Westmoreland County Fair 2011, Part 1: A Half-Assed Intro While I’m At Work.

I know, I know — how many times can I possibly go to the fair in one summer and expect anyone to give a shit about it? But you guys, it’s where dreams (and camel toes) are made. And the Westmoreland County Fair in particular brings me great joy because it is full of good memories and rides that hurt so bad, but like child birth*, I’m wired to forget the pain and ride them again and again. I was determined to make it back there, even though the usual suspects (Janna, Blake and Corey) were unavailable to accompany me (so they say). That’s OK – my new friend Laura and her fiancé Mike met Henry, Chooch and I out there because what better place for these new Pittsburgh transplants to get a feel for their new region than by hanging out with unclean carnies and having safety-debatable rides threaten to make Pittsburgh the last place they’ll ever live.

(* I don’t know why I used child birth as my analogy because even though I had a C-Section, I remember everything like it just happened 2 seconds ago, and my answer to doing it again is: FUCK THAT NOISE.)

Laura and I have only had the chance to hang out three times since she’s lived in town (and one of those three times was at my birthday party so that doesn’t count because I was too busy skating to the dulcet sex-tones of Jonny Craig to talk to anyone). But she’s basically my new best friend because she will RIDE things, you guys. I can think of no better way to get over the awkward “you’re new to me” feeling than by throwing caution to the wind and making some fucker-bitch ride named the Superman your christening stroll down Friendship Alley.

Because nothing says “Let’s be close and intimate friends” than being locked in a cage with an almost-stranger and having your bodies meld together as you’re hurled through the air by some shaky steel beam while having your flesh ribboned by the door of the cage, which could have made perfect confetti at our funerals if we had actually perished on that ride. (And there were times when the odds of that happening seemed pretty good.)

Every time we’d reach the ground, I’d scream out in vain, “OVER IT! Let us off now!” but the two carnies operating it never looked up from the pig carcass they were skinning.

It was a good ice-breaker though. I feel closer to Laura than ever, because we SURVIVED something together. We should probably think about getting a tattoo next. After awhile, I just stopped screaming altogether because the physical pain of being smashed against metal made it hard to even breathe.

At least now I know I’ll probably just pass out before a serial killer is finished slashing me.

Dear Tropical Amusements,

How about padding the inside of that motherfucker? Or at least advertise that it’s a BYOP (Bring Your Own Pillow) joint. I’m in less pain listening to Miley Cyrus cover Katy Perry songs while being masticated by Snooki’s vagina.

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As Sincere as a Gerbil-Stuffed Richard Gere,

The Girl With the Permanent Waffle-Marks Along Her Right Side

Chooch found his own Wacky Worm at the Westmoreland County Fair: some stupid spinning-cup kids ride. The carny operating it had the closest thing to Amish hair this side of Lancaster, PA.

This kid was definitely teaching Chooch double negatives and words like “ain’t.” Oh wait, Henry has already been doing that for the last five years.

Whaddup, Jebediah? Read any good scripture by the light of the oil lamp lately?

[How about I’ll write  more when I’m not at work, being BOTHERED by people who think I’m here to do shit for them. I’m feeling overwhelmed because I have a million pictures and words to slap down all haphazardly like I do, but I’m leaving for Tennessee on Saturday and I’M RUNNING OUT OF TIME OMG. Blogging is so serious, you guys.]