OK, so first of all, I was not stoned last night when I posted the Bollywood video. Just wanted to clear that up. I simply recognize comedy gold when I see it.
Anyway, a few more pictures from my trip this weekend (apologies to all of my Facebook friends; not only have you already seen these photos, but this blog is basically a rehashing of the captions I posted.)
I mentioned that our first order of business after my plane landed was, naturally, to buy fake mustaches. Our second order of business was to have a teenager take a photo of us wearing said mustaches in a parking lot.
I also bought fake eyebrows, a set which included The Angry Scotsman...
And, of course, my old friend the unibrow.
Oh, by the way, here are those pictures of the abusive Arthur Ashe statue I mentioned yesterday. You can't tell from these shitty BlackBerry photos, but he is totally about to wail on those kids with his racket, and also maybe throw a book at them.
After the brief detour to photograph that statue so that I could post it on this here blog, we got on the road and headed over to the State Fair!
We missed the racing pigs, very sadly, but we did find time to peruse the lost children, and gape at the 1000-plus pound blue ribbon-winning giant pumpkin.
We hit the funhouse next, which mostly consisted of body-distorting mirrors. My legs never look this skinny, so I had to document the occasion.
We went on a ton of stomach-flipping rides, including the roller coaster, the Zipper, the Gravitron, and something called the Extreme, that swung back and forth like a demonic pendulum while spinning us every which way, high above the fairgrounds. I love a good thrill, and like to think that I have a stomach of steel. But the one ride I refused to go on was the Super Shot.
There is some variation of the Super Shot at every amusement park. You get strapped in to a contraption that slowly rises higher and higher and then, suddenly, drops into a free fall for twenty feet before catching itself and preventing what seemed like your imminent death.
Drew, Charlie's boyfriend, was freakishly gung ho about this ride. Charlie demonstrated more appropriate terror.
I HATE the feeling of free fall. I have never been on one of these rides because it is one of my great fears to fall to my death from something high. But as soon as these boys came back down they convinced me to give it a try. I have absolutely no willpower.
I don't have a photo of me riding the Super Shot because I was gripping my safety bar too tightly to even think about reaching for a camera, but if I had taken a picture it would have just been of my uvula, since I screamed with my entire being the whole way down.
It's still giving me shivers just writing about it. But, on the plus side, the turbulence on my plane ride back seemed super lame and not at all scary by comparsion.
I'll leave you with this:
This morning I noticed that Charlie had affixed this circa-1999 photo of me (in a humiliating come-hither pose that only Dubra vodka could have inspired) to his bathroom door. I think and hope that it was just there for my visit. Or that it serves as a warning to all who enter there, as if to say "Use this time in the lavatory to pull your shirt down, and practice your sexy faces, for God's sake, before someone takes a picture."