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Showing posts with label Festivals. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Festivals. Show all posts

Saturday, July 30, 2011

~Touch A Truck? Hellz Yeah!

(Ring-ring)

AnonD:  ...Blah, blah, fuckidy, blah, I saw where the city of AnonDville is having a Touch A Truck day at the AnonDville Sports Complex this afternoon, wanna

BBG:  YES!!

AnonD: go?  It says all things big and a helicopter. 

BBG:  I'm down.

AnonD:  Ok, but I'm gonna need you to make a promise...

BBG:  I cannot promise to be nice to the fire people.  I've already fulfilled my duty and I cannot with any sincerity, or honesty say I'll be able to keep my tongue in it's house.

AnonD:  I know, and that's fine, you've done your part, but I need you to promise you won't knock too many little kids outta the way to get to things.

(mentally noticing the usage of "too many" and envisioning how bad it would look to actually shove some kids to the side)

BBG:  Allllright.  I guess I can abide by that...


Next thing I know I'm pullin' up to AnonD HQ and we're off to Touch A Truck, which somehow for all of it's wholesomeness, sounds somehow a tad naughty.  Touchhhhh A Trrrrruck. 

I'd tell you what happened, but I think you already know.  But, in case you're new 'round the World:
(I almost got arrested.)

Nooooooo.  I didn't almost get arrested.  At least not today.  Fine.  At least not while at the Touch A Truck.

I did see all kinds of fun rides.  Dump trucks, tow trucks, moving trucks, semi's, a school bus, a city bus, a trash truck, a worker truck with a cherry picker, a bulldozer.  It was a 4 (and more) wheel extravaganza.  ...And some kid honkin' the horn of each and every vehicle.  This disturbed AnonD to no end.  I, however, was bothered nil by it as I knew that if I was in one of those seats I'd be honkin' too.


Yeeeeeaaaahhh.  "If" I was sitting in a seat...


We wandered over to see the helicopter, where I visited with the pilot who I knew back in my radio daze.

(Hello Mr. Bighouse)
 
Apparently, AnonD and I are the only two people in the area who felt like Touch A Truck was a place for grown ups too.  Every other adult had a small fry in tow. Of course, while they perhaps appeared more appropriate in the setting, than say, two grown ass women traipsing around wearin' too small, plastic, yellow, hard hats, at least I wasn't crying when it was time to leave which is more than I can say for 99% of the other attendees as they walked/were wheeled in strollers back to the parking lot. 
 


(See.  No cuffs.)

Policeman:  Do you want me to use the cuffs?

BBG:  That's alright, I know all too well about the cuffs.

Policeman:  I don't want to know...

BBG:  Oh, it's all on the up and up.  P.S.  when you're visiting your Dad's office in homicide, you're playin' with his cuffs and he says, "BBG don't put those on, I don't have the key" believe him.   Otherwise you just get dragged through the department until you find some rook who can unlock ya.

Policeman:  hahahahaha...I did the same thing to my son, who's now 32.  Came home we were wrestling around I cuffed him and then realized I'd left my keys back at the department.  

Ahhhh....bonding over family fun with cuffs.  And the love of big trucks. 

A good day.  Check.


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Thursday, October 21, 2010

~The Great Pumpkin Festival

The other day when we devised our plan to get 'Round Town bound, to the biggest pumpkin show in the area, (held annually in Circleville since 1903) I recounted my tenure as the Great Pumpkin.

Mom made me wicked cool costumes when I was a kid. Alright, even after I technically/chronologically outgrew the term, "kid". One of which was a pumpkin costume. The first year it was indeed of the Charlie Brown vein. Sweet, cute and fantastic.

Several years later, when it made it's second (or was that 3rd?) appearance, it had taken a turn towards the debaucherous.

I put on my beloved black cowboy boots-- (Yes world, the BBG has owned cowboy boots...) which tickled me because it made me, the Great Country Pumpkin. As the evening wore on and the alcohol was filtered through my system, I became The Great Drunken Pumpkin. (You can find a glimpse of this finely crafted costume included in the Abandoned Babys Are A Buzz Kill & Other Minutiae/January ott ten, if'n your so interested.)

Today found me sportin' the following:



...Sooooooo the conversation when Double D saw me in my intended festive headgear went a lil' like this:

Double D: (eyebrows raised) Really?

BBG: Really.

God bless him for already knowin' fighting with this is futile, unless it's some kinda real thing, that truly requires a discussion and persuasion. Otherwise, it's just easier, with the same result, to go along with the program. Gold Star Double D!

Off we set for the 104th pumpkin fest. Just a BBG wearin' a pumpkin hat and equally as festive orange jacket hurling down the highway. We arrived to a, um, what most people would call, a cluster fuck. The rual city was not designed, back in the day, to accommodate the estimated 400,000 attendees and vehicles.

Parking was a terrible situation. It took us under 45 minutes to get there, it took 45 minutes to find a place to park for fucks sake. To my credit, I wasn't even gettin' testy. I expected as much, so I was cool like a cuke. My bladder, however, was an entirely different situation. Compounded by the fact that I'd downed a Dew on the drive there.

When we finally found parking and I stood up I knew I'd never make it to any bathroom opportunity on the way to "downtown" Round Town. Decisions had to be made. Actions had to be taken. And the next thing I know I'm having a conversation with Double D about whether beside a building next to a tree was a better option than doors open between the next parked car. (Thank you sketchy kidneys.)

Yeah.

Public urination completed we made our way to the fest and I found myself happily pleased with the lil' pumpkin world I'd stepped into. A treat after my last fest experience.

Pumpkin what you want... ice cream, bread, burgers, donuts, seeds. You name it they had it. Along with all other delicacies that make festivals grand; steak on a stick, cheese on a stick, deep fried cheese cake on a stick. And the grandaddy of 'em all...COTTON CANDY!! The pumpkin thing I bought was pumpkin fudge. I donno. I felt like I had to try sumthin' pumpkin. Fudge seemed like it. But I haven't been about to open the package yet...



Maybe I shoulda purchased the seeds. But I've already had pumpkin' seeds before. Nope, fudge was the right choice. (Hopefully)

Tons of rides. None of which we partook in. I was havin' a nice day. I didn't want to risk death by carney.

I spied pumpkins of all sizes and varieties.

Big assed:

The biggest at the festival weighed in at 1,622 lbs. Random: "They" say these ginormous pumpkins can grow upto 30 lbs a day!

Teeny tiny's:


Weird ass:


And of course, spelling gourds:

(See O-H-I-O spelled out in the green ones?)

There was even a pumpkin tree:



There was a parade o' bands that evening. I've never seen soooooo many bands. Man, some high schools really allow their cheerleaders and/or drill teams to wear some hoochy ass shit. I saw some pretty whore-y uniforms on high school age girls. They'd have been whore-y on like NFL cheerleaders, grown ass women, but they were extra inappropriate on teens, in my opinion. And my parameters of acceptability, well, lets face it, are pretty wide in breadth and depth, ya know?

Unfortunately for you my photos turned out for shit. Fortunately I was able to (somewhat) capture this lil' ditty. One of the participating schools was called Marion Franklin. Not interesting or important, other than the fact that it meant the tuba people carried logo's that looked like this:


How great do you think it must be to have the opportunity to carry a big ol' "MF" sign?!? Awesome, right?

Also in attendance was The Ohio State University Marching Band (aka: TBDBITL). They were superb. And even put on a concert after the end of the parade.

Much to my delight, I was able to secure my last cotton candy of the season.



Well, there you go. It was just like you were there, huh? Without the public peeing. You're welcome!


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Friday, October 15, 2010

~Shame On The Italians

I suggested we go to the local Italian Festival last weekend.

A festival is usually fun.

Usually, festivals involve the ability to freely drink a beer while milling about in the open. Bonus. Especially festivals involving a parish or an ethnic group with a large percentage o' Catholics. What can I say? We like to include booze in our events. I take it as a sign, much like Ben Franklin, that it's proof that God wants us to be happy. It's how we roll. Wake? Booze. Baptism? Booze. It's a part of our culture.

And festivals usually have cotton candy. Those criteria and people watchin'? I'm in. Plus it offered the ability to complete Double D's heritage tour, as I had named it when we went to the Irish fest a few weeks? months? ago.

Double plus, they were supposed to be making the worlds biggest meatball. The fine record keepin' folks at Guinness were going to certify it and everything. You know seeing anything abnormally big or small, except for people, is right up my alley.

Weather was expected to be beeeeeautiful for October in these parts, with highs running about 85. I just knew it was gonna be a good way to spend some time on a weekend afternoon, right?

Yep.

But what it reeeeeally was, was disappointing.

Wait.

Fuckin' disappointing.

After our arrival, I actually felt a tinge of embarrassment that I had put it into play.

The first thing one notices is that it smells like sewer. Pleasant.

And wouldn't ya think there'd be like 987 delicious, delectable Italian food offerings? Well, you like me, would have found yourself sadly disappointed and wrong. I had a pretty craptastic piece of pizza. I saw several people carrying big ass bags of kettle corn. Some of them were just slightly larger, taller than the bags they carried. Do people really eat that much kettle corn?

Even the booths selling their wares were less than desirable. Aren't there a ton of t-shirts, albeit t-shirts I wouldn't wear but am intrigued by enough to walk by and look at,that should be sold there? Shouldn't I see some Italian horn necklaces? A shop of all things Italian? Nada.

My one highlight, other than the company I kept, was getting my picture taken with one of those statue guys. Why? I donno. I thought it would be fun.



Honestly, he kinda creeped me out. But there I am doin' sumthin' new that day.

In other meatball, and disappointing news, the Italian festival promised me the world's largest meatball.



They missed the record by 94 lbs. It was still big enough to become the largest meatball in the U.S. In sad fashion, in my opinion, there was no plan to share the meatball... Seems like they could have sold servings off or donated to some shelter or sumthin', but "they" don't let me run the world, so what do I know?

Fuck you Italian fest. I'm never going back. I guess from here on out I stick with the Irish, at least they know how to show me a good time, and cotton candy.


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Monday, August 9, 2010

~It's (was) A Grrrreat Day For The Irish

And a pretty fuckin' grand weekend for me!

Awesome, in fact.

Double D and I kicked it off with a Special Day dinner on the grill. Y-U-M! Special Day marking the day we met. See. Just when ya think I'm a complete hardass, heartless skirt, turns out I've got a little bit of gooey in me. Now, kindly get up off the floor where you've likely ended up from your mocking laughter. (Oh, and suck it!)

Saturday took us to the local Irish Festival. Er, factually, Saturday took me to the Irish Fest, Double D who is actually 1/2 Irish went along only in deference to my desires. (I know!! I don't get it either!!) Meanwhile, the BBG who is 0.00% Irish was in hog fuckin' heaven. Surrounded by a good number of things in life I hold dear and have an appreciation for, beer...cotton candy...friends (in the form of Fidget and his lovely girlie, Mindy)...men in kilts...bagpippes...beer...random stranger people...oh, and did I mention beer?

In zero of a surprise Double D quickly embraced his heritage in the form of this sunshine-y Festival. How much so? Well, I never was able to sell him on wearin' a kilt. (Even though I pointed out every third man wearing one and stopped a stranger guy sportin' one and interrogated him on his happiness on a scale of 1 to 10 and why they are sooooo awesome.) But he was inspired by the music we heard at one point so much so that he considered buying a learn to play harmonica kit!

We observed some strangely like bowling, but with a stick Celtic game, watched and learned about linen and the history of Irish weaving, got schooled on the traditions of an Irish wake, saw leather carving and enjoyed fiddle and bagpipe laden bands.

Of course, I must up the fun o' meter and struck up a conversation with some all tatt'd up cat, who now that I think about it may (or may not) have been a skin head or a serial killer, who knows. My assessment is not based on his tats. A pal of Double D's had stopped by earlier in the day to show his two new tats so this all started by me randomly stopping and asking a few tat questions. Ya know, the usual... Did that hurt? ("Hellz yes, anyone who says no is a lying pussy") What do your knuckles say? (A: one hand "lust", the other "pain" and if you interlaced them vertically, "violence") Do you have a tat on your inner lip? This was a trick question on my part. Hoss had a fuckin' 3" straight razor tattoo'd just below his right eye on his cheek bone, of course he did. Something about rapist. No. I sware. Again, I remind you, how could I possibly make such shit up?!?



As we (Double D & I) experienced the same conversation, this is where our versions of the story diverge. He claims I "left him" with said tatt'd up stranger. Here's what really happened: I had had all of the fun I could have with that stranger and the first beeeeeeeeautiful strains of the every drum and piper in the area concert? Display? Showcase? ...started. At which point I said to tatt'd up guy, "sorry, you've lost my attention to the bagpipes" and told him to have a fun rest of his festival and walked the fuck away to see the pipers piping. Double D had a perfect/no fault get away, in my opinion. And that kids, is not the same as leaving a man behind. ...And yes. That's Double D 5 mins after I had departed still chatting with Tattoo...

(File under: What can I say, BBG's LOVE bagpipes!!)

While watching a group of bag & drummers warm up one of the members of the big city PD & FD corps briskly walked by. As we had no itinerary of the festivities and knowing my desire to see a full on show, Double D said, "what time are you guys playin'?" to the kilted up, drumstick carrying public servant who kept haulin'. Then my guy goes, "hey Sarge", that cat stopped on a dime, whipped his head around in our direction and when asked when and where squared us away with the time and place to catch their pipe-y and drum-y goodness.

After the performance I couldn't resist stealin' some souls. Click.



This was nanoseconds before I had to take the opportunity to be snarky to one of the FD members of the corps. He did have a cool ass handle bar 'stashe, but he was still a fireman... What choice did I have?!?

A great day for the Irish.

An awesome day for moi.

And a pretty good/interesting day for Double D.

And to that I say: Hoooooray!!


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Monday, August 2, 2010

~My 2nd Ever Trip To The Fair

I went to the fair once. That was a gazillion years ago, with LEM & her hubby, Evil E. I never went back, so there, theeeeeere's the level of my interest in the fair. Now, you know I'm totally diggin' Double D if I'm all like, "yeaaaaaah, I'm goin' to the fair with ya!"

And while that is very much true, he also made the offer appealing to me by presenting the opportunity for blood shed and cotton candy. I gotta give it to him, he knows the audience he's workin' with. Plus, the morning we were going, I saw a story on the local AM news and spied these kids runnin' around with a, well, what I called, a Chiquita crown. Which apparently, I say wrong because Double D had nooooooo idea what I was sayin' as I said it. I'm all like, a crown, a crown!!-- now making a placing a crown on my head like gesture before he understood. Evidently, a Chiquita 'crayon' didn't seem sensical to him when I was sayin' it...

I knew I had to have one of those atop my dome!

I think you know, I did.



And you, of course, know I made Double D don one too.



File under: Yep, somebody's a good sport.

Other wanderings brought me the adventure of the State Troopers fake drunk, fake FST. Awesome. I'm in. First the Trooper makes you walk a line of tape on the floor, heel to toe. Honestly, who am I kiddin' here? I'm supremely klutzy. Practically every week I discover some bruise that I can no more explain than I can explain quantum physics, so just the stone cold sober walkin' o' the line was probably a bit sketchy to begin with. But then they put these drunk goggles on ya that distort your sight to what must be a 0.666 level. They were crazy. So as any one like me would do, I managed to set my toe on the start of the line and then I looked straight ahead and just heel toe'd it the best I could. The other people tryin' were looking at the line and gettin' all kindz a fucked up as they tried to stay on the line. While I prided myself on being a pretty good and crafty fake drunk walker, Double D accused me of cheating. Trooper said walk the line, Trooper didn't say look at the line. Cheatin' or being smart? You be the judge.



(Me, gettin' all Johnny Cash wit it and walkin' the line, baby!)



(See what happened when you tried to look at the line?!?)

There were a lot of, well, I don't know how to say it other than to say it, an overabundance of short armed people there. Do they have Salute to Short Armed Individuals day at the fair? I easily saw 5 people with teeny tiny appendages with varying degrees of fingers. There. Again, I don't know what else to say, I'm just reportin' the Fair experience...

The Fair also taught me how indiscriminately and inappropriately people choose to tat themselves up. It's not like I'm morally opposed to tattooing. I don't have one, but to each their own. Q: What the fuck do I care? A: I do not. But I saw some things that were the epitome of 'well, that's bad idea'. Bad ideas in bad places on bad bodies. People, I implore you-- think before you ink!

The potential blood shed was in the form of boxing. I enjoyed it, it seems when you don't know the person boxing, it's far more fun to watch as people get jabbed and hooked.



While I had a good time watching boxing, it did create a, 'he's on my list' moment. It was the James Buster Douglas boxing doohickey, but you know who wasn't there on the final day? Yeah, that's right, Buster Douglas. Really? It's your event and you're no where to be found so that I could take my picture with you? Pfffffft... He's now on my list and I'm now holding a grudge against Buster. I imagine this news makes him quake in his shoes.

I also had a chance to see the butter cow. 2,000 lbs o' butter.



I certainly don't know, but I like to think a merry band of people holding warm crusty rolls and/or cob's o' corn line up at the end of the fair to "dispose" of the butter cow. It only seems right, like the proper way for it to fulfill it's buttery bovine destiny.


My very 1st ever deep fried Snickers:



It was tasty. I can't say I'd go outta my way to get one, but I enjoyed it. At least I can check off my list of To-Do: 'eat sumthin' weird deep fried'. Check.

In addition to some of the people I share my state with, perhaps the strangest thing I saw was this:



What is it? Well, I believe the old adage of, 'fuck if I know', applies here. Double D asked the woman manning the booth, who was apparently selling some sorta book. About what? We could not precisely ascertain. Double D kept trying to make sense of the words forming in her mouth, but I quickly went to the, "oh, I gotta get this for my what the fuck file" place in my mind and started clickin' away. You're welcome.

Thank you Ohio State Fair, for a very interesting and entertaining day of people watchin', nutritionally sketchy eatin' and short armed appreciation. It was indeed a freaky (or perhaps, freak laden) deeeelight. See you again some day.
Love,
BBG


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Sunday, July 25, 2010

~Return Of The Crazy Ass Corn & More

Clearing out the camera, so these are in no particular order, but here's what life has been about recently...

Some of my favorite flops:



Dear Cotton Candy,

I love you. Yesterday, today and always. You are one of my favorite things in life. So fluffy and sweet in all of your yummy goodness. I wish I could have a bed made of you so in the middle of the night I could just open my mouth and gobble you up. Double D mocked me for the fact that at the Rib & Jazz Fest I chose you over ribs to fill the space in my belly. Thank you for your sticky wonderfulness.
Love,
BBG


File under: And the view was spectacular as we listened to hoodoosoulband band at the Rib & Jazz Fest.



...This was slightly before I gave some police officer the fuckin' what for when I spied him sans his vest.

Yes! Once again I have been fortunate enough to find mutant corn!! This time congratulations, it triplets.

I don't know why it makes me soooooo happy to find such fabulous oddities, but it just really does. What can I say? My name is Big Brown Girl and I like weird. I love a freak show of any kind, evidently.

Yowza. Fucking outstanding. Cold Stone has been in our neck of the woods for a while now and for some reason I've resisted it.


Maybe because my first job was Diary Queen? Maybe because it's always seemed silly to my pragmatic mind to pay $4.00 for a small ice cream? I know, I know the myriad of stupid ways I've spent 4 beans would be simply mind boggling to contemplate, but it's akin to buying bottled H20 in my mind. Why would I buy water when it's free out of any available faucet, ya know? But hells of fire, that shit is the bombdigity of ice cream, and it's a good thing there is not a Cold Stone any closer to me than it is. (Yes, my laziness will trump even my desire for yumminess.)

I was sold on trying it when Ghoulia told me about this magically delicious deeeeelight known as cake batter ice cream. With those four words, I was sold. However, the world conspired against us as we tried to acquire it that night. One Cold Stone out of it the other one we stopped at closed. (Thanks world) But finally one evening Double D and I treked out to give it a whirl, both of us Cold Stone virgins. I went with the suggested cake batter, Double D had the mint with chocolate chips. At some point after we sat down, mainly because my knees began to buckle, I told him we should be home and nakid. He said, "yes", then quickly followed with, "why?" and I told him because that would be the only thing that could possibly make this ice cream experience any better. Yeah, it's that good.

Da' Am. It was awesome and I highly recommend it if you aren't already hip to it.


Q: What the fuck kinda crazy ass bug is this who tried to kill me?


...Ok. Fine. This bug didn't actually try to kill me, but it was on my garage door and I found him to be very, very spooky and disconcerting. ...Just another reason Mother Nature and I aren't friends.
UPDATE: Ghoulia has just informed me that a cake batter shake is a possibility. OMG. Can you see the mouse runnin' in it's wheel from there?!? Somebody's makin' a return trip to Cold Stone!!


P.S. Happy Birthday MGB & Mick!


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