My Town

On my sidebar I am listed as living in Sycamore, Illinois. I'm not actually in Sycamore. I felt it was important to say that because I bash my hood quite often on this blog. In fact, I'm about to do so again in today's post. I'd hate for the city of Sycamore to get a bad reputation on account of me. The town I live in isn't far from Sycamore but actually falls into a different county. I chose Sycamore as my location because that's where I work and play the most. Plus, it can actually be found on a map, unlike my town.

The carnival came to town and of course Lane 1 and Lane 2 really wanted to go. What kid can pass up snow cones, cotton candy and elephant ears? It was also an opportunity for them to see a lot of their friends from their old school. Before going to St. Peter, Paul and Mary, both used to attend the local public school. They were in seventh heaven seeing their old classmates. Girls were running up to Lane 1 and hugging him. (It's okay, I only broke out in small hives this time.) Lane 2 bubbled over when four of her best girlfriends yelled to her from the Gravatron line. I spent the entire day following my kids and their friends. I felt like a stalker after a few hours.

I began people watching while the kids were on their selected rides. You can only smile and wave at them as they go round and round for so long ya know. I tried to find a shady spot as I watched people walk by.

The sun was blazing. It was so humid I felt like I was sautéing in my own sweat. The 90 degree temperatures seemed magnified as a hint of outhouse, the smell of fried dough and body odor wafted through the air.

The roar of the rides and 80s rock blaring, kids screaming some in fear others in delight, was simply deafening.

I watched as the tired faces of other parents made friendly smiles at one another as if to say, "I feel your pain."

I saw a mad rush of people leaving the parade area and heading toward the main stage. Each one had a lawn chair tucked under their arm as they walked briskly. I didn't know at the time who was performing but as I wandered about, I spotted him sneaking up the alley. Elvis. There he was, all alone, carrying his luggage. He had sweat dripping off of his sideburns as he huffed and puffed up a slight hill. I couldn't not approach the king.

"I'm sorry that you really are dead and are just now entering hell. Need help with your bags?"

Elvis courtesy laughed and said, "Thank you. Thank you very much."

Okay, fine, he really said, "No thank you. But if you wouldn't mind, could you point me in the direction of the main stage?"

After saving the king, I got myself a cold drink. I thought of Eddie Murphy in Delirious. When I saw the sign... I knew it was... a sign. "Real, fresh lemonade... made with real lemons" read the sign. Who doesn't love a little redundancy once in a while? I just had to give "Lemonade, that cool refreshing drink" a try. The sign wasn't lying. I knew that lemonade was made with real lemons by the first sip. The biggest lemon seed in the world squeezed itself through my straw and lodged itself firmly into my throat. If choking while shooting lemonade out of your nose isn't fun, I just don't know what is.

The sea of bodies, displayed lots of skin. Many people were covered in tattoos, some were tanned, some sunburned. I wish I knew what it was about the carnival that makes young girls dress in their most hoochiest outfits.

I would have taken a photo to show you the first girl I saw to make me throw up a little in my mouth, but she was probably only 15-years-old. Yes, there were several sights that made me ill but this imaged burned itself into my brain. I know how wrong it is to make fun of people, especially a child, so I'll just go ahead and describe her while your imaginations run wild. At the age of 15, she should know what not to wear. And if she doesn't, her parents need to drag her ass back in the house and redress her.

Just the thought of a teenager wearing a revealing outfit makes me cringe. This one particular child was, in my humble opinion, over the top. I keep telling myself she is just a girl. She will outgrow this "style."

Her hair was bleached blonde with black roots. She wore lots of makeup. Her eye shadow was the same color as her blush, dark brown. She also wore a thick layer of black eyeliner on her top and bottom lids. She outlined her lips in brown pencil and had another shade of brown lipstick on. Her tongue was pierced and she kept flicking her stud with her top teeth.

She wore skin-tight, hot pink capri pants with a white tee-shirt. The front of her shirt said, "Single and loving it!" The back of her shirt said, "Back on the market!"

She was wearing a black lace thong that was sticking out of the top of her pants, as were the tops of her butt cheeks. Her shirt was pushed up so her belly would show. Yes, I know it's in style people but the child had rolls of baby fat hanging out of her shirt. It was like a pack of bratwursts sticking out of there.

I know I'm no fashion expert but I just wanted to take the child to the side and tell her if she didn't cover herself up a little better, she would wind up pregnant with a carnie baby before the night was through. I refrained.

As the day turned to night, I continued people watching. I decided it's time to move to a new town when you have a difficult time telling your locals from the carnies.

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MooAlex put a summer blog together with contributions from eleven bloggers. It's pretty cool to get a peek into everyone's summer. I sent her a couple of photos, which you may have already seen here. I also sent her the video collage I made for my family. The song accompanying the photos is JoDee Messina's Because You Loved Me. I chose that one because without those people, and even those animals, and all the love they showered me with over the last three months, my summer wouldn't have been nearly as great.

Those of you who are in or near Katrina's path or have loved ones there, I wish you all safety. To make a donation to the American Red Cross, please click here.