Sunny Little Rain Cloud: Fair Weather Friend

At the risk of beating the same old drum, I wouldn't exactly describe this past summer as exciting. Most of this is my own fault. For some reason, I thought buying a house was a good idea. Now I realize that while I can proudly claim to be a 'home owner,' I really am just broke and have to pull weeds. Seriously, total bonehead move on my part. But another reason for the drastic lack of excitement stems from the fact that I don't live in a city known for it's thriving social scene. (Again-why did I buy a house there? Ele-phino) Add that to the fact that we Morm's don't really get down much on drunken revelry...that shrinks the opportunities to swim in the 'fun pool' dramatically.

Needless to say, I am not just a little bit happy that The Good Doctor has decided to move her beautiful mind back to the Sunshine State...and within simple driving distance, no less. By my math, this relocation project has increased my single, Mormon friend count to a whopping total of 2. That's a 100% increase, if anyone is keeping track. (Yeah- I can do math. What?)

She went nomad and stayed at my place just long enough to realize that living in the desert sucks exactly as much as you'd think it would, came to recognize that herds of sheep lose their novelty when they make freaking sheep noises all night long and between her and her sister, completely ruined my dog. Since their departure he has done nothing but look at me with pity, boredom and disdain for the life of the single spinster. I refuse to be judged by a creature that licks his own butt....so whatever. Get over it.

We engaged in some hijinxs on the 4th of July, which can loosely be translated to....hung out at her grandma's, went to the beach and (I) was reminded that the downfall of Carlsbad beaches is that there are no public restrooms. (This is where that story about walking three miles, hopping over a rod-iron fence, sneaking into a hotel bathroom and getting a 'talking to' from the local sheriff about j-walking comes in.)

Anyhow- as if that wasn't enough excitement to stem the tide of yearning for a social life that extends beyond the reach of my DVR, we decided to tie a bow around the summer with a visit to the L.A. County Fair. I have been born and bred around all things fair related. Grandparents, parents, aunts, uncles, siblings have all worked at the fair at one time or another. I've placed bets on the horses with my grandpa more than once, wandered around delivering ice to the beer stands, and my brother and uncle have hatched all sorts of plans to scalp tickets to events from the rodeo to the Winter Nationals. (I have yet to come to a solid conclusion as to whether or not this officially makes us 'Carnie-folk,' but retrospection has kind of got me thinkin' maybe, yes.)

It's always fun/ny to bring a newby around something that is normal and second nature to you. Pretty much opening the doors and throwing some sunshine onto your particular brand of crazy. Unfortunately, in this case, I was totally a bad friend. I got a late start on the day, so we missed all of the standard county fair schenanigans like the pie eating, pig racing, ridiculous whointhehellwouldeverspendmoneyonthatcrap demonstrations, and this...

But we did manage to catch the trapeze/ribbon/I would kill myself 16 different ways if I tried this/whatever it's called, show.

And because we like to do it up international style, we didn't just stop with the Russian mail-order trapeze artist. We also rolled up on the Beijing Circus performers.

It was around this point of the night that I thanked the Lord in heaven that I was born in America, land of the free, home of the fat. As it turns out, I am way to chubby/lazy/clumsy to ever have survived in any country but this. The timing of this realization was actually kind of apropos for the evening. It was shortly thereafter that got a corn-dog the size of a toddler's arm, a bowl full of fried Kool-Aid (no joke-google it) and discovered what I want my final resting place to be.