I think this is my favorite shot from the fair. Somehow, I was able to cram in one frame the essense of an entire fairground. Look at that old lady’s glaucoma shades and classy tattoo! Look at that man simultaneously yanking his Simpsons boxers out of his roiling asshole while reaching for his volunteer firemen radio! And look at that man’s smiling reflection in the mirrored pillar! After this picture was snapped, he stepped out of the mirror, introduced himself as a demon, and raped everyone’s souls. Except mine; it was consenting and is now pregnant with the Bubonic Plague.

I was so blessed to be standing there just in time to capture his look of smug pleasure as he won a decadent Mountain Dew bottle cap. And that lady is seriously cooler than me.

Blake and Deanna caught up with us a few times and stuck around long enough for me to get all paparazzo on them. I can’t help it, they’re my favorite subjects!

Chooch ate some generic brand of Dip n’ Dots, a slushie, cotton candy, and a fried Oreo, which is what people believe he’s cracked out from on a regular day, so imagine when he actually is.

Meanwhile, something fantastico happened to me over at the rickety-ship-with-the-dragon-head ride: I was touched by a carnie. And I ain’t talking ’bout some little brush of calloused, oil-stained palm as he guided the safety bar into my thighs with enough force to mimic a caveman clubbing his dinner. No, it was nothing quite so innocent. As I was limping up the steps to board the ride, he snatched my right arm and put my wrist in a constricting vice-like grip, threatening Indian burn. Here were my thoughts:

1. I was mistaken for the Lolita of the carnies, some broad who fucks her way around the fairground, lying about love and then stealing their AC/DC shirts, scratched Harley Davidson Zippos, and jars of Planters peanuts, and than fled town, and now this here particular carny on the fake Pirate Ship was thinking that he saved the day by recognizing me and “look at the nerve of this dirty whore, showing her face ’round these parts again, though she could show her face on MY parts, if you know what I mean” and now they can have all their shit back and also keep me locked in an oversized carnary cage, watching to see if I become pregnant. Because that’s something I would totally do. In fact, maybe next year.
2. He needed a blood transfusion and was checking the plumpness of my veins.

But what it really was, was that he was just trying to read tattoo. Afterward, he made this sick smirk and goes, in a gruff tenor that would make even Amy Winehouse’s labia curl back in fear (and this is assuming it hasn’t already fallen off), “I don’t know what that means, but it’s cool.” And then when the ride started going, he was standing down there to the side, trying to get everyone to put their arms up, and you better goddamn believe I did as I was told.

And fuck, that ride made me sick too.

I don’t know where Blake and Deanna were for all of that; probably looking at quilts.

I learned later that the reason for Deanna’s blanched visage is that the carnie was ogling her boobs each time their seat would pass him. If Blake is anything like his dad, he patted the old grizzled dude’s back on the way out and offered to rent Deanna out to him. Seriously, that’s what Henry would have done if it were me and him in that situation. After calling me a whore.

One of the first things Corey and I noticed upon arriving at the fair was a delicacy they were very originally touting as “FRIED PEANUT BUTTER AND JELLY SANDWICHES.” Our initial reaction to that was one of, “Uh…ew.” But about an hour later, we were waiting to get pulverized on that shitty yellow ride, and I go, “I wonder if I could ask them to just give me the peanut butter and jelly sandwich, unfried?” and Corey was like, “Probably not, but you could ask” and then after a tour of the farm animals it was all, “I wonder what that would be like, a fried peanut butter and jelly sandwich” and “Maybe we should get one” and “Yes, let’s get one.”

OH I HAVE HAD FRIED ODDITIES BEFORE, MY FRIENDS. I’ve done the Oreos and the candy bars and that sewer rat, but peanut butter and jellies are one of my faves and I was hesitant to potentially tarnish my taste buds with an alien form of the after school special. So Corey and I spent the entire night musing and postulating and there were a lot of “maybe”s and “we should”s before we finally reached that final affirmative decision. And then I had to report the outcome to this very intense meeting of the masterminds to Henry, who was like, “OK, whatever. Get one if you want” like he couldn’t understand why this would be a big deal. But if you saw the shit he enjoyed eating on a regular basis, you’d understand that his palate has long since been cheese-grated.

So during the last hour of the fair, we finally approached the Fried Things wagon, which was very similar to a laboratory on the inside, if laboratories were filled with bubbling and hissing pans of grease instead of chemicals. We were auspicious enough to get the crankiest, wrinkliest, rudest wench in all of Fair Land. She tried to skip over me and take someone else’s order and I raised my hand and said, “Hello, I’d like to order?” I think maybe she knew I kept trying to take pictures of her through the finger-printed, snotted-up glass.

I watched her make it. It was only an Uncrustable, that abomination of the pb&j heritage.

So her little partner boy slides over a Styrofoam bowl with this big, steaming, powdered sugar-covered fried dump that is clearly too hot to eat but I have no patience and start stabbing at it with my plastic fork anyway and the first couple of bites tasted like little else but searing pain on my tongue. After awhile, I got into a groove and even though the tip of my tongue was throbbing as much as my toe, I was still able to discern some of the mingling tastes of the fried batter and melted peanut butter. Some of the jelly parts were still frozen and that kind of killed it for me. I imagine it’s akin to a fratboy having to pull out of his rufied love interest because he hears cop sirens; it was pretty magical up until that point.

And what better way to end the night than to test the laws of physics on the Round Up less than a minute after swallowing the last bite of our fried delicacies? Corey and I were quick to note that we were the only ones who were smiling and talking while waiting for the ride to start. The gentlemen directly across from us stood staunch, their lips in firm, taut lines. “I feel like they’re on here for spiritual cleansing, not to have their insides twisted in the name of fun,” I whispered to Corey and oh, the laughter. Then the ride started and Corey and I proceeded to engage in conversations that most normal people would probably feel more comfortable performing via telephone, not while being twirled around the atmosphere.

“So, was Aneesa really a bitch in real life?” I asked while trying unsuccessively to unsuction my arm from my side long enough to swipe the hair out of my mouth. Corey had mentioned that while on vaca in New Jersey, he ran into Aneesa from The Real World: Chicago on the boardwalk. So we talked about that for awhile, and then revisited the fellows across from us who were still standing straight, emanating little emotion. Glancing to Corey’s left, I noticed that those people weren’t smiling or cheering either. In fact, everyone except for the small girl to my right seemed to be riding in silence, while Corey and I were engaging in relaxed discourse, like we were at the sauna.

That ride lasted about fifty revolutions too many.

When the ride was over and we met back up with Janna, she gasped, “That ride seemed to go on forever!” Which is what  my stomach was saying too, just not in any words you’d understand. “And you and Corey were talking the whole time, it was funny to watch!” I wish I’d have puked on her feet right then, because what a swell way to end a night at the fair.

Instead, we just left.

Earth-shattering updates throughout the day, brought to you by Tart-Tits. Please try to continue breathing while taking it all in.

• 01:31 twitpic.com/fo57t – My saucy bedmates. #
• 12:00 rainy days are good for SHOPPING: Striped Stockings pendant bit.ly/2Do XnC #
• 17:06 This is the first time I stopped doing shit long enough to tweet all day. So, to make up for that: Murder, sex, fuck, blood, hobo. #
• 18:21 Took a break from painting to rage out to Set Your Goals, forgot about my toe, promptly sat back down. #
• 19:06 Just bid on the ugliest/coolest pair of 1950s swim goggles and I better fucking win. #
• 19:29 #rememberwhen I was bunking at Uncle Monty’s & died from Yellow Fever after he fed us rat stew made from standing water? #
• 21:23 I’m making my house “girls only,” for the really. # 21:56 Hay look @ the dumb! tweets taste like baby wipes: Earth-shattering updates throughout the d.. bit.ly/xDNbH #
• 23:11 Everyone is talking like they’ve been fucked by the Downs dildo today & it’s infuriating. #showmetomypaddedcell #
• 23:38 Look, it’s OK that you crunch on popcorn kernels in my ear, but just know that I’m electrocuting your anus tonight while you’re asleep. #
• **
• 11:44 Yes Henry, all vegetarians enjoy scrubbing gelatinized fat-suspended meat scraps off c ookware, thanks for the opportunity. #
• 13:17 Fuck, the flea market is flooded with extra-glamorous tattoos today. Kat Von D would feel inferior. #
• 13:19 Tried to get Alisha to ask an Oak Ridge Boys fan to give her a mustard squirt. #
• 15:03 Alisha & I are about to go to the movies together for the 1ST TIME EVER. But 1st, I’m making her order for me at Starbucks because I’m 3. #
• 18:31 The worst part about the Harry Potter movies is watching everyone eat such visually delicious desserts, those fuckos. #
• 19:14 I like how they make the token black member of Fresh Beat Band wear an orange jumpsuit. Racism is rampant even on Noggin. #
• **
• 10:03 My Missing Stockings pendant is up for grabs on this here blog giveaway, along with a fine array of other wares: tinyurl.com/no78ef #
• 14:33 I think this is the first time I’ve been able to say I’m looking forward to November and actually mean it. #
• 18:31 Good evening! I just turned myself into a human calliope and played the Max and Ruby theme for my cat Don. #
• 19:30 Had sex with a stranger on the bank of the Rhine. Post-ejac, he told me he’s a Nazi. It was grand. Well, the bratwurst was, anyway. #
• 19:48 Henry is jealous that his macaroni doesn’t come off the stove with the velvety texture of paste like mine does. #
• 19:50 I just announced that I’m making a pie from scratch this week. My news was met with crickets. CRICKETS OF DELIGHT. #
• 22:16 Hay look @ the dumb! Westmoreland County Fair, alright? PART ONE: Before I regale you with .. bit.ly/S5n7Y #
• 23:34 In explaining to Henry the dynamics of Chuck & Blair on Gossip Girl, I started crying. Teen shows do that to me. Oh, young love. #
• **
• 00:05 Hey @awoodhick, think we’ll ever celebrate an anniversary (other than the anniversary of your murder by my hand)? #
• 12:14 30 years old & filling a Pez dispenser is still like doing Calculus without a calculator. All so my child can devour it all in 15 seconds. #
• 13:27 Finally cashed in my Draven gift certificate from @daboogmang & @bed_in_revolt for these bad bitches: tinyurl.com/lg2wyj THANKS GUYZ! #
• 13:37 At least I’m not Paige Mikalchuk. #
• 16:43 @saucalisha Oh come on! I know that of all the Miss Piggy dopplegangers, she’s your FAVE. #
• 19:16 Alisha Crocker’s bakin’ me some muffins, bitch. #
• 19:20 Just discovered a huge tin in Alisha’s fridge full of a dizzying array of chocolate. And she said it was boring here. #
• 19:35 @awoodhick to use as a gag? You got it, bay-bay. #
• **
• 15:42 My headache is in complete control of what I do and don’t do today. Something tells me tonight’s rave might be out of the question. #
• 16:59 To increase the culinary difficulty level, chooch and i were smacking around a balloon in the kitchen while Henry cooked dinner. #
• 17:23 ALERT THE PRESS: Henry is watching a movie with subtitles, of his own volition. #
• 22:16 Hay look @ the dumb! Westmoreland County Fair, Alright? PART 2: It was basically a reunion .. bit.ly/trz81 #
• 23:42 I’m so excited to have Kristen Cavalleri back on my TV. I wish I could say I was joking. #

Automatically shipped by LoudTwitter. Now you can rest easy, knowing my (sometimes incriminating) inner-most thoughts, actions and tampon-change. Please do not call the FBI.

It was basically a reunion from last year’s trip to the fair, except Deanna joined our caravan and I was happy about that until she yelled at me for not wearing my gimp boot. She can be mean for such a little girl!

Shortly after having our hands kissed with the official “You’re at the Fair Now, Bitch” hand stamp (which was gooey and had the consistency of Pepto-Bismol commingling with ejaculate, and smelled like a vat of burnt rubber and a chemical explosion, thank you Deanna for making me smell it), we adopted our signature “We’re at the fair/amusement park/zoo/anywhere outside of the house” lost locust shuffle. Seriously, at one point I even said, “I feel like we spend 75% of the time just standing around awkwardly in every one’s way” to which Corey attached the very true addendum  “and judging everyone.”

Blake and Deanna quickly went off on their own, those lucky kids. Henry and I might have done that too, if we weren’t saddled with Chooch and a good eight years of burgeoning resentment for each other. So instead, Corey and I ran around riding rides that we knew would give us a hurtin’, while Janna and Henry played good parents and cheered for Chooch, who actually smiles on rides now and doesn’t look like he’s riding public transportation to work.

Meanwhile, I spied the nameless yellow ride of doom that left Corey and me with black and blue Rorsach patterns all over our bodies last year. This ride is so deceptive that I swear they purposely didn’t name it so as not to deter innocent riders. You might remember me crying about this ride last year, but here’s an excerpt of what I wrote:

Corey, Blake and I rode this one ride that looked really tame from the ground, but as soon as it started, centrifugal force (I was good at all the sciences but physics) slammed my fat ass into Corey and from there, we enjoyed the most painful, car-wreck-like ride of the fair. Janna, who was watching from the safety of the comfortable land, said it honestly looked like Corey was going to fall out. It was so painful that I was crying/laughing and then, and I’m not going to lie, a pee drop came out, so not only did I have to fight to stay alive, but I had to also spend the duration of that fucking piece of shit ride trying not to urinate on the entire fair below, like I was spraying the fall harvest or some shit. He got me back on another ride later, as my flesh was practically ribboned on the door of the rattling cage in which we were imprisoned.

After we disembarked, Corey and I adopted a zombied gait (I was essentially using both hands to coax my right leg forward); Blake was all, “WTF is wrong with you guys? That ride was fucking great, I enjoyed myself to the fullest.” BECAUSE HE SAT ALONE AND DID NOT HAVE THE OUTSTANDING OPPORTUNITY TO FEEL THE SENSATION OF MELDING WITH ANOTHER HUMAN BEING.

Since it was just Corey and me riding it this time, we came up with the brilliant solution of sitting separately so no one would have to get squashed. Each car seats four: two in the front, two in the back. I climbed into the back and yanked the safety bar down across my lap. That’s when I realized that there’s a little metal nub which juts down from the middle of the bar, and I presume its function is to keep the riders separated (which in essence only makes for a more punishing cruise through the air). The nub in question came down right between my legs because I didn’t have the foresight to choose a side; I just plopped down right in the middle of the car. Corey, because we share  genes, did the same thing. I panicked, which is what I do on rides, and decided it would behoove me to ask the carny if I was going to die because of this.

As the carny approached to doublecheck the secureness of the safety bars, I thrusted my denim’d pelt toward him and asked, “Is it ok that this nub is between my legs?” while pointing at my crotch with one finger on each hand. And even while I was mid-vag lurch, I was already thinking to myself, “Why the fuck are you simulating porn for this lewd carny?

” If only I had worn my scrolling neon-lighted “INSERT DIRTY PEEN HERE XXX” booty shorts for the occasion.

Now, you can ask me over and over, “Why did you do that?” but my answer will always be, “I am unsure what possessed me to air-hump the carny and his faux Ray-Bans.” However, after taking in my spread thighs, he laughed and said, “It ain’t gonna hurt you, miss.”

AT LEAST HE DIDN’T CALL ME MA’AM.

Why I felt reassured at all is beyond me because hello, he’s a fucking carny and I’m pretty sure they’re required to fail a lie detector test before getting hired. Because as soon, and I mean AS SOON as that fucking piece of shit ride took flight, I was whipped to the right but the nub was preventing my left leg from following. I started screaming, “I’M BEING WISHBONED! STOP THE RIDE! YOU LIED, THIS HURTS!” but his answer to me was to pull a lever and let the oscillating begin.

The only way for my position on that ride to look natural was to stick my feet in some stirrups and shove a speculum up my vagina.

The comfort level probably would have been about the same. Except a pelvic exam is over way sooner than that cunty no-named yellow death trap, which I am now dubbing Aerial Pelvic Prod.

 When the ride came to a stop, the lecherous carny came around to release us from the yellow jaws. To me he asks (with a scandalous smile), “See, it didn’t hurt you, did it?

” I was about to argue that it did, but instead I laughed nervously and said, “No, you were right” because I really wasn’t trying to get dragged back to his shanty so he could perform some mystical vaginal massage on me, by which I mean rape. And everyone knows that carny rape only leads to triplets who heirs to the knife throwing booth and stink naturally of grease, Skoal and fried onions.

 Like this hottie!

Apparently, Bingo is why we were ditched by Blake and Deanna. Their expressions speak a thousand words.

Stuff that hot sausage in your hot sausage hole, Henry you dumb douchebarrel. I will say that Henry was not as pissy as he was last year. His ovarian cysts must not have been bursting that day. Maybe also because my aunt Sharon financed our fair field trip and he didn’t have to pick food scraps out of the clown-faced garbage cans.

Corey was so excited to win at this game. We’ll pretend like he was playing against seasoned veterans of the fairground water gun sport, and not, you know, my three-year-old son. Corey’s favorite part was totally when he tried to take his stuffed animal (which I hope is displayed proudly in his dorm room) off the bleached headed game master, who proceeded to tease Corey by raising it out of his reach. He only did that TEN TIMES so it didn’t get old or anything.

[There’s one more part to come. I’m trying not to inundate the Internet with a thousand pictures all at once. Also, I’m too lazy to write it all at once.]