To be clear, it's not that everybody who goes to this thing is a loser. It's just that the percent of losers at such an event is roughly equal to the percent of losers in an HEB at 2:30 in the morning, and I'm more of an HEB-at-2:30-in-the-afternoon-loser-percent kind of a lady. There's a window of comfort, and that window ends at 10 pm.
But I can't keep complaining like this much longer in good conscience; I just have to start off that way because my instincts are overwhelmingly strong. Truth be told, the weather was lovely, the place wasn't overcrowded, and we were there with our good family friends, the Healys.
Drakeson & His Not-Girlfriend Ripley
Red Dragon, Tinkerbell, & Trogdor
The place was bustling with live music, curvy women, extravagant costumes, eccentric actors, and talkative vendors (many of whom were losers, and many of whom were surrounded by the like). Understandably, Drakeson maintained a cautious attitude until his first chance at a pony ride.
What Is This Place?
Pretending to be Scared Too
All Better
Not Shy Anymore
Red's Wolf
Dragon Eye
Not Wanting Kisses
Matt's Shoulders
If $15 was reasonable for five-minutes of face painting and $20 was okay for a wooden shield, one might draw the line at $12 for a 5-second camel ride. That's $47 in six minutes of George-decision-making bliss. Damnit if his smile isn't worth $47, though.
Just Like Two Years Ago
More Bravery
Musicians
Along the way, we did a fair bit of shopping, drank some beer, ate a most excellent turkey leg, and watched a "Dirty Wench Show." Someday I'll have a talk with my children about the idea of shaming women for perceived promiscuity, but they'll probably be like, "Mom, what are you talking about? Only old people do that." Then I'll show them that we went to this loser faire and saw a "dirty wench show" when they were kids, and they'll be like, "Gross, Mom. Why did you support that?"
"Dirty Wench Show"
"Hmmm. Promiscuity."
We ended the day with jousting, and it was a total bore. Last time, it was the highlight of a miserable morning, and this time, it was the let down of a decent day. Decent, of course, only if you have the ability to tune out "good morrow" and "goodly" and "henceforth" uttered about by people who have no business saying these things.
But I'll end this post on the highlights because I'm such a positive person. First and foremost, my family enjoyed themselves and my friends are great fun to be around. When the Healys walked through those front gates, they brought that HEB-loser-percent of the whole place down by a good half hour. Secondly, all the fat men in drag were adorable. They weren't there last time because of the 38 degrees that I have not forgotten, and they were a welcome addition to the mix. Lastly, there was Robin. I don't know what his real name is, but Robin is what I have affectionately named the man who danced to the music of a spirited accordion player named Amanda Kitchens and her band, Duende. Appearing extremely stoned and tirelessly enthusiastic, he was the tall and narrow master of his own brand of dancing. As Malinda put it, he put Napoleon Dynamite to shame. He was like a combination of Jack Skellington and the Energizer Bunny, but with jazz hands. His handsome boyish face wore the same stupid expression at all times. Anybody who has not experienced Robin may find the ending of post this post tiresome, but for the lucky few of us that lived it, we know that this was a time that shall never be forgotten. Thank you, Robin-Napoleon-Dynamite. You made my day, and you are amazing. May you touch the hearts of many more.
Twice as Old as Last Time
