- Mini donuts (shared)
- Big Fat Bacon (shared)
- Cheese curds (Jason)
- Root beer (shared)
- Alligator nuggets with gator-shaped fries (shared)
- Mountain Dew (shared)
- Water (shared)
- S’more on a stick (me)
- Frozen chocolate-covered banana (me)
- Blue raspberry snowcone (Jason)

Photos!

It was a perfect day to be outside:

I’m sure it’s just a coincidence, but since the advent of this website, there have been a lot more pickle-related food items at the Fair:

We’re creatures of habit, and one of the things we like to do every year (besides play the game where you try to sink a putt to win money, and be a sports anchor for Fox Sports [video coming]) is visit the booth with the powder that instantly transforms into fake snow when you add water:

We also always visit the DNR exhibit. That’s my favorite, watching the giant outdoor pool with all kinds of native fish in it:

We did do a few things this year that we hadn’t before, like go on the Giant Slide, which is actually pretty cool (you go a lot faster than I expected):

Jason also talked me into going in the haunted house, which I last did about 10 years ago and vowed never to do again because something grabbed my foot at a pivotal, pee-my-pants moment and I lost a few years off my life. But he was persistent and annoying and persistent, so after I said yes, he ran to the bathroom, giving me plenty of time to read the warning outside, which read, essentially:

WARNING: The images found within this house are very graphic, gory, horrific and extremely terrifying. Please do not enter if you have a weak heart, dislike people wearing clown masks who pop out of dark corners to grab you, or if you envision the creepy girl from The Ring at random moments, even though you saw that movie, like, 10 years ago. Seriously Shauna, this probably isn’t the best idea to come in here. BWA HA HA HAAAAAA.

So we went in and the first horror tableau was some hologram with a person’s cut-off head sitting on a table, and a creepy scary person who was obviously not real, and still I thought, I do not want to be in here. But I was fine, and stared at the creepy scene all calm and collected, and marveled at the technological scariness until I realized a coffin was slowly rising up out of the fog and starting to open. All of a sudden, I was pretty sure I did not want to see what was in there.

After that, it was pretty much a blur of dark hallways, people reaching out from both sides to grab me or yell at me, and after awhile, I kept my gaze on only one side of the hallway so I’d only be scared once, and started screaming proactively so that the teenage employees could move onto the next victim.

Jason was behind me and I was positively dragging him so that we could MOVE FASTER through this nightmare, but he wanted to take his time and appreciate the whole experience. I only felt him jump once, when someone turned on a (real) chainsaw next to our heads. The rest of the time, he laughed every time I screamed (which was often) or when someone jumped out at him (which was also often.)

The three scariest things were the hallway with the strobe lighting, which made everybody appear all herky-jerky (MY WORST NIGHTMARE), the guy who didn’t jump out and scream at me, but instead got so close to my ear I could feel his breath as he whispered, “Boo” and sent me 10 feet into the air, and the pitch-black hallway where I could sense a presence in the hallway with us rather than confined in the rooms along the sides. I stood frozen in place for a few seconds and fearfully hissed to Jason, “There’s someone in here with us!” He told me to keep moving, which I most definitely did not want to do, but there was really no choice. Suddenly, the music from Halloween came on and as my adrenal glands shot themselves into the stratosphere, a light flickered just long enough for me to see someone dressed as Michael Myers standing less than eight inches from my face.

Man, I hated riding the school bus. HATED it. Coupled with my motion sickness, inhaling the stench of diesel fumes every afternoon for an hour (my brother and I were one of the last kids off) ensured that every time I got home, I’d spend a few minutes violently dry heaving next to the mailbox.

We lived on top of a hill, so we had the advantage of seeing our bus turn at an intersection a mile away and know that we had about 10 minutes until it got to our house (our route was the most convoluted thing I’ve ever seen; whoever coordinated it must’ve been a sadistic drunk). My brother and I took turns watching for that bus at the living room window every single morning. Conveniently, our vantage point meant we were staring directly into the sun, so during the winter, there were many times where I thought I saw the bus, but I wasn’t 100% sure because I was completely snow blind. As a result, and due to my paranoid fear that we would miss the bus, my brother and I spent many winter mornings at the end of our long driveway, stamping our feet in frozen frustration while I alternately cursed our bus driver and cried over my frostbitten ears because I thought wearing a stocking cap would muss my mullet.

Our bus was always overpopulated, a 3-kids-to-a-seat, band-instruments-stuffed-everywhere plight I assumed affected everyone, until I rode my friend’s bus one day and saw maybe 10 kids, each enjoying their own expansive seat acreage. Confused, I asked her, “Where is everybody?” She looked back at me, equally confused, and responded, “What do you mean? This is everybody.”

The next day I marched up to our bus driver, a sullen woman with a too-tight perm and a permanent scowl who probably enjoyed foisting those stale popcorn balls on us every Halloween, pointed at the maximum capacity sign that said “68 occupants,” and angrily asserted that there were at least 80 of us on the bus, and that was ridiculous. For my Norma Rae-esque efforts I got yelled at to sit down, and on my huffy way back to my seat (an overturned garbage can that some of the boys had thoughtfully turned into a bench seat for me by covering it with a two by four) I hollered, “I’d love to sit down, only THERE IS NOWHERE TO DO THAT BECAUSE THIS BUS SUCKS!”

What’s your least-favorite memory of riding the school bus?

“It’s a birthday card,” I said.

“No. No, it’s not.”

“But it was really my only option! It was either that or a fuzzy puppy nuzzling a baby duck.”

“This card sucks.”

So after that discussion (which consisted of a lot more about my inability to pick nice cards and my rebuttal that the choices were NOT SO GREAT TO BEGIN WITH), I went back and bought the rest of those cards in stock.

For the last two years, Jason has gotten this as his birthday card:

(I don’t even know what the inside reads anymore. Something about “Hope your birthday’s electric!” or something equally bad.)

And then, when I was cleaning out the Cavalier for the final time, I found one more of those delightful gems in the glovebox. So guess what Jason’s getting this year for his birthday?

Happy birthday, baby! I love you. And don’t worry, this is the last of the cards.

As far as you know…

The blind spots are completely different in this car, too. The seat headrests are abnormally tall, so even if I crane my head all the way around, it still leaves a decent chunk of space where I cannot see if someone is about to plow into me. I’m terrified I’m going to change lanes, get hit by someone, and total my car all before the first payment is due.

And, the key fob has lock/unlock buttons on it, but they only work sporadically. When I met the lovely Emily last weekend for pancakes, she got to witness my ineptitude as I tried to leave and instead of unlocking the doors, the car just kept beeping at me. If she hadn’t seen me pull up in the car, it would’ve appeared that the car was not mine and that I was insane.

In other news, we have two identical, giant spiders building webs in our backyard, one hidden behind the garage, and the other blatantly positioned so that every time I go outside with Shorty, I forget all about it and obliterate its web with my head. The spider is very large and reddish and horrifying, with spiky appendages on its legs and a large body probably filled with venom, and no amount of Googling (omg, I cannot unsee the spider bite photos!) has led to its classification, so of course I am assuming it is some new, poisonous species that is plotting my death, and every time I destroy its carefully designed web with my careless meandering, it gets angrier and angrier and makes architectural adjustments so that when I walk into its web for the 15th time, I won’t be able to escape and the spider can then eat me at its leisure.

We are going to the State Fair this weekend, and I want to try a new food item this year, so my first choice was the Chicken-Fried Bacon, but then I realized it’s going to be 90 degrees, and deep-fried food with gravy + high heat and humidity = probably not too good. So we’ll see. Otherwise, the grilled marshamallow, chocolate and banana sandwich sounds good. Or the Camel on a Stick. (Seriously.) Also, if there’s not too big of a line, I totally plan on avenging last year’s sports anchor performance by talking faster and shedding my Minnesotan accent.

What are you doing this weekend?

Cornea: What? Not again! Get out of here!

Eyelash: No, no, it’s cool. The others said they come in here all the time.

Cornea: Get out!

Eyelash: But it’s so roomy in here! I could spend the rest of the day just kicking back and hanging out. You got any snacks? Maybe some Fritos?

Cornea: Leave – NOW.

Eyelash: Look, I’ll move over to the corner and just chill.

Contact lens: OW! What the hell, man?!?

Eyelash: Oop, sorry about that.

Cornea: See what you’ve done?!? He’s only been here two days and you’ve already stabbed him!

Contact lens, pouting: He made me all hurty.

Eyelash: Sorry – jeez. What makes you so important anyway?

Cornea: Well, for starters, he kind of helps me see.

Eyelash: Whatevs.

Cornea: AHHHHHHH – Look out, here it comes!

Eyelash: What?

Cornea: The Finger of Doom! Watch the nails – watch the NAILS!

Finger, rubbing eye: Come here, you little jerk.

Cornea: Ow!

Contact lens: I’m all itchy now! I’m gonna go hide under this eyelid.

Eyelash: Yeah, me too.

Cornea: Aw, COME on!