The Fair

Its that time of year - The Ohio State Fair is here.

Little Biscuit and I have an ongoing tradition—Every year we go to the State Fair and we LOVE IT.

In the heat of summer, the fair goes on for two weeks. What better time than in the sweltering heat. It’s a dirty, stinky event, so why not be sweaty too.



There is something so paradoxical about the fair taking place in the middle of our metropolis. Right off the major highway, are some great events that we don’t typically get to witness in the city. There are livestock like goats, chickens, sheep and swine.
There are agricultural contests—who can grow the largest produce? And there are arts and crafts of course!

The people watching is AWESOME. Never since, have I witnessed a more happy union urban and rural in the same place. From hip-hop music to country concerts – two things so polar opposite right HERE.

The food – Ok who doesn’t love fried food. The fair is the home of fried food. Biscuit and I make ourselves sick on fair food – We look forward to this day of gluttony. Fried cheese is a must. French fries are good too. But don’t forget about the corn. Right before they give you the fresh roasted ear, they dip it in a VAT of butter. You grab hold and let the butter run down your arm while wondering if one day at the fair can give you a heart attack.

Last year, we looked everywhere for the NEW fair food “fried coke” but to no avail. I did have a fried snickers and was unimpressed.

This year Biscuit has one objective. “I am going to get a turkey leg” she stated. She is referring to the giant drumsticks like they have at those renaissance events. Every year we gape at the big men that walk around gnawing on a giant meat leg. This year, she is going to see what all the fuss is about – Don’t worry; I’ll get a picture.

And the one last reason we LOVE the fair—the rides. No, they aren’t as high or fast as amusement parks but they are scarier. These rides are so portable and downright unstable that there is a good chance you might die. We laugh hysterically, unsure which will happen first, vomit all over each other or be thrown from ride that is structurally unsound. It is a blast.

While others snub their nose at this annual event, I can’t help but be drawn back to see if it all is really as strange as I remember.

Look for pictures and a recap to follow next week, our third annual visit. Cross your fingers that Biscuit finds a turkey leg.

Characters

Someone recently commented about how I addressed the Fiancé as such in my last blog post. It was older sister, who now wants a fun name. I think you’d agree “older sister” isn’t unique or flattering. In the spirit of names, I decided to provide a key of who’s who for future blog posts.

The Big Man – Older sister’s Fiancé, soon to be husband. The big man is a great chef and responsible for some of the greatest meals I’ve ever consumed.

Little Sister – Biscuit, this is not a new name for her. Not sure where it came from but it stuck.

Nick Nick – Little Sisters boyfriend. Sorry we don’t have a more interesting name but its fun to say. Try it.

Boyfriend/Fiancé and soon too be Husband – Easy enough to figure this one out. Love of my life, best friend, and person that can make me angrier than anyone (yes, even you mom).

Momma T – My crazy but perpetually youthful mother. Always on the run and only likes to talk on her cell phone in the car. If she tells you she’ll call you back when she gets home, don’t believe her.

Padre – Not sure when dad was translated to Spanish. He is the once strict disciplinarian turned softy (that’s what happens with three girls).

The kids – Franklin the cat and Sammy the dog – see appropriate posts for detailed descriptions

Now to the Older Sister – Here lies my problem with a name for older sister, all of the following apply to one side of her personality or another –
Monkers – pet name given by the big man
50s Diva – I’m telling you she live in the 50s in a previous life
Fitness Fanatic – running, swimming, hiking, biking, you name it she’s going to conquer it.
Future caretaker of the sick – scientist in the making
Cincinnati Sister – I told her that would be her name and she suggested it was uninspired.

What do you think?

A Monday Night

We were bored. This made us laugh. We are simple people.

Yard Sale

So the fiancé and I decided to have a yard sale to make money for the upcoming nuptials.

I was excited to get rid of all the old hand-me-down college stuff and The future hubby was interested in making some dough. I mentioned the yard sale to a couple friends and they decided to join in and to sell their stuff at the yard sale too.

WHO KNEW what we were in for.

The sticky 95-degree day started off slowly. Once my clothing was soaked through from hauling the junk to the yard, I sat down and settled into my second skin of sweat.

The morning was boring - This is me doing the yard sale dance -



Besides my lovely dancing - The first sign that the day would be interesting involved a telescope that my friend was trying to sell. A potential buyer looked through the lens only to see a dead mouse curled up inside. How’s that for astronomy!

Early on I was getting frantic that we wouldn’t sell anything and I really didn’t want to move anything back inside. That paired with my inability to sell things led to some crazy sales techniques. Someone would pick up and item and ask how much. I would tell them the price and before I got a reaction, give them a lower price, then a lower one – afraid they would put it down stunned at our greed. It went something like this:

“How much is this?’

“Ten dollars, 5 dollars, no wait, 2 dollars?”

I spent the day practically giving away everything. This did not make the fiance too happy - remember his goal was to make some dough. Fiancé, on the other hand, spent most of the day in the air-conditioning living room watching golf – SO YES, I sold the 32 inch TV for $20 - that's just what happens when you put the impatient, frantic, everything-must go girl outside to work the yard sale.


By 10:30 AM I was ready for a beer. Little did I know that getting a buzz equals higher prices and bad math. An example of my tipsy logic

-A lady came by and was looking at the books when I told her they are a dollar each or three for five. Hmmmm, somehow I don’t think bulk pricing works that way. Needless to say, she didn’t buy a book (or three).

As I'm writing this, I can see how long it could end up – instead below are a list of the more interesting tidbits or lessons learned.

Fact – 40% of yard sale shoppers did not have a majority of their teeth.

Shirts were evidently optional

If the people working the yard sale are enjoying a beer, that means it the buyers must
go back into the beat up van and grab some MGD’s while they shop.

Beware the cracked out shoppers. They show up in Men’s boxers, get excited about every item for sale, and jet off before you know what happened.

If someone offers you two dollars to drive them home, Moriya will do it.

If someone needs help loading their couch at their house – Jonathan will help (even if it means riding away in a scary truck), Nick will not.

Drive up purchases do happen at yard sales. They go something like this –
Someone pulls up and yells out the window, “How much for the TV?”
“$20” I yelled back (fiancé is still pissed at this deep discount).
As a response to my price, they reach their hand out the window with $20 in it, indicating agreement to the price. Meanwhile, an accomplice jumps out of the back seat and goes to pick up the TV.
Just like that, drive up yard sale purchase. No need to turn off the vehicle.

And the unanimous favorite quote of the day -
“Aren’t you my parole officer?”
Response “No, I went to art school”

Favorite customer – Larry (responsible for quote of the day and for buying way too much of our crap).

Please forgive the long post but I have to admit that this was one of the more interesting weekends I've in quite a while.

Momentary Love Affairs

Seems like weeks go by where all I can do is speak the praises of some simple pleasure in life. I want to start a stand of posts called momentary love affairs.

My summer love affair momentarily lies in beer.
I typically enjoy wine. I Seek it out for the complexity of flavors available. I have grown momentarily dissatisfied with my wine choices. My shift from wine to beer has been swift and significant. In just the past few weeks I have been seeking out anything from the deep, dark, chocolate and the rich, amber to the fruity and pale.

It is a torrid affair, one where I don’t even take the time to learn the name of my lover. I spend time savoring the character, but quickly move on to the next intoxication.

My favorite time to indulge is post exercise, soaking in the last long hours of summer on my back deck.

Of all the beers that have enjoyed my affections as of late, my favor lies in the round, amber beer my sister brewed for me. It was so satisfying. I even thought to ask if I could do it. Time consuming was all I heard before I went looking for a new trist.

The brother to this beer was one that Jack made for me. While it did not linger as long in my thoughts, I thoroughly enjoyed its earthy, dark, character. I did not share Jonathan’s sentiments that it was beer mixed with dirt.

Maybe that’s the way it is with love affairs, appreciating all the moods because I’ve not yet grown tired of them.

What's in a name

So what is in a name? A surname to be exact?

Traditionally, in our culture, when a man and woman get married, she takes his last name. That's just the way it's been, and for the most part, the way it still is.

I never even thought about this tradition until I realized it soon will apply to me. Suddenly I had concerns.

Let me start out by saying that I am not a feminist. My concerns with this tradition have nothing to do with a patriarchal society, or the plight of women. My concerns are completely selfish. I like my name. After 28 years, it is more than just a signature. It represents the family I come from (which I'm fiercely proud of), the nicknames I've had, the woman I've become, and the hard work I've put forth both in school and in my career to build that name.

This internal conflict was not something I spent time pondering until my fiance expressed his heartfelt request that I take his name. I would imagine that this is my introduction to marriage—suddenly such a personal decision is not mine to make alone. It will affect him as well as any children we might have.

The conflict was even more troublesome because my fiance is so invested in me changing something so intertwined with my identity. By the way, the "it's just what people do" argument doesn't cut it. I need a better reason than that.

The conversation over my future identity lingered with me all week. I've been circling the office with my questions regarding this tradition.

"Are you changing your name when you get married? Are you ok with the new name?"

And to all the married women, "Was it difficult to get used to? Did you ever consider not changing your name?"

Mind you, this is not a very scientific study. I did not get a good representative sample of the US. These women are all my age, close to my income bracket, and working in the same geography, industry and office. I shouldn't be surprised that many of them shared my concerns. The end result was typically the same—They changed or will be changing their names.

I love my fiance and his family. This has NOTHING to do with his name and EVERYTHING to do with mine. Like I said, this is probably my first lesson in being married - get over yourself already!

Don't worry baby, I'll do it but there might be kicking and screaming along the way!

My 15 Minutes

I am officially famous. I will be appearing in grocery stores and convenience stores nationwide. Be sure to look for the large display of chocolate (how fitting). See below for the pictures.



Wow that picture doesn't do me, or my fame, justice. See below for a more appropriate close up!



Because I want everyone to have fun with my fame, I am introducing a game. "Log the Locations and Win". Think of it as a Where's Waldo of Marci's. Every time you have a Marci sighting (the one on the display, not me in person) come back to my blog and post a comment about where you saw me. The winner will be the person that has the most LEGITIMATE posts. They will win a lot of chocolate. (Only Nestle Chocolate, but hey its free).

Seriously, I will provide the winner with candy bars. (Joe don't mention anything if you notice the candy display is empty tomorrow).

I am also appearing online at http://www.xbox.com/en-US/community/events/nestle

Thank goodness I wasn't one of the poor schleps who's head got replaced. I'm not naming names, but Joe and Rob aren't in the picture anymore.


LET THE GAMES BEGIN!

Taking back the yard

Today, I took back my yard! I stood examining the weed infested flower beds. Those weeds have gotten very comfortable in the nutrient rich soil meant for my shrubs and flowers.

I knew I was in for a battle. By the looks of it they were trying to colonize in MY flowerbed. They had a firm hold of the dirt but I had tools and thumbs in my favor.

Luckily it rained earlier in the day. I thought the rain would thwart my efforts but it stopped. Mother nature was on my side. The rain had loosened the hard clay soil and left the weeds vulnerable.

I prepared for battle, tying up my hair and removing all jewelry. As I surveyed the land, I laid out my plan - I would tackle them one by one.

The first pull of a weed out of the soil-yoink. Those roots don't stand a chance in this moist terrain. In my absence, those weeds had grown lazy. There wasn't any sign of the hard digging and pulling I anticipated.

I spoke too soon. I found my true challengers—the CRABGRASS growing between the cracks in the sidewalk. I tugged, twisted, dug and cursed. DAMN YOU crabgrass!

I was Slowly and painfully making my way to the back of the yard when the rain started. With determination, I kept at the battle. Soon, it was too much. With skinned knuckles and a dirt covered face, The rain forced me to retreat halfway to my victory.

With each drop of rain, I know that soil will loosen.

Crabgrass I will defeat you. Its just a matter of time. Bwah ha ha ha.