can you hear the dolphin's cry?

I can't say I'm a fan of roller coasters, but I imagine the best thing about them is that moment atop the first peak when you seem to hang for a few seconds and anticipate the massive adrenaline rush you'll be flooded when your body is finally plunged into a screaming descent that has you begging to ride again as soon as it's over.

While that may be the best thing about roller coasters, the worst thing would probably be getting to that top peak, knowing you're so close to falling over the edge, and then stalling. Nothing. Cut short. The ride has come to an abrupt and unsatisfying conclusion.

Personally, I think coming to rest atop a slopping hill in a tiny little roller coaster car would be scary as hell. However, for the sake of where this post's going, let's just call it a disappointment, shall we? A huge, crushing disappointment.

And then let's substitute "riding a roller coaster" with "entertaining myself with my dolphin and bullet vibes." And then let's pretend that the bullets completely stalled on me mere seconds from reaching that first summit and plunging down into a screaming, hands in the air, "Oh my freakin' God! Let's do that again! I don't care that I just ate a hot dog and cotton candy!" orgasm.

Only it's not pretend. My trusty dolphin and bullets truly did die on me in such a fashion. The tiny little battery operated motor simply sputtered a whimpering cry of mercy, as if to say "We love you, but we have to go now," and then stopped. Shut out. Lights out. Pencils down. Not quite shafted, but pretty damn close, missy. Were it a cinematic death scene, I'd rank it above Julia Robert's death in Steel Magnolias, which never fails to have me blubbering like an idiot 30 minutes before it even happens just because I know it's coming and I'm all "I told you so!" to Julia about her decision to have a baby.

Sadly, however, I didn't know my dolphin was near death, so I wasn't able to brace myself for its demise. It hadn't beached itself on my sandy shores. It got regular exercise. Fresh batteries. Tender loving care. And yet, it's time had apparently come.

Well before my chance to do so had been achieved.

Perhaps you recall my massive crush on my trusty aquatic friend and its shiny orbs of goodness. If you do, then you may understand why its untimely death has been quite devastating for me. Upon its final whir, I dangled its lifeless wires in the air above me, looked quizzically at them and wailed "Why have you forsaken me?" (only it sounded more like "What the fuck?"). Then I jiggled the orbs, gave them a little thump with my fingers, pushed the control button on the remote from 'fast' to 'slow' a few times, and then asked for 10 ccs of epi, stat! My husband, bless his soul, suggested surgery and went in search of soldering tools. While his efforts were driven more by the idea of what we spent on this toy and not so much on my massive love of it (and perhaps some Freudian connection between man and tools), I was leery. I know how he completes projects, and I had a fear of being electrocuted if something went wrong. Or at least suffer a hellish shock. No orgasm, no matter how kick ass, is worth that to me. I'm many things, but I'm not into the creepy sex, thank you.

But for a moment, sweet life was breathed back into them! Praise the Lord and double A batteries! "Now get back to doing what you were made for, my trusty friend!" I cried (or something like that). Unfortunately, it was a short reprieve from it's ultimate fate. My dolphin and bullets are dead, memorialized with an epitaph that reads "We have proven ourselves worthy of the huge coin you spent in that overpriced neighborhood lingerie store. Go now! Go back to your primitive ways of orgasm. Forget us, if you can, but love us forever. Or, for better values, begin hunting online for a replacement immediately for we know you are a greedy, demanding wench!"

So I did. Hunted every online site that popped into my head and, because this is one thing I'm anal about, compared prices and read every review I could find before plucking my credit card out for the greater good of my orgasmic health. That package I'm waiting for from Amazon? It contains a new diving dolphin toy and another little treasure. It should come delivered to my doorstep by Friday.

Then, shortly after, I should be, too. Roller coaster style, baby! Totally screaming down the hill, hands in the air.