#68 - Take your kid to the fair.

I didn't go to the fair very often as a kid, simply because our family was way to large to be able to afford that kind of chicanery, but I went to my share. The rides were cool - especially when I finally got the balls to ride the Zipper - and the food was ridiculous even then; but the Cloak and Dagger games with girls from church and school was what I remember most. The darker it got, the brighter the neon and our intensity became to pursue our not-so-clandestine ambitions to find even darker corners in which to explore body parts that didn't get much sunshine anyway.

I'd like to be able to say that I had much more success than I did. I got more love working the Indian Fry Bread station at the 4th of July Fireworks Extravaganza, but that was only because I was crushing on the girl who's parents owned the booth. Of course I'll help out this year, Mr. Stillson! I'd love to!

Which, if I may digress, brings up an important and naturally occurring phenomenon - pussy makes guys do crazy fucking things and like it in the process. Sure, I'll stand in a booth for eight hours dipping slimy dough in hot grease for what will end up being a sighting aggregate of maybe 4 minutes of what might have been cleavage, but i'm not too sure. Then I'll watch forlornly as your dad takes you home before I have a chance to accidentally graze your boob or help load the deep fryer into the darkest recesses of that promising-looking van. If I squint real hard, you can see nipple on that model in the Sears Catalog, I just know it.

That said, and as one would expect, the fair as a kid and the fair as an adult are two different things but with the exact same result. Case in point:

Ivonne: It's futile to get horny in the car. Why does this always happen to me?

Me: I'm convinced that you get turned on by things you can't have, simply because you can't have it: The exact moment that you get an insatiable craving to give me head is during the two weeks i'm on the mend from my vasectomy. Ever notice that the times you want me to put something in your butt, i'm in Vegas?

Ivonne: ... well, she'll sleep on the way home and nap when we get there. Maybe we can... ?

Oh no, Universe, you can't dupe me again: 407 times, shame on you. 408, shame on me! That's not to say I didn't hold out a flicker of hope. All signs pointed to yes, especially Reza's chloroform-induced Zombie Jaw of a nap before we'd even hit the Via de la Valle on-ramp.

I'm writing in my blog. You can guess how this turned out.

Although, I need to explore the possibility that the unholy combination of chili cheese fries, Hotdog-On-A-Stick uniforms and farm animals is a poor-man's viagra. Or maybe I should just leave that alone for a very very long time. Points to ponder.

That said, since discovering that County Fairs serve only to blueball you in some form or another, I've avoided them. But when you have the kid, the prospect of returning to the sites of some of your greatest defeats provides you with a renewed sense of hope and fulfillment, as if somehow he or she will be able to navigate the maze of cheesy-sauce-laden societal overload, thereby unequivocally pardoning you for all your past carnivally influenced decisions - or lack thereof.

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ok, wait a fucking minute. Huggies just ran a commercial with a toddler in Jean Diapers climbing into a 1965 Lincoln Continental convertible with the tagline "The coolest you'll look pooping your pants."

I got nothin'.

I need to... yeah, I need a drink.

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