We survived another birthday party for the girl-child this Saturday. Nothing quite like twelve screaming 9 to 10 year-olds whizzing in the pool. No fighting no biting no running no pushing no whizzing no diving. And for chissakes, no SCREAMING! Only one kid used the bathroom the entire time, so I am pretty sure the no whizzing rule was a wash. On the plus side, my super-chlorination of the pool Sunday should make everyone feel fresh and tingly on the outside. Considering the six large black trash bags of junk the wife hauled out of girl-child’s room a week or two ago, we decided to forego gifts and accept food donations for the local animal shelter instead. The girl gets to feel good for helping the critters and we get to avoid another layer of broken toys on her floor.
. . . we interrupt this blog to for breaking news from NewsMinute with Nathan O! Trader Joe’s, the best supermarket ever, is considering a store in Spokane. About fucking time! And now, back to your regularly scheduled blogcrap.
A summer pool-party; who would have guessed that playing in water would be so popular in 108f+ heat?
The fun continued into Sunday when, not content to swim in the diluted urine of a select few, we went to the water park! A veritable sea of free-whee-ers! Joy! My skin feels so smooth and shiny now. The heat continued and we chose to face it in public. The girl-child made a new best-friend, but forgot to get any contact info. Not so smooth.
My favorite part of amusement parks, fairs and the like is the food. Where else can you go to get curly-fry paste and reconstituted regurgitated chicken-like sandwiches? Judging by the uniform taste and texture no matter where you go, I assume there is a central location where each and every amusement park, fair, water park and miniature-golf course goes to buy this stuff. I almost got a hot dog, but since I can barely stomach the things when I know sort of what species of random bits is supposed to be included in them, I decided to forego that particular gastrointrusion in favor of the chicken compress sandwich (it’s not meat, it’s not feathers, it’s not random organs . . . it’s an amalgam of all three!). Good thing, too. After ordering, I had to go elsewhere to pick up a funnel cake,deep-fried by the saddest man in the park. My Gloomy could not, or would not, smile. He liked like he was suffering from ‘rrhoid rage. Either that or he had just stuffed several small children into his deep fryer and was angry at the world for not leaving him alone long enough to finish frying and eating them. Anyway, Gloomy cooked. Fried, actually. I think he wanted me to see how it was made, because every move was done at quarter speed.
Eventually, I had my funnel cake in hand, and after discovering that my only topping choices were powdered sugar and no powdered sugar, I headed back to the regular food pickup area. The two men who had ordered food before me were still there waiting for their hot dogs. Not a good sign. They don’t toast their buns, so that shouldn’t slow down the cooking crew. Their dogs are either boiled or nuked. Judging from the speed, I would say boiled, and they can only do one dog at a time. Another ten minutes pass, as does most of my funnel cake. The hot dog guys have had enough; they pound on the window to get the attention of a slow-motion chef and demand their money back. My chicken-like sandwich, which they know was ordered after their food, and certainly shouldn’t take less time than a flavor-free mystery meat dog, arrives. I smile and leave while they berate the quarterspeed halfwit zitface behind the counter. Oh how I love these places!
Once fed, I ventured out with the kids, pointedly not thinking of piss whenever I was in the water, and ride the slides. all told, it was a very successful day: We stayed cool, had fun, and nobody cracked a rib like last year. Here’s to hoping they clean the pools next time.
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