"Came from the hood, ain’ t nothin’ changed
Still lemon pepper on my motherfuckin’ wings (wangs)”
- Rick Ross
"Put my tongue in different places, play a game a Operation.
Na na na la la la la, you get what I’m sayin’
No metaphors, nuttin’ like that, I’m keepin’ it straight to the point wit you
I’ma put this dick up all inside of you.”
- Schoolboy Q
Going to the fair has become a tradition for Karla and I ever since I moved to Spokane back in 2005. Wait. Actually, it couldn’t have become a tradition until 2006, because that is when Karla moved to Spokane. I didn’t go that first year because Ryan would rather stay at home and roll his eyes from afar than be subjected to looking at mediocre crafts and farm animals in person.
Last year Karla couldn’t go, and I was so desperate that I went to the fair by myself for the first time. It just wasn’t the same, and I was pretty much traumatized by the entire experience. There was no one I could turn to when the urge to mock came upon me, and having to contain myself just wound up making me feel depressed.
However, this year Karla was able to go once again AND we were able to add a whole new level of snark with the addition of our fellow knit friend Jennifer. I was super excited because Karla and I can mock crafts pretty hard as a team, but now we had a third person who could tag herself in with the same sense of irreverent humor. We were a mocking trifecta!
Jennifer was also great because she showed us around the part of the fair that we had never managed to get to before, which was the General Store, the vintage tractors, miscellaneous old-timey farming machines that still worked, and baking demonstrations. I had no idea that you could buy fresh milled flour at the fair!
After that nice detour, we were primed and ready to start mocking in earnest. We walked past the hologram Jesus pictures, voiced our disgust at air brushed artwork on clothing, and managed to not buy one of those crazy glazed donut hamburgers for tasting purposes before coming to what I consider to be the sign of all signs that you have entered the fairgrounds proper.
Yes, Izzy’s Bar-B-Que. This has always been the most ridiculously large sign for a food booth that I have ever seen. Plus they blare country music the entire time. No thanks.
This seemed like a great idea, and when we first saw this booth we were all thinking about getting some. But then Jennifer noticed there was an alarming lack of cherry pie on the menu, and when Karla and I got closer to actually order one, we saw that the pies were 7 fucking dollars. 7 dollars! For a pie the size of a Hostess fruit pie! Now, I haven’t purchased a Hostess pie in many, many years and I’m definitely NOT saying that the quality of a pre-packaged highly processed pie would be anywhere near a pie made with fresh ingredients, but COME. ON. $7? We backed away quickly.
From this point on, I am going to go out of chronological order because I want to save the few pictures of the crafts for last, since they’re funnier than the animals and we actually looked at the animals last.
This sign was in the chicken area, and I just had to take a picture of it because you know, “Ha ha! It says 6 pound cock!”.
This chicken breed freaked me out because it looked kind of like it had its brains on the outside of its head. Although now when I think about it, aren’t chicken brains a whole lot smaller than that? That hadn’t occurred to me when we were actually looking at it.
I found this particular sheep fascinating because I am used to seeing most sheep or goats dressed up in lambie jammies at the fair, not large coats with collars so big they resemble a cone of shame. Just look at her face, though. She looks like she knows she looks extra cool.
We arrived right as the fair opened, so it was the first time we had ever seen the chickens with their ribbons on their cages. Now we know what a prize winning chicken looks like, although he looks so small that he probably has a Napoleon complex.
Honestly, I don’t know why I bothered to take a picture of this clock shaped like a guitar. I thought Ryan might like to see it. When I showed him the picture after I got home he said it looked ugly. I didn’t think it was terrible, but then again I would also never ever want something like that in my house.
I only took a picture of this because it was surrounded by beautiful, tasty looking cookies and breads and it was so out of place. Who in their right mind enters a clearly hideous looking (you can just tell it is also hideous tasting) pizza crust into a baking contest?
When Jennifer came to this doll, she said “That baby knows what you did last summer!”. There’s always going to be one creepy doll at the fair!
I added an arrow pointing out why I took a picture of this beautifully carved buffalo.
It’s supposed to be a cane topped with a Dachshund, but seriously, from nearly any other angle it looks like a cane topped with a wooden dildo. They really should have a sex toy craft category at the fair!
I took a picture of this drawing because all three of us were amazed that it somehow managed to get a blue ribbon.
Cheddar Island? Cheese Pirates? Mice? Har. Har. But you know, I still thought it was pretty cute. But that is because I love pirates and i think mice are adorable, so it was a win-win for me to see them combined.
At this point, we’d seen a fair amount of dick shaped items, so when we came upon these little tatted bags Jennifer couldn’t figure out if they were supposed to be for tiny dicks or maybe chapstick holders. She also didn’t want to stick around or touch them just in case they were for the former, and had already walked off by the time I got there (I was busy taking pictures of the creepy doll). Karla mentioned that she liked the black one with the tassel because it “looks like it’s ejaculating!” which cracked me up! I was also wondering what their purpose was, but it didn’t occur to me until I got home that they were probably shaped like that so a tatter could have a little purse to hold their tatting shuttle! So. There was a perfectly acceptable, non dirty use for those purses after all. What a shame.
Karla and I dubbed this the “Emo Butthead” drawing, because the tallest guy in the group looks like he is an emo version of Butthead, and because he is surrounded by all his emo friends.
I swear to god that before we actually looked at the tag on this drawing, we all thought that was either a black squirrel (me, Karla) or a tiny black fox (Jennifer). We argued about it for a while, and then when I actually read the tag and informed everyone that it was supposed to be a cat, we were stunned. Is the cat a pygmy cat? And why is the tail drawn like a squirrel tail? WTF? It was best to just admit defeat.
Okay, now I personally think this is the best and that is why I saved it for last. Now, it is actually supposed to be a knitted nest, and it has three little fake eggs inside. But I knew that if I just helped it out by reshaping it a little, it could be so much more! And so, I present to everyone the unintentionally knit vagina!
And that, my friends is the tale of how our mocking trifecta amused ourselves at the fair this year.
Last week Ryan had an entire burrito left over from lunch at Gerrardo’s. When he told me he was ready to eat it for lunch the next day, I happily pulled it out of the fridge and put it on a plate so I could heat it up in the microwave. Then I picked the wrong time to complain out loud (next time I will just keep the complaining to myself) about how large it was and how it was going to make it difficult to reheat evenly. I wasn’t expecting him to respond. I was just blowing off steam and was planning on using my usual method* of reheating burritos.
Unfortunately, he not only was facing me and could see what I was doing, but he also chose to point out that I was doing it completely wrong. I don’t take criticism well at all, and immediately felt attacked, so I got angry and refused to have anything more to do with his (now) stupid burrito. “If you want it heated up the way you like, then you can just do it yourself!” I yelled. Actually, there was more cussing involved, but I can’t remember the specifics anymore.
What happened next made me even more upset. Now I don’t know about you, but the last thing I want to have to deal with in an argument is a lecture on thermal engineering; specifically how heat transfer works on the molecules in a burrito. I DO NOT NEED TO BE CONDESCENDED TO ON SUCH A RIDICULOUSLY INTELLECTUAL LEVEL OVER A FUCKING BURRITO, YOU HEAR ME? I DO NOT APPRECIATE SCIENCE BEING DROPPED ON ME WHEN I AM FURIOUS! Ryan was lucky that he didn’t wind up like the teenager in this story!
I have MY WAY of dealing with large burritos not heating up evenly, and I felt my method of doing things was JUST. FINE. Ryan then complained about having to deal with dried out rice, of all fucking things, and I swear to GOD he has not ONCE brought that up to me when I have heated his burritos up in the past. EVER. Frankly, when I heat up my own burritos, I have NEVER had an issue with my rice becoming dried out!
Anyway, in the end the issue was resolved when I had calmed down a bit with all the seething and realized that we had been spending a ridiculous amount of time arguing over a fucking burrito. In the end, I caved and used his method for heating up burritos in the microwave, AND WE SHALL NEVER SPEAK OF THIS AGAIN.
*The actual method I use doesn’t even matter at this point, but let’s just say it is very different from Ryan’s method and pretty much yields the same results.
The other day I realized I needed some new underwear. I thought about where to go, because usually I just buy a few pairs at a time from Burlington Coat Factory. They have great prices on underwear, but you never really know what is going to be available.
This time I wanted a guarantee. I wanted underwear that would fit without going up my ass, and no frills. When I was young, I loved buying the flimsiest crap I could find. After I met Ryan and discovered he could care less about lingerie, I bought a lot of boy short styles. But now? I realized it was time. Time for me to give in to age, where comfort and practicality now rule over everything else.
I am 40 years old and I just purchased my first 6 pack of sensible, comfy underwear.
This morning Ryan put the channel on the movie Daddy’s Little Dividend, and then we started talking about life in the 1950s. He likes to romanticize that time period because he’s a guy.
Me: I’m so glad you weren’t around in the 50s, you’d be strutting around even more than you do today!
Ryan: No, I’d be fighting for civil rights!
Me: Yeah, so you could get some brown sugar without being arrested.
Ryan, earnestly: No, you know what I’d really be doing? I’d—”
Me, interrupting: Fucking?
Ryan, indignantly: I’m not speaking to you anymore!
I was so excited to come home tonight because Ryan told me he was planning on making pizza. Not just any pizza, but his Roma style pizza, which is amazing. If you don’t believe me, here is a picture of the deliciousness of his pizza below.
Anyway, so I was really excited, but then I made the grave mistake of mouthing off to him about the quantity of ingredients that he had purchased. Because if there’s one thing the Toad believes to his core is that you go big or go home. I suspected this, so I said:
Me: Please tell me you didn’t buy two dough balls. I mean, I know the leftovers would be eaten, but seriously.
Ryan: I bought two dough balls. But if you only want one I can just throw it in the freezer. And the way the Bad Kitty eats leftover pizza there would not be any for Toad. The Bad Kitty is a pizza eating machine.
Me: Oh my god. I knew it. Just use one and make the one with two different halves. ORLY?!! Whatever. So what two were you going to make?
Ryan: I can’t they are going to use different sauce. It’s one or the other.
After I read this, I was shaking my head because I thought I knew best, and should tell him exactly what he should do instead. BIG MISTAKE.
Me: Wow, so you can’t just break the dough ball into two and do it that way? Jesus.
Ryan: Nope. You know what? That’s it. Now I’m not making pizza.
Here, it sinks in that I have made a grave tactical error. I begin to backpedal furiously, hoping that the Toad will have mercy on my pizza-less soul.
Me: NooOoooooo!!! Pizza!!!
Me: Please I am sorry I will shut up
Me: MUST HAVE THE PIZZA
Me: You can do whatever you want
Me: I won’t say another word
Me: About making pizza
Me: Oh god I need the pizza (insert super appropriate cat meme here)
Me: I APOLOGIZE
Me: I AM SORRY I EVER QUESTIONED THE TOAD AND HIS METHODS
Me: PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE STILL GOING TO MAKE THE PIZZA
Me: I WILL GROVEL AT YOUR FEET WHEN I GET HOME
Ryan: If you repost this entire thread on Facebook alongside a picture of my last amazing pizza, I may consider making a pizza tonight. And it better be contrite!
I am so glad that Ryan is merciful and has agreed to make the delicious pizza, because without that pizza, I am nothing.
I had one main housecleaning chore I wanted to get done today, and I actually managed to do it after I got home from work. I also had planned to eat healthy, but I am a sucker for food peer pressure in the worst way. The silver lining is that for lunch I at least picked a healthier option than I normally would (I don’t even want to get into the guilt I feel for eating something from Taco Bell), and for dinner I only ordered and ate one fish taco instead of two.
Baby steps, man, baby steps.