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2004-09-04 @ 12:27 a.m.
ill bill no hill vol i

When I walked into my house today, I turned to Guardcat, who was laying in her usual position on the stereo by the front door and said, “Well sweetie, you are now officially living with a redneck.”

I got the worst sunburn today when I went to the county fair. My neck, shoulders, face and scalp are about the color of Keith Richard’s eyes. Damn those Irish genes. Married Guy had given me a complimentary ticket to the fair and I had free bus tokens to get there, so it was like a practically free day of merriment and entertainment. Except, of course, I had to EAT my way through the freakin’ place. Ice cream. Pulled pork sandwiches drenched in bar-b-que sauce. Several large sodas since it was so damn hot. I also supplemented them with free samples of all denominations. Garlic dip hoisted onto pretzels. Large scoops of ice cream. Cups of chocolate milk. Granola bars. Chips. Bottles of water. You just have to look for free shit. Its there.

And for me, the fair is largely a case of sensory overload, especially since I'm usually just sitting home in my apartment looking at my cat.

I mean, there were so many people smashing into you, or stepping on your foot or screaming into your ear, or knocking into your purse or standing too close to you or staring at you for no apparent reason, or pointing their video cameras at you, or making you listen to their cell phones playing a Barry Manilow song, or making you watch their kids act bratty or making you look at how fat they look in their stretchy pants, or making you look at their stupid looking hats with Bullwinkle antlers, or screaming in your ear, oh wait, I already mentioned that one, or being rude to you, or spilling their sodas on you or making you listen to their political views or not getting out of the way when you say “excuse me” like 7 times, or trying to curb your incredible urge to pet bunnies in the animal building even though there are signs all over warning you that “they may bite” or having to wait in long lines to get a plastic “gift” bag full of goodies and it turns out to only be a bunch of stupid advertisements or being glared at by a vendor when you attempt to double dip a pretzel into the garlic dip or filling out a card for a drawing for a trip for two (do they supply a date?) to a Caribbean wonderland knowing full well you will never ever win anything, because you are perhaps the unluckiest person known to mankind since the beginning of time to infinity.

Ow, my sunburn hurts.

Anyways, I was on TV today. Did you see me? When Channel Six panned the crowd I was the only one who didn’t jump up and down, or squirt Mountain Dew out of their nose or mouth “Hi mom” or spazz out like they had just injected me with quadruple caffeine. Yeah...that was me...Catatonic Girl. I’m sure you spotted me.

I’m not really sure why all the local news casts feel the need to broadcast live from the fairgrounds. I guess because its so freakin’ exciting. I mean, look at what they have: Massive amounts of fried food. Rides run by the guys from “Deliverance”. A living statue. Pigs.

I’d send a camera crew.

And look at all the cool stuff you can buy! A grain of rice inscribed with the “Declaration of Independence” via laser. Hoop earrings so large a Golden Retriever could jump through them. A jar of Hillbilly Whoop-ass. I swear to God. I actually saw that today. I think its manufactured in Crawford, Texas. You know, Bush’s hometown. I’m not saying there is any connection. I’m just saying its available. Hillbilly Whoop-ass.

There was also a booth for cemetery headstones. It was right next to the fried dough booth. That seemed appropriate. Fried dough= cholesterol = heart disease = bypass surgery = increased cholesterol medicine and exercise (yeah right, doing the step machine for 2 minutes a day doesn’t count, sweetie) = second heart attack = death. Voila! Time for a headstone!

And what a great place to go shopping for one. At the fair! I can see it now. Oh wait, Jim, before we shop for your headstone, can we get a basket of curly fries and hit the Tilt-a-Whirl. I mean, that’s how I’d want to do it. Definitely.

We were also supposed to have a big celebrity visit our fair today. I was all excited. It was really the only reason I went. I mean, why else would I go? The much touted appearance of the Oak Ridge Boys? But our big celebrities didn’t show up. At least half of them didn’t. And it was a national story.

So I meandered through the fair for quite a few hours. I’m not a real organized meanderer. For instance, I’d be walking in a building and realize that I had just exited the side door and re-entered the back door. And occasionally my anxiety with crowds would be put to the test. I’d have thousands of people crushing towards me like some giant human tsunami and I’d have to immediately head into a bathroom stall, just so I could be alone for a few minutes.

I did finally find a booth that offered foot massage. It was kind of hidden in a way. It was actually a booth for a national athletic shoe company. But all you had to do was try on one of their sneakers (they also gave out free little promotional anklet socks with their logo), and then you got a free foot massage.

And I was ALL OVER THAT! A free massage. On my tootsies. I always have to request that with Married Guy. He doesn’t do that automatically. The foot massage part. It’s not part of his usual massage agenda. And it should be, since he is most excellent at it. In my estimation, I’d say its about akin to chocolate.

Unfortunately there was a little line for it. And that was actually where I think I got most of my sunburn. They had a tent, but the sun was angling in, so I was standing with my back to it. And I also had to tangle with a bitch.

I was standing behind three women who had a little girl. I was just waiting there quietly, like I always do. And then this woman in a wheelchair with two boys pulls up. The boys were really obnoxious. They were sword fighting with these large plastic toy things...inside the tent, nearly poking people, and the mother wasn’t doing a damn thing about it. And then when the women in front of me were about done, I went to sit in one of the chairs, so I would be next and Wheelchair Wendy jumps out of her wheelchair (with apparent ease) and blatantly steps in front of me and takes the next seat.

Well, I am a world class wimp. I am so used to people walking on me that I should really just have the word WELCOME printed on my ass, but I did quietly mention, that I was kinda Next and Wheelchair Wendy snaps her head towards me, her eyes blazing with the kind of hatred that only Bush could have for Saddam Hussein, and said, “No you’re not! I am! I was here first!! That man over there told me about this.”

I mean how do you bitch slap a woman in a wheelchair? So I quietly backed away and just waited out in the full sun...slowly getting skin cancer....because of YOU WHEELCHAIR WENDY...BECAUSE OF YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH. I mean, why do you need to be fitted for running shoes anyways? Aren’t you in a fucking wheelchair you fucking bitch?

OK. Agreed. I’m even more charming when I have 3rd degree burns on my entire head and shoulder area and my face looks like a piece of rare steak at the Sizzler.

But the nice foot massage did take away some of the pain. Fortunately my feet weren’t too disgusting after walking around the fair for about 4 hours, and the masseuse did a really good job. Of course she didn’t play, “This little piggy went to the *** (the place where I used to work and hated), this little piggy went to the mental hospital...” Married Guy once played that on my toes. It totally cracked me up, especially the part about the mental hospital.

I finally caught the bus back to my car about 4. I thought it seemed really hot, but then again, when I got home I realized it was only me...with my seared flesh and bright red extremities. Thank God, the fair is only once a year. I think, the skin grafts should be healed by next August.

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