Not a Royal Flush

I have been feeling shitty all week. Literally, or should I be more accurate and say liquidly.

My family is not from this state. I did not grow up with life-long traditions that included oohing and aahing over sculptures of beauty queens made out of butter. My friend Naomi who did convinced me with her nostalgic excitement that I would have a blast. She was right in more ways than one.

I’m blaming my deep-fried-toxic-stomach-flu-on-a-stick, on The Great Minnesota Get Together.

The lumberjack competition was the hottest part of the day, because it happened at two in the afternoon, and well, lumberjacks.

I finally touched a horse, and that’s great because I’m terrified of them. In photos and in flicks they look so fucking majestic and beautiful, but up close, huge and intensely dangerous. I made my friend take a picture of me in the act of hand outstretched, but I was so awfully quick and distorted about the experience the depiction is never going to be seen by the likes of you, internet.

I ate everything, because I’ll try anything twice. Everything comes on a stick, as not to prohibit you from freely walking around and watching other people consume questionable stick food. This led me to not being upset that I gained five pounds, but more alarmed that I lost seven through all the lingering blasts that I’ve had.

I really did have an excellent time wandering around the historic fair grounds with someone who had so many stories about the place. I’d go back, but I’ll remind myself when I do, just like I did about twenty time while gripping a toilet seat, the magical deep fried snickers bar wasn’t worth it, among other things.

Here is a picture of my beagle, Quincy. As you can see, even though I haven't been 100% I'm still very entertained.