A Colombian culinary conspiracy and DEEP-FRIED OREOS

It's fair season, kids!

As usual, the fam gathered up and went to the Deerfield Fair. And it was great having Little Brother and his wife, Ligia, up to visit.

We did the usual stuff, like check out the arts and crafts.

Funny, really, how I can take such a bad picture of such a good picture. I'm special.

 We learned about a new (to us) genre of art: egg shells

"Marge, seriously. No more damn omelets. I'm sick of eggs."

"Sorry, dear. Almost done with my masterpieces for the fair."

Truly. Who has this kind of time?

This guy was cross stitching AND talking about watching soccer in Ireland.
I thought that was everything I might want in a man. Funny. Not turned on in the least.

As Little Brother aptly stated, "Everyone needs a John Wayne pillow." It's true.
And Christmas is riiight around the corner

Painting #1 by my elusive artist boyfriend, Ted Nichols.

And painting #2 by TN. I love this one. Especially how you can see right
through the house in the window second from left. Sigh.

I think blogging about Ted Nichols three years in a row technically puts me in a stalker category. The fact that it's 2012 and I can't find him online tells me he probably doesn't want to be found. I know you're out there, Ted. I will wait for you.

We people watched. I care about you, so I'm only posting nonoffensive pictures. But there were so many offensive sights. The woman whose belly waved hello from under her shirt and over her pants comes to mind. Especially her belly button piercing. I mean, someone got up in there to do that. I'm not a small gal, but I like to keep my business covered up. 'Cause no one wants to see that shit. That was no ordinary muffin top.

We saw a dinosaur, because, well, I always find dinosaurs.

Are we in Virginia?

Soon we were onto the food portion of our fair trip. This is where things become questionable.

Us: Hello, sir. Spears or chips?
Him: Spears today. Maybe chips later in the weekend.

What happened after this, gives me pause over the pickle situation. Long-time readers know that we find deep-fried pickle spears abhorrent. Only chips will do. So we were hungry. We needed sustenance. And only a moment later, we came upon this:

Paella? At the fair? It's pretty and all, but this is different... I see vegetables.

Jorge's paella, huh? Ligia jumped on this like no one's business.
And check out the look on Jorge's face. I smell conspiracy. And saffron.
Like his eyes, in Spanish, are saying, "You know what to do, little one. Feed them..."

And that's exactly what this sassy little Colombian minx proceeded to do.

Even the crankiest members of the family were eating paella goodness.

That smile! That cute little accent. She had us in the palm of her hand.

Churros? Paella? Arepas? I was on to her. Ligia has totally turned this redneck, white trash event into a Latino technicolor culinary dream.

We managed to escape from her hold long enough to eat onion rings, fries, a corn dog, and DEEP-FRIED OREOS. Sorry, only block caps will do for that. Seemingly innocent, DEEP-FRIED OREOS start as a lot of batter with an Oreo stuck somewhere inside. But they quickly become a subtle sweetness that feels like LOVE IN YOUR MOUTH. We may have bought two orders. And I may have been so smitten that I forgot to take a picture. Totally let you down on that one, folks. My bad.

When Ligia wasn't conspiring for Latino fair domination, she posed with me in all the face cutouts. Best. Sister in law. Ever. Ligia, you can totally go on a Canadian road trip with me anytime.

I was excited about these face cutout pics until I started seeing them on Facebook with people's children in them. Whatevs, people. I'm thirty-blah, and I like face cutouts. Sue me.

There were, of course, many animals to pet and admire. For those of you just here for my wit and charm, feel free to sail through this section.

Sweet!

Slightly intimidating

Yer funny lookin'

I love how mammoth the oxen are. And still such sweet eyes.

This guy did not like me. In fact, he tried to charge a couple times. I, like a jackass,
stood there taking pictures and baby talking to him. "Whassamattah? You don't like me? Show me your angry face."

me mE ME ME ME Me meeeeeee

I've just kissed a girl named Mariaaaaa

I have a bone to pick with the Deerfield Fair. As the self-appointed sheep whisperer, I have two concerns. First, there's a specific breed of sheep that no longer shows up for the fair (hell if I know what the breed is--can't find it online). Second, All the damn sheep were being sheared. After shearing, all sheep are dressed in a very KKK-like hooded robe. So the sheep barn looked more like a klan rally, and I couldn't take many tasteful pictures. Dear shepherds, please figure these two things out. In the meantime, I took very lackluster pictures of the sheep. But I got kisses from one, so my day was complete.

This is the breed I miss--Shetlands?

Would you believe me if I told you that as soon as I snapped this, the little guy got up
on his hind legs, gave a dramatic wide-mouth yawn, and then settled back down? No? Didn't think so.

So let's be clear about one thing: I have only love for animals. Except for alpacas. These things are all wrong. I don't trust them at all. They look like they stepped out of a Dr. Seuss book.

Of course my stepfather would totally dig a beast that freaks me out.

That shit just ain't right.

Yes, Kelly. That is eff'd up.

So, another year at the fair. Another night of antacids to follow it up. All good stuff.

Whatever you do, don't do that.

xo