A WICKED Awesome Weekend

*Warning* This is going to be long, so unless you like me, like barfing stories, like stories of angels among us, like Wicked, or like Manhattan...you'll be bored.

...6 Weeks Earlier...

Ring. Ring. Ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey!" Says my dad. "How would you feel if I flew you out to New York to see Wicked? It would be the end of February."
"Ugh. Fine. Twist my arm why don't you". Obviously I was kidding. I jumped all over plan.
"It will be a "girls trip" with mom and I."
- details worked out between like 15 phone more calls-

...Fast Forward to the present day...

Early Friday morning my hunky husband drove me to the airport to begin an adventurous weekend in Manhattan.

Denver to Detroit = not too bad

I got through airport security with plenty of time to sit and read my book for a good long while. We boarded the plane around 8:00 am and my adventures began. The flight was pretty uneventful except for the two LARGE men I was sitting next to. I had the window seat, and they had put the armrests up so they could have more room. I was SMASHED against the window. Lest you think I am kidding, I assure you, the man on my right and I were touching clear from our shoulders and down our adjoining legs. Gross.
I got a little woozy on the landing but didn't think anything of it.

Detroit to LaGuardia = Miserable and Nasty

This flight began so-so. Since I wasn't feeling too great from the previous flight, I closed my eyes and breathed deeply while the air blasted me in the face. I survived decently until with about 45 minutes left, things started to get a bit "bumpy". Then it accelerated to something like being caught in dryer and a wild roller coaster at the same time. At that point I was full on labor breathing trying to keep it together. No such luck. With about 20 minutes left I grabbed for the barf bag in front of me and vomited mightily. I felt better for all of 30 seconds till more waves hit. Because the turbulence didn't stop neither did my nausea. We FINALLY landed and I was as miserable as I have been. I slumped against my seat until every other passenger was off the plane then feebly trembled and stumbled off the plane.

I went to the bathroom where I could simply sit on a toilet and put my head down. After about 15 minutes I realized I wasn't getting any better and I hate airport bathrooms. I left to find my bus.

The Bus to the Subway = Hell on Wheels...Literally

I walked out into the blustery cool New York air. It felt good in my lungs. I was immediately overwhelmed. I was already nervous about getting from the airport to the hotel and the amount of people and lack of signs didn't help. I gritted my teeth, and was determined to be a big girl. At that moment I was determined to find bus B33...something that didn't exist. I walked around...a lot... to no avail. In my indecisiveness I managed to irk some New Yorkers and got an earful of New York "love".
I started to worry and began poking my head into buses to ask the drivers if this bus is the one I needed to get on. Finally, one driver said to me, "There is no such thing as B33. I think you are looking for Q33."
Recalling a waiting station where the Q and M buses came, I resigned to head over there and just wait for a while to see what happened.
I sank onto the bench in between a short Hispanic man and another white boy who looked about 16. He was tall and gangly, had a furry yarn knitted beanie, a face full of pimples, glasses, a mouth full of braces, a pleasant smile, pants that were just a little too tight and short, and a pair of hiking boots.
A short minute later I turned to the boy on my right, "what bus are you waiting for?"
"Q33" he responded.
"Really?!" I was utterly relieved. "I think that is the bus I need to get on too."
"Yeah, I need to get off at 74th and Roosevelt."
Recalling that information from my directions, I almost cried in relief to realize that was also my stop. Yes, this was the bus I needed, and there was someone I could secretly follow.
He and I talked a while longer. It became clearer and clearer this boy was a saint. He was a tender mercy sent straight to me.
His name was Johan. He was a pleasant person and quite enjoyable to talk to; very humble, kind, and focused. He was auditioning in piano for a masters program at some New York school of music. He was a Senior at Indiana, and he also had never been to NY before.
I also learned that in order to ride the bus I needed a pass, or exact change...
Q33 rolled up and I tried to get on the bus. Exact change meant exactly that; change. No bills. I was mortified. I didn't know what to do.
"Pay me at the next stop," growled the ornery bus driver.
A nice black lady swapped some quarters and bills with me, and Johan contributed the last quarter I needed.
"There is you $2.25" I said as I quickly and bashfully shoved the coins in the slot. "Thanks for letting me do that"
No response.
I sat back down and closed my eyes. The bus was a.w.f.u.l. it was herky and jerky. Cowboys don't need bulls and horses in training, they need a New York bus. To make matters worse, I couldn't see the road in front of me. Nothing to focus on.
I had used all the bags I had to vomit in and was left with my food bag. I quickly dumped the items into my purse and proceeded to be sick. We weren't even half way done with the bus ride.
"Are you alright?" Johan inquired.
I informed him of the rough flight, my predisposition to motion sickness, and that I was pregnant. All a rough combination.
I continued to have a hard time on the bus. I weep when I throw up and had tears running down my face as black rivers.
Johan began counting the stops for me. "Just two left, you can make it. Take deep breaths." Or, "four blocks left, you are doing great!"
I really appreciated that someone cared.
At long last 74th and Roosevelt appeared. I followed Johan off the bus. "Why don't we wait here just a minute so you can get some fresh air" he suggested. He had found a big garbage can for us to stand next to so I could vomit there. It was just outside the Subway station I needed. He was looking out for me. Ten minutes later he helped me figure out which subway train I needed and helped me purchase my ticket. He went his way, I went mine.

Subway to the Hotel = Another Angel in Surprise

I descended the stairs. No sooner than I hit the bottom and looked up, did a helpful, kind, spry elderly woman approach me. "Do you need help? Where are you going?"
I simply handed her my slip of paper with handwritten directions and hoped she could figure it out.
"You come with me. I am going the same place." She said. "I'll help you find your hotel." Another coincidence...I think not.
This angels name was Anka. She was an Armenian from Romania. She has lived in New York for 37 years. She was small and beautiful with white hair, dark eyes and eyebrows. She was thin but strong.
I told her of my plight and she seemed eager to help and get me rest.
"You sleep," she instructed. "I will wake you when it is our stop. You don't need to worry." As simply as that, I felt worlds better.
The time arrived for us to get off the Subway. I had fortunately made it without throwing up again, but was still carrying my bag-o-vomit around the city just in case.
Anka had me take her arm and walked me up the stairs, out of the station, and to my hotel door where we parted ways and gave well wishes.

I had made it.

I pray that Johan and Anka were blessed for their efforts. They were both heaven sent. I especially hope that Johan gets into the Masters Program he was auditioning for. He was certain he wouldn't because of all the competition, but I know he will helped for helping me. Maybe not by getting into the school, but something just a wonderful, I hope.

Saturday morning rolled around and I still felt yucky. I think the motion sickness triggered my Vertigo. We didn't let it hold us back and filled our day with the following:

Ground Zero
A walk along the Hudson River
The statue of Liberty
Battery Park
Lunch at the Stage Deli
Central Park
Times Square
Some fun stores
The Diamond District
Haggling with street vendors (I didn't get anything)
Dinner at Ray's Pizza
The Stardust Diner (I HIGHLY recommend this place)
And WICKED!!!!!!

Wicked was incredible. It was perfect. I have no complaints whatsoever. Broadway is so professional and polished. Truly amazing. The set was beautiful and creative and the cast was perfect. Here is my critique:

Glinda: Grade A. She was a fabulous actress and a super duper soprano on the high operatic notes. Those were definitely her forte.
Elphaba: Grade A+. She could not have been better.
Fiyero: Grade A-. Also excelled on the higher notes. 'As Long as You're Mine' showcased him a lot better than 'Dancing Through Life'. Not as good and actor and Glinda. Thus my grade.
Wizard of Oz: Grade A-. He was the understudy. Did just fine.
Madame Morrible: Grade A+. She was great! Hated her guts, loved her voice. I think that is exactly how you are supposed to feel about her character.

The rest of the characters and supporting parts were awesome. I feel really lucky I got to see this show on Broadway.

Sunday morning, I still wasn't feeling well. We went to church with the ward that meets at 9:00 am in the chapel under the temple. That was pretty cool.
It was there I happened to see a boy I dated a little in college. The last time I had seen him (Summer 2005), I felt like he had goaded me and pushed buttons purposefully and I had called him a "jerk" and left.
I have never done anything like that before or since, but still felt like that was a pretty deserved statement he earned.
Yup. It was a little awkward seeing him. I wasn't going to pretend like I didn't remember him and didn't see him, so I took the opportunity to chat for a minute at the beginning of the third hour. I am glad I did because now, if I ever see him again, all is well and the awkward factor has been dissolved.

When church was over my family put me in a cab and said their goodbyes. I did my darndest on that ride to watch the road. I stared the pavement down like nobodies business but alas. Still got sick. I didn't throw up this time, but having never gotten over the Friday escapades, I was doomed. I spent the hour at the airport calming my system, but the effect were minimal.

LaGuardia to Minneapolis = Urping and Burping

This flight was not fun, but I didn't vomit. Hallelujah.

Minneapolis to Denver = So close! But no cigar.

This flight was also miserable but at this point I was so eager to be off plains, trains, and buses I would do what I had to. I warned my neighbors at the beginning of the flight that I had been having problems. They were kind enough but I could tell the only thing running through their minds was, "oh great, we are the ones stuck next to THAT person."
We take off without too much added drama and reach 30,000 feet. The captain comes on to tell us we are supposed to have clear skies and a smooth ride.
Wrong.
Half way through the trip, the turbulence gets bad enough the captain get on the PA and apologizes for this "unexpected" air that was supposed to be non-existent and then asks the Flight Attendants to sit down and strap in. Yes, it was that bad.
Do I even need to finish the story??
I guess the only thing worth adding is, I am very good at throwing up. If that is even something you can be good at. I am very quiet. Nobody around knows it's happening. I always know when it's coming so I am never scrambling for something as it's coming out of my mouth. When I am done, I can smile...even with the tar tears running down my face.
My neighbors were impressed. I mean, wouldn't you be??

I am now home. It is sooooooooo good to be with my boys again. It has been a rough adjustment since being back.
Both boys took a while to get over the bug we got at the doctors office. They had fevers and nasty coughs for a week. We layed up inside and watched a lot of movies while I fed them ANYTHING they would eat. Their appetites were non-existent with the fevers.
I left almost right after their bugs. it was 10 rough days for them. Not the schedule they were used to. These last three days home have been trying. They have really put me through the ringer, but I wouldn't trade it for the world. This is where I want to be.

The people that made this all possible deserve gold stars. Thank you a million times over to:
Mom and Dad - the weekend was magical. Thanks for your generosity
Mom Crockett
My handsome husband
My beautiful boys