First of all, Making Promises will be available at midnight tonight– WOOT!
And second of all–this is the part you’ll have trouble believing…
I have ACTUALLY been too busy to blog!
Squish was performing in the fair (like her brother a couple of years ago and her sister for nearly ten years before her) so on Friday we took everybody to the State Fair. It was 104 degrees.
We slicked everyone up with SPF Flannel Shirt (which was not good enough for Mate–apparently he needs SPF Steel Plate–we shall remember that in the future) and took off for the dusty convection oven that is Cal Expo.
Parts of it were GRREEEAAATT! The animation display–GREAT! The room full of Guinea Pigs–GREAT! The dinosaur display–GREAT! The twenty foot dragon in the handcrafts exhibit–AWESOME! (Okay, there was knitwear there too, but frankly, most of the stuff you guys put out could dust most of the first prize stuff from California. We’re not exactly the handcraft capital of the world.) So far, lots and lots of great. But, uhm, the two humping tortoises in the reptile display? (Yeah, you heard me.) HI-FUCKING-LARIOUS! No lie.
There we were, crossing the big bridge between the expo buildings, a jazz band playing below us and Squish just OWNING that jazz-dance-strut, and we happen to look down into the reptile display.
And there, for all the world to see, is tortoise porn. I swear, the expression on the do-ers face was just like that poor turtle in the youtube video, the one where he’s humping the shoe? And there, up in his grill, are a zillion fair goers who want their pictures taken with the humping turtles. I hope it was worth it to the poor guy to get his quickie in, because, really? The whole affair lacked dignity. No lie.
The petting zoo was pretty awesome, and so was the ‘corn box’– a box of feed corn for the kids to play in like sand. It was especially nice because it was in the shade and I was a dork and wore my flip flops instead of my tennisshoes, so I was enjoying the sit down on the bale of hay before going to our ultimate destination:
Squish’s performance on stage. (Of which we have no pictures, because Mate took all video. If I ever figure out how to post video, I’ll show you!)
Poor Squish– she looked hot, and uncomfortable, and generally puzzled. Much like her brother two years before, she couldn’t quite seem to believe that the whole reason we’d taken her to the fair and let her pet the goats was really so we could throw her up on stage and let her wander around butt-lost.
I made it up to her–as soon as we picked her up, we greeted her with strawberry cream funnel cake, and TRUST ME, this is a food group that was developed especially for Squish. It made it all worthwhile.
On the way out, we actually went INSIDE the reptile tent and checked out the little snakes and the big snakes and the (now somnolent) tortoises, and the… oh gods… I can hardly say it. The BABY SNAKES!
SERIOUSLY– they had a whole terrarium of little king snakes emerging from their clutch of eggs. I looked at the wriggling pink nightmares and tried to pull myself together. I mean, I could deal with the big yellow boa and the anacondas and the pythons– I actually LIKE snakes–I think they’re pretty cool. But when I was seventeen and my unbounded hair hung to my waist–in a two foot halo (dudes–not lying–it’s a rabid squirrel unless I amputate it and sedate it with gel) my step brother tried to freak me out with a tiny red racer snake wrapped around his wrist. “Do you like my snake?” “Piss off!” “Do you like my snake?” “Yeah, if you’ll get it away from my face!” “Do you like my snake?” “Seriously, Todd, where the hell did it go?”
“MOOOOOOMMMMM! I LOST MY SNAKE IN AMY’S HAIR!”
So, as I’m watching the snake wriggle out of their little egg clutch, I’m trying not to have a 25 year cumulative attack of the fucking oogies, right?
The woman next to me was unimpressed. I try to share the weirdness, and she just looks at me. “Snakes are really not that scary.” She said disdainfully. I look around for Mate, who will pat me on the shoulder and assure me that I’m not a big pussy when, out of the corner of my eye, I catch her husband.
He’s having a full body creep-out-shudder, complete with the sound effect, “OOWWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAA!!!”
His wife ignored him. I think the relationship is doomed on that basis alone–but it’s none of my business. Mate patted my shoulder and said, “Yeah, I know. Creepy. Want to see the dinosaurs now?”
And we did.
We came home finally, tired, goofy, and hot and sticky–but I still don’t know if Squish knows why we went. It’s okay. I got to see humping tortoises and eat funnel cake and watch my goofy squishy little red head, up on stage, pink from the heat, looking at me and her father as though we’d lost our everlovin’ minds.
Ah, the fair.
And that’s a pretty long post–especially without pictures… so I’ll save “Ma and Pa Kettle go clubbing” for the next post. Not quite as much to tell–but it’s all sort of surreal, so, you know, you have that to look forward to.