Looking on the Bright Side (or, Nebraska Hates Us)

We had an event-filled weekend which ended with the two of us slinking into bed at 3:20am Saturday night/Sunday morning.

Back on Friday night (which, after everything else that has happened, seems like a long, long time ago) we spent our date night at Kauffman Stadium watching the home team take on the Colorado Rockies.

The price for parking went up again this year, but on the bright side, it's still only about one-third the price of parking for Chiefs game.

We didn't buy any food at the game because it's also expensive. But on the bright side, the Royals actually allow you to bring in outside food and water. So we grilled four hot dogs at home, wrapped them in foil, and had that, some potato salad, and an orange for dinner at the game.*

*One of these days I will have to write a guide to going to a Royals game on the cheap.

We had to move (twice) because we couldn't take the vulgarity emanating from surrounding inebriated Royals fans. Dirty looks used to mean something in this country. There used to be this thing called "shame," and a quick glance could often quiet an overly boisterous, R-rated fan by reminding him (or her—don't even get me started on how proud the women of the world should be on how they've achieved gender equality in crudeness), that regardless up his own disregard for social mores in public venues, some people don't appreciate being bombarded with expletives. It seems that some people only reach a sixth-grade reading level, at which point the only additions to their vocabulary are by their creative juxtaposition of profanity with an occasional noun, coming up with new and even more offensive ways of wielding the English language.** But I digress. The point is we moved twice trying to find a place where we could enjoy the game and keep our ears from bleeding.

**Although the preceding paragraph could be inflammatory to the rare beer-swilling, land-of-the-free-home-of-the-CHIEFS-disrespecting-the-national-anthem yelling, profanity prone readers of this blog, I hope to have used enough 'big' words to prevent them from actually understanding it. But I digress, again.

But on the bright side, the Royals pounded the Rockies, winning 9-2, in completely un-Royal-like fashion.

We had big plans for Saturday. Last August we had fun driving up to Omaha for a session in the temple, followed by an Omaha Royals game. The Omaha Royals are the AAA affiliate of the Kansas City Royals. This weekend the Salt Lake Bees were in town, so we planned to spend the morning on the road, the afternoon in the Winter Quarters temple, the evening at historic Rosenblatt Stadium, and the late-night driving home.

Pretty much everything went according to schedule. We also ran into some friends from our ward at the temple and were able to watch their two adorable kids and allow them the chance to go through a session together, which was a welcome surprise. It's always a blessing to be able to share our friends' kids occasionally.

There was, however, an unwelcome surprise in store for us after the game on our way home to Kansas City. The game itself was really fun. We arrived at the stadium 90 minutes early to ensure that we would be one of the first 1,500 fans through the gates to receive a Johnny Rosenblatt bobblehead. We saw Alex Gordon hit a homerun in his first at bat and a triple in his second. And we were able to say hello to our friend Disco who is on the 7-day DL, unable to play, and was sitting in the stands behind home plate charting pitches.

We weren't sure if we should leave the game early or not, but the Bees made our decision easier. By 9:00pm, they were leading the home team 11–2, so we decided to leave, stopping to pick up a pizza on the way out of town. At about 9:45pm our pizza was gone and we were past Council Bluffs, IA, well on our way home. Unfortunately, that particular section of I-29 is in worse repair than any other interstate I have ever driven, and at 9:46pm, we hit a pothole, deflating the front driver-side tire.***

But on the bright side, it happened 50 feet from an exit, and I was able to pull off right away.

***Sorry, but this time, there was no Flip Video there to capture all of the fun.

So we had a flat tire. During a trip to Nebraska. Again. Nebraska, I ask you: Why do you hate us?

Normally, with a spare tire in the truck, we could switch it out in about 15–20 minutes. Unfortunately, despite repeated impression over the past few weeks, I never took the time to purchase the special tools I would need to remove one of our 18" aftermarket wheels. But on the bright side, at least now I'm certain that those impressions were genuine and not just some figment of my paranoia.

So, to keep it brief, we were sitting on the side of the interstate, barely on an off-ramp for two hours before being rescued by a local resident with a trunk full of tools. We still did some minor damage to the wheel in order to get the socket to fit around the lug nuts, but as it turned out, the wheel was completely cracked and ruined anyway. We were finally back on the road with our "doughnut" tire mounted, about 180 miles away from home, and only able (willing?) to go 55–60mph because of it. But on the bright side, we hadn't invited anyone to come with us, so we hadn't inconvenienced anyone else.

We finally pulled into our driveway just after 3:00am. We brushed our teeth, said our prayers, expressed our gratitude for having arrived home safely, and went to bed. But on the bright side, at least we were home instead of sleeping in our car outside a Walmart waiting for it to open to see if we could buy the special tool we needed to remove our wheel, as the AAA operator had suggested. Thank goodness that Iowan stopped to see if we needed any help.

And that's what we did this weekend. Fun. Huh.

Go to the board!