I took my kids to the fair today, in a rare moment of sponteneity and self-sacrifice (being usually rather controlling and self-serving). I’ve always hated the fair, and let’s just say that going alone with three small children did not make the heart grow fonder. Lots of fun stuff to write about, but I am exhausted. So for now, I will repost my feelings from last year’s fair. Which have not changed. In the least.

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I am going to say some things in this post that may not be nice. My sentiments here are shallow at best. Juvenile even. But we’ve been to the fair this week, and I need to process. If my mocking of all things carny is going to bother you, skip down to my nice post where I reflect on social justice. Or go read this, or look at these pretty pictures.

You’re still here? Well don’t say I didn’t warn you.
So the fair. Yeah. The bottom line is this:
The trouble is, we live right next to the Orange County Fairgrounds. We can barely leave our house during two months each summer without passing by the gruesome eyesore that is the Orange County Fair. And my children, like mosquitos drawn to the garish flourescent light of the bug zapper, turn into zombies who must go to the fair or die.
The are many other awesome aspects of living a block from the fair: the increase in burglary, the insane amounts of traffic, and the hordes of flies who come to hover about the fair food and livestock and then get bored and make their way into my kitchen to spread the germ love around. And, of course, the unavoidable meltdown every time you drive by and the kids see colorful rides and bright lights and they want to go RIGHT NOW. So every summer, we relent.
Certain reality shows on the Bravo network may have given you the impression that all people in Orange County look like this:

If you have been so influenced to think that we live in the land of beautiful people, I encourage you to visit the fair to witness The OC at it’s finest. There is still plenty of silicone here, to be sure. But there is also lots and lots of cellulite squeezed into spandex and tube tops, and shirtless people in jeans, and bad teeth, and I’m pretty sure I saw a pregnant lady smoking a cigarrette.
And there’s this lady:

. . . who thinks that leather pants and spikey heels are a good idea for walking a mile from the parking lot in 96 degree heat. I don’t want to think about how sweaty she’s gotta be under those pants. You are welcome for that visual.
But the insanity of the fair does not stop there. Witness people dropping hordes of money trying to win toys that would be $3 at Target. And the food. I’ve never seen so many fried options in my life. Fried twinkies, even. And if you have a child with you, there is really no way to avoid it. (Especially since they check your bag when you arrive, in case you were trying to smuggle in a carrot or something). Here’s a picture of my kids eating some transfat-covered potatoes and thinking they are in heaven.

But the scariest part of the fair has got to be riding in gravity-defying contraptions that were just disassembled from LA’s County Fair last week and reassembled with an allen wrench by a guy who looks like this:
Because who doesn’t want to put their life into the hands of a high school drop-out who cooks meth in a trailer out behind the 4-H exhibit?

((((((oh, wow, Kristen, that’s so mean. how could you judge this guy so harshly? you don’t know if he does drugs. ))))))
Sure. And Paula Abdul is just really, really tired.