There are always one or two days at the Fair when all seems blech; nothing goes as planned, and the day turns out to be very unspectacular.

It started when I left the house. Leaving behind an ice chest filled with drinks, I was doomed to a day of spending big bux on fluids. When I arrives and weasel my way inside, I ended up being directed to a totally inconvenient location. The Fair Director had closed off about 2,000 of the best parking spots and I got screwed. Every trip to the vehicle was half a day’s walk for me. Notably, three hours later, Her Royal Directorship re-opened the spots for parking. Thanks, hon.

Even the drive to the Fair was miserable as some dumb dork government employee driving G10 3518A insisted on chattering away on his cell phone while driving 10 miles below the speed limit.

Most of my friends stayed away from the Fair because of the loud mouthed and ignorant weather people. Not a drop of rain fell yesterday. Fair weather, though overcast, was relatively warm, not very breezy, and totally enjoyable. Crowds were at busting levels. If you listened to the weather folks, you missed out on a good day to be outside at the Fair.

As for me, the lousy day continued. The parade was not only half an hour late in starting, but the largest band had six members. Apparently our new Fair Director thinks that a string of tractors substitutes for a parade. Oh yeah … who and what is that Hello Dolly play that is continually advertised in the parade. They don’t even tell you when, or where, or who, or how much.

My day was made more miserable when I was attacked by a proctologist. Well, at least it was a wanna-be proctologist. A good buddy of mine, knowing me, showed up wearing a ‘Trust Me, I’m a Doctor’ t-shirt. Ha ha … zzzzzzz. For the record, he isn’t a doctor and the only medical procedure he knows is how to shove his head up his ass in search for signs of life. Walking around with him detracted much from my own shirt … which is real. Also, my shirt has a great white shark on it … his shirt, lacks so much as a scalpel, a malpractice subpoena, or a tombstone.

The crowds themselves, other than the occasional MILF, was mostly under 15. The 4:00 p.m. Miller Court concert was a collage of remnants of one hit wonder boy bands. The music was droll, the singers were fat and aged, the show ran too long, and nobody who had reached puberty seemed to be paying any attention. Coupled with Jesse McCartney playing the grandstands, the average age of the Fairgoer was of no interest to me.

For me, about the only bright spot of the day was finding a free footsie wootsie … someone abandoned it after trying it and I got my feet rejuvenated. That … and I had a wonderful fish dinner at the Haddock Paddock. I highly recommend it.

Oh, and for next time when my friends show and the night is right and the headspace is appropriate, I found a karaoke bar at the Fair. Its location is my secret.

At least I made it home safe and sound and was asleep at a normal hour. Oh my god, do my legs ache.