Remembering The Fair

Hey, y’all…it’s Friday! We made it! Unfortunately, it has been a very busy week and I didn’t get the blog posts I’m working on quite to the point of being ready to be published. So, since the Tulsa State Fair is going on right now, I thought I’d revisit my post from last year’s Fair. We won’t make it this year, so I’ll just have to pretend my leftovers this weekend are something fried on a stick!

It’s that time of year in Northeast Oklahoma. Mornings are getting cooler. Days are not nearly as hot. The leaves are just starting to give a hint of changing color.

And the Tulsa State Fair is wrapping up.

For those of you who live in places where they don’t do state or county fairs, you are truly missing out on some quality people-watching and adventures in cuisine that should’ve probably stayed un-invented.

Where else can you go and see beautiful, painstaking sculptures carved from butter or sugar and then walk outside to a food cart and order both of those items deep fried on a stick?

I’ve seen them deep fry Snickers bars, Twinkies and butter.

Let me repeat that. 

Butter.

Deep fried.

On. A. Stick.

This year we passed a Cajun food cart that featured gator on a stick.

One year, we saw fried crickets.

Fried. Crickets.

I’m just waiting for them to run out of ideas and get desperate for something new.

“This year, we’re featuring wads of gum scraped from the asphalt, hand battered and deep fried. On a stick, of course.”

“Over by the 4H Center, you’ll see a new food truck featuring deep fried cow patties.We feel like this is really good for the environment because we’re repurposing the poop. On a stick, of course.”

I Want To See Your ID

We did not preorder our tickets this year, so we had to go to the ticket office and pay full price. As I’m ordering our three tickets, I see a grandmotherly type walk up to the window next to me and order three tickets as well. Then, I hear her say, “She needs the kids discount. She’s eleven.”

The Husband Dude and I whipped our heads around in unison, because we didn’t see an eleven year old. The “eleven year old” looked something like this:

Eleven, my ass.

If she’s eleven, I’m seventy.

I turned around and looked at the lady behind the window.

“I’d like a senior discount.”

Old Or Just Uncool?

After failing to get the senior discount, and failing to convince the lady that the hairy, 150lb boy with us was only ten years old, we gained full-price entry to the Fair.

The first stop was the Midway, where the sights and sounds can be somewhat disorienting. Shane wanted to ride some rides. I strongly recommend the Mega Ride pass. It’s $40, but that’s better than paying $1.25 per ticket for rides that require three and four tickets per person.

I remember my Dad nearly having a stroke when he paid less than that to get four of us into Six Flags in Dallas in 1977. Somebody would have to jump start his ticker at what we spent today.

The Husband Dude and I don’t do many rides anymore. I used to love roller coasters, despite my fear of heights, but the fear has now beaten out the thrill and I can’t do them anymore. We thought, however, that we would be cute and get on the Himalaya ride. I mean, it’s pretty tame as far as rides go. It goes around in a circle, really fast, moving forward and then backwards, with some loud music in the background. What could go wrong?

One whiplash later (mine) and a couple of bruised ribs (his), we came to a horrible realization.

“I’m too old for this shit,” THD grumbled as we stumbled off the ride.

We retreated to the safety of a picnic table where THD soothed himself with a smoked Turkey leg, with extra hormones, and I soothed myself with a jalapeño cheese corndog.

I believe Shane could sense that his afternoon was going to get a heck of a lot more boring, so he totally blew us off to go meet up with his friends. But not before letting me buy him a double bacon wrapped corndog dipped in maple syrup.

I wish I was joking.

 One Stop Shopping

The Midway, of course, is the place for people watching. But if shopping is more your speed, you need to make your way to the Expo Center. Where else can you go into one place and buy homemade fudge, windows, cookware, cowboy boots, siding, cars, hot tubs, backyard sheds, artwork, Scentsy, jewelry, exterminator services and estate planning?

Not only that, but you can meet all your favorite local TV news and radio personalities. You can stand in front of a green screen and pretend to do the weather. You can check out the latest tornado shelters. You can test drive a new bathtub or mattress.

How does one take a mattress home from the Fair? Do they tie it to the roof of your car like the Beverly Hillbillies? I have so many questions.

And about this estate planning. Nothing says “Family Fun at the Fair” like planning for your impending demise. On the other hand, eating fried butter on a stick probably lends itself to considering one’s mortality. This is probably as good a time as any to contemplate one’s life choices, especially before the lard hits your bloodstream and the rent-a-cop is trying to jolt your heart back into action with the portable defibrillator.

After losing one third of our party, THD and I limped our way through the Expo Center and then wandered over to the competitive exhibits. This is where you see paintings, drawings, photography, handmade quilts and other artistic endeavors.

I never knew you could knit a full sized lion, but apparently, you can.

Senility and Poop Hats

We had decided when we first got to the Fair that we would go to the booth where the guy draws caricatures. We didn’t want to have to carry it around all afternoon so we made a plan to hit the booth on our way out.

Except apparently, we are unable to find our way back to a particular location without a GPS, or at least a map. We both were in agreement as to where we thought the caricature guy was, but we were clearly very wrong.

After wandering aimlessly for at least half an hour, we gave up on finding the booth and decided it was time to leave. We were both wondering out loud if we were just crazy and had both dreamed up that caricature guy when something caught my eye. It was a cart with various novelty hats and masks.

There was a poop emoji hat.

Me: I need that hat.

THD: Which one?

Me: The poop hat.

Most men would probably flinch or smirk or scowl at their wives declaring they want a poop hat.

Most men are not married to me.

THD just gives me side eye.

THD: Do you really need the poop hat?

Me: Yes!

THD: Well go get it, then.

I go over to the girl working at the cart.

Me: How much are the poop hats?

Her (looking rather surprised that someone is asking about it): Those are $20.

Me (disappointed): Oh. Ok. Thank you.

I walk back over to THD.

THD: Aren’t you getting the hat?

Me: It’s $20. I would pay $10 for a poop hat, but not $20. It’s too much.

THD: Well…alright then…

We start walking toward the exit and then THD stops.

THD: Do you really want that hat?

Me: No. It’s too much. It’s ridiculous.

THD: But you really want it.

Me: Well…yeah…I’d like to have it. I think it’s funny.

THD: Well, I’ll spend $20 on it if you won’t.

He walks back over to the lady.

THD: I’d like the poop hat.

Her (still looking very confused): The poop hat?

THD: You told my wife it was $20. That’s the one I want.

Her: Am I in trouble? Are you like going around checking to make sure we’re upselling?

She clearly thinks we’re secret shoppers sent by her employer. I mean, why else would people our age be asking about a poop hat?

THD (taking out his wallet): I just want the hat.

He comes back to me with the hat and puts it on my head.

THD: You even make a poop hat look good.

Does anything possibly say love more than dropping $20 on a poop hat and then telling your woman she looks good in it?

THE MAN IS A KEEPER.

Stay weird, my friends. Normal is boring!