ve never been. Allow those screams to fill your head with endorphins and make you dizzy and giddy and free. Don’t worry about what people will think of you or if you’re going to hurt someone’s precious little eardrums. It feels damn good to be a screamer! And I’m almost-probably sure there are multiple health benefits to regular screaming sessions. I mean, I would know, I spent the whole day doing it and I feel great!
Oh come on! Get your mind out of the gutter! I was screaming all day because I went to an amusement park on the Gold Coast called DreamWorld and it was magically epic. Probably even more epic than it would have been because I didn’t have to pay full price. And if you ask me, the day-passes are ridiculously overpriced, like most things here in Australia but anyway… the kind gentlemen standing in line in front of us gave my girlfriend and I half price tickets!
THANK-YOU SUPERHERO EFRON, you made our day 😉 and I wish millions of good karma points to you, your family, and your loved ones! (As if he will ever read this blog… and as if his name is actually spelled like that…) but whatever. I sincerely hope that he was not one of the unfortunate people who were trapped on a ride beside me, and deafened by all of my soprano blasts.
It seems that my screams only get louder with age. Rides that would have induced a small hiccough of a scream from six or seven or eight-year old me now induce shrill maniac panic. Rides terrify and excite me. The child in me, forever young, urges me to go on the really speedy, flippy, spinny, twisted giants and for every year of my life there is a new voice asking another question, why not just stay off and watch? Who builds these rides? Are they really safe? How often do they get maintenance? What kind of mechanic builds amusement park rides and not car parts anyway? Wait, no, don’t think that, that’s problematic! What is that horrible creaking sound? Is that the engine? Is it supposed to stop like this, while we are hanging upside down? Has something malfunctioned? OH MY GOD WE’RE GOING TO DIE!!!!!! –
These voices can’t stop my inner child from getting what she wants because everyone, (or at least everyone that has known me for more than ten years), knows that little Heidi Loos was a Brat. So Bratty, and proud of it, I once owned a shirt that had Brat written on it in silver sparkly letters, or, it may have said “princess” but same dif- so all day I rode, and I screamed and I got thrown around, splashed in the face, tipped upside down, flipped backwards and sideways and jerked, creaked, zipped, zapped, splooshed and thrilled to the freaking bone.
Silent screams are soo not satisfying.
Maybe I need a screaming coach.
Until Next Time!
xOxO, (SCREAMS and kisses),
Heidi J. Loos