Something happened to me a couple of years ago and I'm just barely getting over it. My therapist, who lives in my head (which probably means I've got some serious couch time coming with a real psychobabble-ist), suggested that maybe writing a blog would help me put this to rest.

Anyway, I like to take my kids on secret outings now and again. I call them "mystery rides" and they can be simple picnics up on Mt. Diablo, a train ride out of Sunol, or even a trip to the Boardwalk. The idea is that we load up and the kids don't know where we'll end up until we are there. They love it and can't stop guessing while en route to the activity.

So a couple of years ago, a lady that works in my building suggested that I head over to the Oktoberfest in Clayton. It was great by her estimation and they had carnival rides and crafts and a street faire, etc. Sounded pretty good, so on the Sunday afternoon of that weekend, I loaded up the kids and off we went. The wifeage stayed at home to get caught up on her alone time. I got to the event and everything seemed mostly okay. I'll say mostly because it was later in the afternoon of the two day festival and I could tell that some had gotten into the beer maybe a little too much. Whatever, we were headed for the rides, but I needed to hit the can first. Luckily, there was a handicapped unit available. Remember, Jackson would have been four at the time and the Mo only three and there was only the one of me. So the sight of the handicapped unit was a relief as I could bring them both in there with me without losing sight of them. And then I flung open the door and scooted them in before me. To my shock and horror, it was disgusting. And I mean really disgusting. Stop, think again of the most disgusting thing you have ever seen or witnessed, pump that image full of steriods and maybe were getting close to the disgustingness of the outhouse I had just lead my family into. Clearly the unit hadn't been serviced that day. I'll spare you the details regarding the vomit and fecal matter strung about the place as I don't want a repeat of the gagging sensations that involuntarily convulsed both me and my kiddiewinks. I did my business in record time and then shooed the kids out of the door where we promptly collapsed on some lawn about 100 yards away. Only after about five minutes were we able to collect ourselves and make our way to the rides.

And now the thrust of my consternation boils down to this: whenever I see the lady across the hall from me that recommended that I go to the Clayton Oktoberfest, I can't help but associate her with that bathroom experience. It's not fair, I know, and she is semi attractive, but it's almost as if on sight, I can smell and see that moment and I almost begin to gag all over again. Strange I know. I hope I can move past this and with your help, darn it, I think I can. Thanks for being there for me.

Johnny GoFast