How can you stand behind Rush Limbhog?

I completely forgot to mention the piglet races. They were alright, I felt like I was being duped. We entered the Livestock arena about 10 minutes early, corn-y dogs in tow. What followed was a what I would call a bad comedy show with pigs, not exactly a piglet race. There were two guys in big overalls and giant clown shoes jumping around like hill billies, talking about the piglets. The stadium was divided into 4 sections, and each section was given a pig to root for. I didn't appreciate having my democratic vote taken away from me, so I was wary from the beginning, and I certainly didn't cheer aloud for a pig that was forced upon me.

They ran them in different "heats." First came the celebrity pig heat, the four pigs were Jean-Claude Van Ham, Arnold Schwartzenhogger, Sylvester Staloin, and our sections pig... Rush Limbhog. I was so disappointed. How could Rush Limbhog stand a chance against all these heavy hitting action heroes?? Jean-Claude Van Ham took home the gold. In the musician pig heat, we had N'Stink, Christina Hoguilera, Squeally Nelson and our sections Elvis Pigsley. I can and did stand behind Elvis. Unfortunately, N'Stink won. Those boy bands.

In any case, I felt that we'd been had. I've performed at State Fairs before, and I know how to work a crowd. We were being worked and I didn't like it. Furthermore, these were not piglets, as we were promised, but full-fledged pigs. I wanted piglets, like the one in the cart pictured above. We've been had.

"I think the caffeine is totally ruining the sweet buzz I had going...."

The title line was overheard at the deep-fried latte stand at the fair last night.

I should say before I disclose the events of last night, that fairs in general make me anxious and usually I get depressed during/after the event. There are many reasons for this.

1. Carnies. They are a source of both anxiety and sadness for me. Anxiety because I always feel rude walking away when someone is talking to me and as you know, the barkers always talk to you as you pass in an attempt to lure you into giving them your money so that you can never succeed at whatever seemingly simple task they put before you. They're always deceptively simple, the tasks! All you have to do is fish this rubber-ducky out of the pond... all you have to do is hit one balloon with a dart.... Don't do it! And it always turns into some show of masculinity too. Whatever man is walking around with four large stuffed basketballs and a gigantic Homer Simpson fancies himself to be the most virile and eligible bachelor at the fair. But I digress... Carnies.

The anxiety is coupled with sadness because they are in such a joyful environs... and are usually very much over it and also are missing teeth. Last night the lady who took our tickets for the Texas Star (pictured above) was wearing white colored contacts. It terrified me but I couldn't look away. Now my imagination will have pupil-only sad-clowns dancing around, and I may never be able to go to the fair again.

2. The number of crying children that are always at the fair also depresses me. Parents are incapable of ever possessing enough tickets to satiate these children. No matter how many hundreds of dollars you spend on Funnel Cakes and foam hats and fun houses, they will never have enough.

OK... on to the fair.....

For the first time EVER I woke up this morning full of remorse for my decision to stop eating when I was full. I showed a regrettable abundance of discretion last night and purchased only two deep fried items for consumption at the fair. After much deliberation I decided that I would have to get at Fletcher's Corn-y Dog and deep fried cookie dough. These were delicious in many ways:

Fletcher's Corn-y Dogs are so tasty! the cornbread is slightly sweet and so crispy on the outside. If ever a hot dog had the opportunity to cross-over into the realm of dessert, this is it. And, let's be honest, that's why I love it so much. I've discussed this with Drake extensively. In my mind, the only food worth cooking is dessert, because that's the only and most delicious food. Dinner is a big waste of time, because dessert is going to be soooo much better. We went to a restaurant with Josh and Erin (pictured above, with corn-y dogs) where the slogan was "Cake is Love". That is precisely how I feel.

Deep Fried Cookie Dough:
I CANNOT overstress the amount of time devoted to obsessing over what this might taste like and how it's prepared. I have spent hours a day trying to imagine it. It was everything I'd hoped for. AND! It came in a flaming race car (as you can see). The standers-by at the fried cookie dough stand were a little bit taken aback by my enthusiasm (in general this seems to be the case in most dessert situations). A rather drunk gentleman asked if I needed to take his seat. I didn't. I had work to do. My car arrived with three hot balls of deep-fried dough. These are not breaded or dipped in any kind of coating. The dough is spooned into the oil basin and that's that. It is served with chocolate sauce and powdered sugar in a cardboard automobile. I think the car is just for flair, but it did manage to up my anticipation level and make me feel like I was about to eat something really special. Which I was. Crispy fried cookie outside. soft doughy dough inside. so. delicious.

I won't pretend that those two items were all that I ate. I had one non-deep-fried-item- skewered chocolate-dipped strawberries. Also, I did sample Danny's Frito Pie, which was pretty delicious, and Josh's funnel cake with strawberries, which was more delicious than any funnel cake I have ever had (call them fried dough, call them elephant ears--this was the best.) I also tried Drake's deep-fried latte, which was a series of deep fried pastry dough with coffee ice cream, whipped cream and espresso powder. Very nice!

Like I said, I was very disappointed in the discretion I showed in not purchasing the red beans and rice and the Jack's French Fries. I guess I have to have a reason to go back some day. My other reason to return is that Big Tex doesn't talk at night!! He only talks during the day! He's also WAAAAY creepier than I thought. His chest is built for a man 3 times his size (which, at 75 feet, would be huge). He also holds his hands in a strange contorted way, leading one to think of a deranged puppet. It was difficult to capture at night, but I've done what I could. Come to think of it, it's probably best that Big Tex didn't talk last night. Between deranged puppet and white eyed carnies, I can't guarantee that I wouldn't have grabbed my fried dough balls and made a run for it.

Get Ready for Big Tex

I am getting ready for the State Fair of Texas this weekend. Preparations include:
running every day, looking through the food options, selecting magicians, jugglers, acrobats, and rodeo clowns to view. Also I must choose the piglet that I will route for in Saturday's race.

To your left is "Big Tex". Some of you may not know him. Big Tex has greeted visitors as they enter the fairgrounds since 1952. The 52-foot tall talking cowboy wears size 70 boots, a 75-gallon hat, and is proof that everything's bigger in Texas.

Obviously, the most important part is the food. Does one select the deep fried peach cobbler on a stick? Corn-y Dogs (Yes, corn-y dogs, not corn dogs, and don't make a big deal about it either, it's a tender topic.)

Here are some of the top contenders:
Texas Fried Cookie Dough. Fresh cookie dough, made from scratch with pecans, chocolate chips and coconut, lightly battered and deep-fried. Topped with chocolate syrup or whipped cream.

Deep Fried Latte. A delicately fried, light puff pastry, with a hint of coffee, is topped with cappuccino ice cream, sweet syrup, whipped cream and instant coffee sprinkles.

Fernie's Fried Chili Frito Burrito. A flour tortilla, dipped in chicken broth for extra flavor, loaded up with a heaping spoonful of spicy Texas chili & smashed Chili Cheese Fritos and deep fried until golden.

B.W.'s Original Fried Banana Pudding. Chilled, specially-made banana pudding is ladled into a grilled tortilla and fried to a crisp golden brown, dusted with powdered sugar while warm, then surrounded by a cloud of whipped topping.

Zesty Fried Guacamole Bites. Creamy avocado mixed with cheddar and Monterey Jack cheeses and salsa is dipped in a zesty batter and fried to perfection.Served with ranch dressings or salsa.

Mama's Fried Sweet Potato Pie. A generous portion of third-generation-recipe sweet potato pie filling is spread on a soft flour tortilla and lightly fried to a crisp. Served plain or with a light sprinkle of cinnamon and powdered sugar.

I'm not sure if there are any non-deep-fried options. But who cares. If it hasn't been lightly breaded and deep fried, Big Tex ain't servin' it.

I feel like I should hold out on some of this information so that I have something to write about after the fair--SO I will not tell you about the piglet races until I can give you a first-hand account.

Also

I have broken out in hives on my face. It doesn't get better than hives on your face, let me tell you.

When life gives you lemons...

I would have traveled around in my happy little Saturn until the end of its days, had the brain surgeon not rear-ended me that fateful rainy day. People always say that everything is bigger in Texas, and it's kind of true. While the rest of the nation downsizes their cars in an attempt to fight rising fuel prices, and to attempt "environmental responsibility" Texas forges on with innumerable gigantic vehicles all over the place. I wasn't hit by a gigantic vehicle, I was hit by a Lexus. A Lexus with a license plate that says "BRAIN." I'd seen this car before, and I have seen it since. Turns out its driver is, not surprisingly, a brain surgeon. Turns out that he also "didn't expect me to turn right away" (into my driveway with my blinker on for a MORE than adequate time beforehand).

In the end, my car was totaled and I had to get another one. I ended up with a 1994 Isuzu Rodeo, which I've enjoyed because it is my first "big car." Also because it's called a Rodeo. Doesn't that sound like a rollicking good time? I sure had a good time at only rodeo I've attended (at the Angola Prison). This car has served me very well, even though I have suffered through a broken air conditioner for nearly two years. I've always thought that my Texas experience would be much better with air conditioning in the car. A friend of a friend at work (whose name is Lovemore which I think is wonderful! But once when we couldn't remember what it was I suggested "Lovegood?" which Drake promptly corrected "LoveWELL, Alta.") anyway, Lovemore fixed my AC! I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's ice-cold, but it is certainly pleasant.

So now I'm waiting in the Lobby of the Pear Tree Inn in San Antonio. Drake and I had to extend our weekend after the car overheated Saturday night. It went like this:

I was shopping, and it wouldn't start. I had noticed that the oil light went on on my way to the shopping center, so I thought I'd set out to find some oil. I looked around the parking lot and ascertained that there was no gas station in the vicinity. As I was glancing around the parking lot, I noticed two men sitting in a truck with sunglasses on. They were slightly conspicuous... windows down, both in shades, sitting facing forward absolutely silent. I walked slowly by the passenger side window, and peered in to see if they seemed friendly one glanced over after I lingered slightly over-long-- "Hi m'aam" and faced forward again. I noticed they were cops, so I asked "Excuse me, do either of you know where I might get a quart of oil?" they looked at each other quietly and I could tell they were communicating with their eyes as to whether or not to talk to me. Finally the driver (he had lots of tattoos) turned to me and said "You're in luck, m'aam because I happen to know a very nice irishman who can help you." This response was enough to encourage me. I felt assured that even if my car didn't start that night, I would at least come away with a good story.

By the way, I never saw these men. That's what I'm supposed to say. They were on some sort of stake out. I thought that seemed like a fun adventure, and I did feel like I was a part of it. They got out of the car to help me out, and to wait for the irishman who was coming over with the oil. I got to hear all kinds of cop-talk about "perps" and such. They were pretty fun, and though I felt like I was unfairly taking them from their stake-out, I was very glad for their help. The irishman was a security officer from Ireland, a great guy and we talked a bit about my irish heritage and about NYC, where he lived for 10 years as an actor. One of the cops bet him that my car would need 6 quarts of oil with the caveat that they would not be "betting in shillings and tuppence like last time."

So here we sit. Apparently, timing belts and thermostats and water pumps can't be found on Sundays, so we extended our trip. Fortunately, the car will be ready at 5pm, which will be just in time for horrible traffic all the way back to Dallas. We will be stopping in West for Kolaches, but other than that who knows what will happen. Drake saw a tumbleweed on the way down here. I'm hoping for a sighting.

Opportunity knocks

I think Drake knows that I mean well. One time, he came home from work--REALLY tired. The kind of tired where you can barely keep your eyes open to brush your teeth. I wasn't tired, hadn't worked as long a day as he had, and I felt kind of guilty about it, frankly. Being the good and sweet wife that I am, I thought I'd try to cheer him. I am nothing if not a purveyor of good cheer! However....all I could see was that it was my perfect opportunity to pants him. I am constantly trying to accomplish this, the perfect pants-ing, and he knows it and thereby is always on guard. Before the perfect pants-ing, I was always trying to stick my finger in my mouth whenever he yawned, or to do the whole "oh! you spilled something on your shirt!" then hit his nose with my finger... OR the *point* "what's that?" and then when he looks steal a particularly crispy french fry or other such delectable morsel from his plate (I still do this one. He is a patient, patient man.)

In any case, I saw my moment and I approached. "Oh, my poor Drake, you had such a long day" I say... then promptly and TOTALLY unexpectedly making my move. Naturally, being the victor in this situation I was filled with glee! What a perfect pants-ing! He never saw it coming! Drake was not as gleeful. Actually, he didn't even laugh. He turned to face me toothbrush hanging from his mouth agog. stone cold. He waited while I (writhing in mirth) calmed myself and said "I just came home from a 12 hour day and I'm exhausted. What could possibly make you think that I would think it was appropriate or funny to pants me."

This is the fundamental difference between us. It serves no reasonable purpose to ask why I think things are funny or appropriate. This is not a matter of reason. This is a matter of the heart. Of my romantic, butcher-florist loving, perfect-opportunity-for-pantsing-seeking heart.

We are beginning to understand one another, my Drake and I. He understands to look the other way when I point at something over his shoulder, but that if he eats one of MY fries, I'll probably cry. And he understands that sometimes, I've got to pants him at inappropriate moments because they are the perfect moments. Never in public though. girl-scouts honor (I was never a girl-scout, but I am honorable) Also never wet willies. never wet.

Is it cliche for a gay florist to moonlight in the Meat Department?

My Drake came home yesterday from far-away North Dakota! I stopped at the Tom Thumb (I still find it funny that there is a very respectable grocery store named "Tom Thumb." What is it with these Southerners and their "Piggly-Wigglies" and "Tom Thumbs?" Where I'm from we have the Price Chopper. Now that's a grocery store. The Price SLAYER!! the Price DESTROYER!! that's what I'm talkin about. We don't buy our groceries from friendly little fairy-tale characters and wood nymphs! We buy them from vicious murderers of prices.... ARGH!!)

So anyway I stopped on the way to the airport at the "Thumbellina" for to get my love a red red rose. It was late-ish, so they called some guy over from the Meat Department to help me in the floral department. I was apprehensive until I met him and, of course, immediately perceived his fabulousness. His fabulousness in spite of his blood-smeared smock. We first determined whether I wanted it tight or loose, which I only found hilarious in retrospect, though he seemed immediately aware of having mis-spoken and quickly pointed out a tight rose versus a loose one. I am, in fact, blissfully unaware of most sexual innuendo unless it is followed by a nudging elbow to the ribs accompanied by raised eye-brows and a sly "ehh? ehhhh.....?" That or a "that's what she said."

We went on to choose a "ribbon treatment" even though I thought it wasn't necessary. He showed me his method for tissue wrapping single flowers and bunches (still blood-smeared, mind you) and pushed me towards a complimentary accent ribbon in a varying color or width. I politely protested, feeling like the sweet, simple gesture of a single red rose might, perhaps, be lost in the tissue and tulle and ribbon treatment. He insisted, though, and who am I to argue? I am certainly NOT one to argue with a butcher/florist.

I was 20 minutes late at the airport. I had anticipated waiting in the bustling baggage carousel area with my single red rose (which, incidentally, matched my new red patent leather flats). I never end up able to recreate the perfect lovely scenarios which I create in my imagination.... instead I found Drake at the baggage carousel and snuck up behind him, worked my way around his right side, pretended to be a stranger and then played the slow-invasion-of personal-space game. I'm quite romantic in my head. In practice, it doesn't come out *exactly* how I planned, but I always mean well.