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Fair Fare

The Texas State Fair is held every year in Dallas--always in October--and Texans go hog wild for it.

I don't know when I became such a germophobe but it seems I rival Howard Hughes in my attempt to remain untouched at the fair.  Muck and grimy ick coat everything at the State Fair of Texas: the rides, the game booths, the food tents, the ground, everything. But, as Texans, we always attend because it is a pastime that has been an institution in Dallas for 125 years.

Each year I seem to be fascinated by a new item/area at the fair.  For example, one year I was intrigued by the sideshow entitled "The World's Smallest Horse."  My kids totally sucked us in so we paid a small fortune to go inside a trailer and look at a gerbil wearing a makeshift saddle. The attendees are always amazing to watch as well, mostly because of wardrobe choices.  This is one area that never fails to entertain me.  The fashion winner last year was a guy who had on tight jean shorts (aka jorts).  That's right.  I said "tight" and "jean shorts on a guy" in the same sentence.  His enormous belly was a useful prop as it spread his t-shirt out enough so one could read the caption "Stud Inside." 

This year I was absolutely astounded by the food choices.  Fried food is always a big deal at the State Fair, but they have REALLY gone overboard frying everything from chicken skin and oreos to butter.  Yes.  That's right.  Fried butter.  Maybe next year they will offer deep-fried cigarettes.  Fingers crossed!  One thing is for sure--if you go and dine on all the fine morsels at the Texas State Fair, you'll want to wait awhile before going to get your cholesterol checked. (Please note the sign below--not fried chicken but fried chicken skin.)

Mommy Snafus

I am in a constant state of "busted" with my kids---it was so much easier when they couldn't read or comprehend four letter expletives.  Ahhh.....the days I could talk like a sailor, cursing my dishwasher, while my babies toddled around and cooed at me not understanding a word I said....."wah wah wah" was the translation, just like the teacher in Charlie Brown. Those were the good ol' days.....

Yesterday I dropped a glass jar of spaghetti sauce.......splattered all over me and the kitchen----while battling with the dog to keep him out of the mess and broken glass, I lobbed a KABOOM of an f-bomb.......I froze.  The dog and I stared at each other with silent fear, like two soldiers deep in the trenches awaiting a possible enemy attack.  It was quiet.  Too quiet...."WAIT!" I remembered the kids were playing outside....and then......Napalm....

"UMMMMMM.....MOMMY.....WE HEARD THAT!"  Crap.  There is no coming back from that---no way to un-ring that bell.  Those damn Mommy Snafus will get you every time!

Waivers Needed for Playdates

It appears my idea of fun and that of 8-year-old boys are not the same.  Recently, my little guy invited a gaggle of boys over to play after school and it was completely nuts!  Things were peachy keen at first;  they came in starving--demanding a snack---I fed them milk and cookies--Classic!  They were such precious little imps...gobbling down the cookies and wearing milk moustaches proudly--I was beaming with motherly warmth.  I had become Donna Reed.....

Within  minutes my fairytale image was shot to hell when one of the boys took off his shirt, ran outside, and grabbed a big stick and started yelling......the rest followed.  It was like a Lord of The Flies re-enactment........screaming, chanting, big sticks flailing about....."Oh My God!," I screamed, "That's how somebody loses an eye!"  I know I was being a total wet blanket...but what else could I do? It calmed them for a moment.....

I returned to the kitchen, enjoying the solitude, imagining the boys playing hide and seek and the like........obviously I'm a boy-mommy-moron......

The next sound I heard was engines...Greased Lightening at Thunder Road......the boys had taken the moped and gocart out front---without helmets, shoes or shirts...and without asking....Note to self:  Hide the key!  These little maniacs were insane in the membrane and I had no more brainpower!  By the time I yelled, screamed, cried enough to get them off said motorized equipment....parents came to pick up.  Thank GOD!  Until I heard one of the little suckers rat me out with, "Dad!  This is the most dangerous house I've ever been to!  Can I come back tomorrow?"  ACES!  I hear I'm nominated for Mom of The Year!  WINNER!

Potty Training....For Men.......

O.K. boys..... listen up......STOP GOING TO THE BATHROOM WITH THE NEWSPAPER!  It's bad enough that we, as women, have to consistently put the toilet seat back down and clean up the pee pee that lost it's way during direct aim (which, btw, is a BIG circle and not difficult to make the bulls eye!)......but I refuse to pipe down when it comes to fecal-germ-ridden publications.

This is just bad sanitary juju.  I positively lose my religion when I see any man go to the bathroom with a piece of literature.  Really?  Can't you just dump and go?  Why do you have to lounge and catch up on the economy while emptying your bowels? And your long walk down the hall with the sports page just announces what you're doing.  Plus, I'd wager 95% of you dirty dawgs don't wash your hands---yuk!

No woman would ever do this.  It's just plain icky and embarrassing  (for you!)  And, p.s., DON'T put the contaminated literature back on the coffee table!  That's just plain terrible.  I shouldn't need a Tetanus shot every time I read People Magazine.  C'MON!

You know how there is always a line for the ladies' room at a public establishment but never a men's line?   It's because we, as proud clean ladies, would never, in our right minds, step foot in your pee-soaked, urine-stenched, poop-stained, no-hand-washing, wipe-your-foul-hands-grubbing-on-the-newspaper havin' bathroom. 

I'll wait.  Til my bladder is about to pop and my $200 jeans are soaked with urine.  I'll wait. But thank you for offering  to let me cut in line........

Rollin' With the Crazies

My son's outfit for Crazy Day at school.  Love how he chose to mix the old school "Shaft" fro and shades with Spiderman bodysuit, striped toe socks, and his kicks of choice:  Converse All Stars.  Unstoppable!