me: quite contrary

I don't call ... I don't write ... I sure as hell don't blog ...

... but oh, how my garden grows:







Also: just because it's overcast doesn't mean you can't burn. And I knew this ... but now I know this.

the incubator

There's much to report on the progress of converting our yard from a weed's field of dreams into something that we're willing to let people come over & see. I'm woefully behind in posting about it -- mostly because I've been outside getting a) filthy, and b) unintentionally tan as I try to make the transformation happen.

Also, our outdoors has invaded our indoors, where the bay window shelf in our kitchen has proved to be the perfect place to start growing seeds into larger green things. (As for the one item that I transplanted to our great outdoors, well, the less said about that the better. It's a learning curve, dammit.)

Backlit though it may be,I think you get the idea.

Oh, and are those rubber goldfish in our zen fountain?

Why, yes, Yes, they are. Because that's how we roll.

repurposing v1.0

Behold, the 1st in a possibly-many-parted series:

Some of it, we're selling on Craigslist/Bravo Bride/ etc. And the rest of it, well ...

A) at the wedding:


B) after the wedding:


Just doing my part to keep the planet green.

aaaaand we're back!!!

Phew! I was seriously turning a shade somewhere between cerulean & indigo there, waiting for our FUCKING INTERWEBS TO GET WORKING. Ahem. I'm sorry. I don't mean to swear. (Really. I try not to. I just suck at not-swearing.)

In case anyone has been wondering about the brevity/simplicity of my recent (aka post-move) posts, allow me to elucidate: We had DSL service at the apartment, with a small-ish provider whose service/pricing/support we adored. So naturally we tried to just shift our account with them to the new Owned By Us address. We had to wait 5 (five!!) days, because AT&T makes you suffer if you don't use their 'net service, for the phone to get "turned on". I guess the guy who had to flip a switch was busy that week. Anyway, once the 5-day time frame had elapsed: still no 'net. So we called, and were asked to wait ANOTHER 2 (two!!) days for a technician to come out & investigate.

Which he did. I was here. And a Very Large Dude, who was surprisingly friendly AND helpful, played with some wires outside the house (even though it was raining). And he diagnosed us as 3000 ft. too far from the DSL hub to get service. (Insert Lumbergh voice here:) "Greeaaaaat."

So: back to square 1. Call cable company. They'll come out in 3 (three!!) business days. Except that the 3rd day was Effing President's Day. (Stoopid Presidents.) So we just. finally. got. service. today.

(By the by, my interim posts were made via a nifty iPhone app called BlogWriter. I was very pleased with the results. Get the free version, unless you have the urge to post photos -- then it's a worthwhile $1.99. But you can't delete posts ... hence the bewildering stuff that I just got rid of, from my "learning curve" phase.)

At any rate: Howdy! I'm still here! And we still have no bathroom to speak of. (Epic Construction Timing Fail.) But here's what we do have:
An uber-fancy new light/fan, with switches that independently control both functions! And paint! And some bead board (slightly visible)!

A couple of fixtures! Including a rain bath shower head, and that awesome outlet-find light for over the (eventually) medicine cabinet.

And various kinds of flooring! That's the river rock stuff in the shower floor, and those (totally my fault, expensive-ish) penny tiles on the rest of the floor. Also, a better look at the bead board.

Now all we need is for the Effing Grout to dry, so we can re-connect the toilet. That's all I care to say about that ... except that NO, I'm NOT enjoying this part.

ch-ch-ch-ch- changes!

Finally! a few images of what's been up with Isabelle. (Yes, that's the house's name.)

First:
In the Living Room: out with the vomit-tan, in with the greige (dammit! I miss Domino) and blue ceiling detail. Drapery to replace awful vertical blinds = a work in progress.

In the kitchen, we've secretly replaced the "oak" cabinets with these:
Let's see if she notices! But seriously ... the Mr. just finished stripping the icky varnish off the doors, so the next steps are: sand, paint, & re-attach those.

And in the hallway, just a few adjusted hinges away from completion:
Our built-ins! Here's the doors that are awaiting their pretty satin nickel hinges:
Aren't they pretty, with their non-paint-encrusted hardware? I know!!

Oh, and referring back to this entry's title ... and just because her name rhymes with Bowie:
It's Zöe**!! Wearing the shirt we got her for her birthday. (She's the most fashion-y fashionista I currently know. Girl changed her outfit 4 times that night!)

{** NOT OUR DOG!! That's my friend Bayleigh's dog. Stop congratulating us -- we just bought her a damn t-shirt!!!}

More pics on the way -- the contractor is coming!1!!

progress report

Okay, I promise to try to get some more up-to-date pics to post tomorrow ... but, in the meantime, here's some of what we've been up to:

The Bad:

No, really, I didn't want to just un-screw that old hardware. I much preferred using a razor blade to slice through 8 layers of paint (and I'm especially curious about YOU, oh Chooser of Acid-Trip Green) ...

The Good:
We both have a place to park;


We've removed the Gross/Tragic medicine cabinet from *the bathroom
(*awaiting further destruction)

the Ugly Kitchen Cabinets being carted outside. That's our handyman -- small in stature, but 18-feet tall in awesomeness.


Our shiny new outdoor light fixtures. They're replacing the Fuctard-Installed Non-Outdoor ones that our predecessors provided. Sadly, all the accompanying rust has been sacrificed on the alter of "WTF?!?!"

The Ugly:

Have you been paying attention?! ...

Good stuff to follow, as soon as I'm not too distracted to remember I need to take pics before dark.

on being distracted

Number of dishes in the sink: lots.

Number of days I've been wearing my husband's socks: 2

Number of days I've not made the bed, thinking that would make me change the sheets, only to exhaustedly fall asleep in the wrinkly, dirty ones: 4

Number of days since I washed my hair: ain't telling.

Laundry situation: He's out of underwear, and I've been getting dressed out of the basket full of clean laundry for a week, rather than putting it away -- which is why I haven't done another load (I need that basket to carry it to the laundry room).

BUT: the house is starting to look like somewhere I'd want to live. In reality, as opposed to that theoretical "as soon as about 50 things change" sort of way.

Pictures soon. But right now I have to go back to getting paint in my cuticles.

holy crap!!! we're home owners!!!

This entry was almost titled "We Have All Your Dead Spiders." Because, as it turns out, our new house (to which I repeat: !!!) has ALL the dead spiders.

So if you're missing any of yours, just let us know. We'll ship 'em back. Gratis.

ps: This blog will soon resume its regularly scheduled programing. Thanks indeed for staying tuned.

strange days

I feel like I'm living several parallel lives at the moment. Ever since the Mr. started working The Most Brutal Night Shift Ever (aka 11pm - 9am). First is my "normal day", where I tip-toe around the apartment getting ready w/o waking him, then go to work/auditions/whatever the hell else I do with my days. Second, I come home & we eat dinner together & chill. (He loves my cooking -- oh, the irony.) Third, I watch "Big Love" on DVD or read until I pass out, trying not to mind the empty spot in the bed next to me.

Strange days, indeed.

Also, I want to get a dog. And name him Kermit. So he can be Kermit the Dog.

new project!

(in which I discuss my transition from "obsessed with planning wedding" to "obsessed with finding a place to live", or We Attempt To Purchase a House)

Greetings, oh followers of this blog. If there are any of you left, given my post-nuptual slacking (2.5 months and counting -- woo hoo!) I am happy to report that my days are no longer consumed by finding affordable venues, caterers, et al. Oh no, children -- I've moved on. Evolved, even.

Now, my days are consumed with weathering the slings & arrows of entry-level Los Angeles real estate. Let the celebration begin!

Things I've learned thus far: when a listing describes the square-footage of a property as "tax assessor's data lists X", what they mean is "previous owners added onto this house without a) permits, b) taste, c) a moment's thought to how said addition would affect the property's resale value, or d) any shred of understanding as to how actual humans reasonably use their homes -- you know, for living in, and such."

Also, the favored building materials of the Great Unwashed are (in no particular order):
*stucco! because those 1910-built Craftsman homes look better without all that pesky wood

Or even better, a look I've dubbed "WTF-Chic"

*ceramic tile! on the floors/walls/anywhere you shouldn't have to clean or maintain ever again

(living room)

(bedroom)

*concrete! because we're not cheap, we're green -- you can't argue with 6000 square feet of concrete in leiu of anything that needs water, now, can you?

So far, we've put in offers on 2 places. The first one we didn't get ... we're in "back-up position". Which basically means we're hoping that by Saturday the other people's loan falls through. No schadenfreude here, folks!

And the second one ... well, the second one features ceramic tile throughout (in every. damn. room.), and concrete covering at least 80% of the lot. Also, the previous tenants absconded with the air conditioning unit, which should only cost $3-4000 to replace. And we've offered $14K over the asking price. We couldn't be more excited!

(all pics are knicked from public real estate websites ... if that turns out to be not-so-legal, I'll take 'em down)

treading water

General status update:

*Closed the show. Don't know if we'll be back -- it's an amazing project, but theater is extra-hard right now. Stoopid economy, wrecking all our fun.

*Been sick all week. This always happens after I close a show. Despite valiant efforts to the contrary, apparently one cannot expend that much energy indefinitely. At least, not without consequences. Sneeze.

*Fired our first realtor. He's a nice guy, and a friend-of-a-friend. But he's also effing flakey, and we can't afford to only make it out 1 of every 3 times we have an appointment to see places. I'm afraid I'm gonna kill somebody (possibly somebody I like) without at least the appearance of progress.

*Had one friend give up & move home, and news that another friend's band is breaking up. Tough week to stay inspired.

* This helped:
I saw 3 deer on Monday. In Pasadena. Only one of them stood still long enough for me to get a picture, but there were 3 of them. Right there in the middle of the big bad city. I gotta figure -- if freaking Bambi can hack it here ...

the Actress Diaries, ch. 7 & 8

Chapter 7: The Pole Whisperer

(No, that's not what the show is really called. But since I'm playing another stripper ... and yes, that's 4 this year. I seem to have found my niche. Mom's gonna be so proud.)

Time I was due on set: 9am.
Time I got into hair/ make-up/ wardrobe: immediately.
Time my first scene started shooting: 5pm.
Next time anybody you know says they want to be an actor ... ask them why. Please. Then tell me. (I'll be the one playing with her iPhone for 8 hours in a trailer.)

I just found out my episode airs Friday, November 6th at 8pm PST. Set your DVR, and don't blink or you'll miss me.


Chapter 8: San Francisco

The play I'm currently in went on the road last weekend, to San Francisco. And it was just ... one of those trips. I gave our newest cast member a mafia nickname ("Charlie Underpants"). Our resident pothead provided constant amusement as he attempted to score weed off everyone from an abuela at a bus stop in the 'burbs, to "his crackhead" in the city. We went sightseeing at midnight on Sunday. And the show went well, too.

Actually, Saturday's show was the best performance I've ever been a part of -- every joke hit, and we could literally do no wrong. I had a ton of family come -- though I'm glad I didn't know my dad was in the front row until after the show, especially during the scene where Fidel Castro snorts coke off my boobs. It may have helped that the crowd was drinking heavily (Sunday they were much quieter), but whatever. It was truly awesome.

I'm still getting used to Traveling While Married. But telling a guy "Look, I'm married, so you've got no shot, but if you want to stand here & keep buying me drinks & acting like you're getting somewhere, I will flirt with you 'til last call" actually worked: it limited the creepy & netted a few cocktails.

Also, I learned that unorthodox professions can confuse service industry professionals. To wit: the waiter who asked "What are you in town for?" and was told "We're a traveling band of Jack Nicholson impersonators," is probably still not sure if we meant it. When he asked me, "Really?" I told him, "No, I play a representative sample of all the women he's slept with." That didn't seem to help very much. Oh well.

Last show in L.A. is tonight -- woo hoo!

I know, I know ...

I'm being lazy. I know. I'm supposed to be filing daily reports filled with pictures & ancedotes from "the big day" ... and yet, I'm not. I owe at least 3 posts to the good people at Weddzilla, who added me to their team just in time for my Blog Ennui to set in. So what gives?

Mostly, I've just been busy getting back to my regular life. The Mr. is hard at work, and I'm wrestling with the geometry problem of fitting two lives into this 1-bedroom apartment. And anyone who wants proof that this is True Love: I emptied a closet for him. I put clothes into boxes into storage. I put away my cashmere, dammit! (Sure, it's August in Los Angeles, and I'll swap those out with my tank tops for the 3 weeks in January when it gets brisk here -- but that's not the point.)

We've also been overwhelmed with the generosity of our friends. The UPS guy & I are totally bonding (I think he looks tired; he thinks we need an air conditioner -- apparently, I'm literally a hot mess) as he brings us more boxes of awesomeness, nearly every day. I'm itching to get cracking on the thank-yous, but the Mr. has An Idea for those, so it's going to take a little extra time.

Also, for everyone who asks me "when do I get to see pictures?", my stock reply is "as soon as I get to see them!" And after seeing the first few picks from our ceremony in San Francisco, our photographer is forever my hero & can take all the damn time she needs/pleases.

Here's just a little bit of what I'm talking about:

The boys after they finished primping. They clean up pretty nice.

Putting the hat/veil/thingy on for the first of many times (silly wind!) with T -- I can't thank her enough for all her help. (Not just with the hat.)

Checking my ... "dress" ... with His Sis. Double-stick tape is your friend!

More soon, I promise.

The countdown continues: T minus 5 days

Actually, it's more like 4 days by now -- only 3.5 hours remain of this one. And I can't plan on getting anything done tomorrow, since I'm filming & my time is officially not my own. Which means that All Of This needs to happen Wednesday:

*print programs, and possibly begin assembly (Some of this could conceivably happen in S.F., but I want to have at least one prototype completed, to avoid complications.) (This would've happened today, but the template is printing screwy. The Mr. is performing triage as we speak.)

*finish making morroccan-style lanterns out of soup cans (I plan to enjoy this, as it involves hitting things with a hammer.)

*find a hairstylist who's available on Saturday (Yes, this got put off until waaay too late. I have 3 numbers to call in the morning, and I'm gathering supplies to do it myself. Eff it.)

*make labels for candy buffet & ceremony (This won't happen until the programs are ready to print. I try to limit my Kinko's exposure.)

*Separate out S.F. stuff from the Wedding Fort and prepare for transporting it north. (Mad love to T. who's letting us use her punk-rock soccer mom car!)

*Find something I already own that will work for the His-Family's-Friends dinner the night before (I know which dress, but the accessories are proving to be quite vexing.)

*Have conversation with Photographer Friend about specifics (I expect this to be a breeze -- I love this woman, and I've shot with her before.)

Honestly, all that feels pretty manageable. Well, the hair thing is slightly worrisome, but I can pull it off myself in a pinch. And I'm letting myself get some nice things from Sephora since I'm doing my own make-up. Also, my friend who works for Smashbox came through huge: I asked for a few samples, and the woman brought me real live product. Have I mentioned how much my friends rock?!

So .. what's distressing me these days, you ask? (You did. I heard you.) Oh, one or two things.
**A portion of this entry has been redacted. But I maintain that there are a couple of people who owe me an apology.**

On the flip-side of that, several people are being stellar. One of the g'men (who married our officiant last year, so he gets it) even agreed last-minute to be our "stage manager" for the S.F. stuff.

And my girls ... let me tell you about my girls. I wish I had $1000 to spend on my Maid of Honor, Our Lady of the Holiday, because she couldn't be more awesome. And my friend T., who's doing a reading during the ceremony, went with me for mani/pedi today and talked me off the ledge regarding Stupid Things That Boys Say. My girl S. is coming through like a champ with the potent potables, and I've had such love from His Sis & My Sis this week that I'm in danger of going all gooey on you.

So all in all: things are good. Unless Mr. UB finally snaps out of it (I keep waiting for him to turn to me & exclaim "Whoa -- you're crazy!!") it looks like this thing going to happen. Holy I-promised-myself-I'd-reign-in-the-swearing!

the Actress Diaries, ch. 6

A brief update: my episode of "Saving Grace" airs this coming Tuesday, August 11th, at 10pm on TNT. (I say "my" lightly. It hardly centers around me.) And just today I got called to play another (ABC) Family-friendly stripper on "Greek" that same day. I appear to have cornered the market on television strippers who don't actually take their clothes off. Finally -- I've been type-cast!

Also, I rescheduled an audition tomorrow so that the Mr. & I can take advantage of his dentist's offer of free pre-wedding teeth whitening. Apparently I've finally gone Hollywood. I feel a little dirty. (In my defense, "free" is my favorite price.)

To change, or not to change (my name)?

The Mr. & I got our marriage license two weeks ago, and while we were filling out the paperwork I was confronted with spaces for me to put "Current Name" and "Married Name". While I'd always thought I knew what I wanted here, I was suddenly gripped by a flood of "You mean I have to decide this now?!" Nothing like a little legally-binding document to make me question myself.

I admit that I probably have a more complicated relationship with this subject than most. First, my point against: I'm not changing it for professional purposes. I've worked for years to carve out the beginning of a niche in my industry -- no way am I going back to "who?"

Second, my points for: I hated my last name when I was a kid. It can be rhymed with far too many embarrassing things, and even occassionally employed as a verb. I was aching to be rid of it since age 6. (Yes this is probably the silliest of my reasons. But at the time it seemed terribly important.)

More significantly: I am the product of a divorce. Growing up, I was the only person in my house with my last name, and I can't imagine why I'd continue that voluntarily.

My fiance's family thinks I'm adorably retro on the subject -- both his mom & sister kept their maiden names. But the phrase "maiden name" has always stuck uncomfortably in my throat. Am I waiting for Robin Hood to come rescue me from a dragon? Talk about retro.

All of these thoughts swirled around my brain in roughly 3.5 seconds as I paused while filling out that government form. And then it hit me: I could have it both ways. I added my family name to the "Middle Name" box, and put his as the "Last Name." So I have two middle names now (or I will in 12 days).

The truth is, for all my over-thinking the subject, I've grown rather attached to my name. It's followed me around the world, and it reminds me of so many people I love who aren't here any more.

Besides, if it's good enough for Charlotte York MacDougal Goldenblatt ....

hello lethargy, my old friend

I knew this would happen. After the last two days' absurd level of productivity, today came up bust. And yet I feel like I've been "doing stuff" for hours. Sure, most of that was cursing at my bank & resetting my Target.com password. Oh, and ascertaining that I am in fact teaching tonight -- which was apparently meant to be a surprise. (Boo!) I love it when that happens.

Beyond that, I managed to replace a few out-of-stock items on our registry with things that are still available, update the list of RSVPs, and realize that the Mr. & I really do need to collaborate on the whole honeymoon registry idea ... but at least we have an account now. That's the good news.

The bad news is that we waited too long to make a deal with a hotel in L.A., and my I-hate-that-piece-of-crap cell phone currently only transmits voices via the speaker function. And my brain seems to be incapable of tallying any more receipts. Won't they organize themselves if I continue to stare at the pile on my desk?

Which is (yet another reason) why I am oh-so-grateful for Mr. UB and his amusing ways. Via text:

Him: Pierre just asked if we'd like some tropical fish linens as art touches on the buffet tables, and some tiki torches. I said yes linens, no torches. Sound good?

Me: (gulp) Not sure about fish linens - might clash with rest of decor. Can we see a pic?

Him: He says they're black with colorful tropical fish.

Now, I think that thus far I've been pretty damn zen about a lot of things. The band we wanted doubled their asking price: hello, iPod. One of the groomsmen is too broke to fly out: ask a friend to step up, or we'll just have uneven numbers. We don't have a fancy "getaway car" for the photos: will anyone even remember that?

Also -- I love me some Pierre. The guy is giving us such a deal that he'd be justified in just tossing the food out the window as he drives by. But instead he keeps thinking of all these additional touches to add in for free. But this horse needs to be reined in pronto.

Me: (trying not to hyperventilate) Gently suggest that the seashells are a minor decor touch. This isn't the Enchantment Under the Sea ball.

Him: Oh crap, I just approved one of the waiters to be dressed as a great white shark a la Eagle vs. Shark.

Okay, perhaps I deserved that.

Him again: And I've got a midget dressed as an octopus wearing a sombrero filled with chips & salsa -- for the cocktail hour.

He makes me laugh. But I still may strangle him -- I haven't quite decided.

And then I got this text from his former roommate:

I'm going to be there! Not bringing anyone, can't wait to meet your bridesmaids. You got a sister?

It's a good thing I live on the ground floor ... because I may just jump out the window.

it's the little things

Reason #237 why I adore him: I can text him from Target.

Me: U have time for a Google search?

Him: Sure

Me: What's the difference between powdered sugar & confectioner's sugar? Is there one?

Him: They're the same thing, per whatscookingamerica.net

I mean, seriously. He was at work. And he didn't even hesitate. Awesome = him.

So why not one more question?

Me: What about parchment paper vs. waxed paper?

Him: Waxed paper is wax coated, parchment is silicone coated, and only parchment paper is safe to use in an oven. Wax paper will melt and smoke. Like crazy.

Me: Good to know.

Him: U cooking something?

Me: I think my questions are far more interesting absent a context.

Why yes, I do approach every activity from a position of "how can I make this more entertaining?" It works ... kinda. I amuse me.

the Actress Diaries, ch. 5

I swear I didn't plan this, or ever think it would work out this way. But my awesome, silly day job has landed me yet another TV gig. Allow me to explain:

One of my students works on Saving Grace, which is a previously-obscure-to-me series on TNT starring Holly Hunter -- being the only person in America without cable, I'm behind the curve sometimes. (Having watched an episode online to prepare for the audition, I'm now obsessed. Hurry up, Netflix!) She knew that I'd done my thang on House recently, and gave me a heads-up that her show was also planning an episode in a strip club. Thank you, Hollywood, for being predictably awesome. She took in my pic&res and had clearly sung my praises to the folks who make decisions about these things ... and woo hoo!! I booked it.

We shot two days ago. I'm disappointed to report that I didn't get to snap a picture with Holly Hunter, but I did get to watch her work ... and wow. (Warning: geek-out imminent.) It was amazing to be "right there" while someone I admire so incredibly much worked out a scene with the director & other actors. Talk about your fantasy acting class.

And then things just got silly.

Extra Guy playing club patron: Where'd you get the nickname Coco?

Me: (long pause) In the script.

Extra Guy: You don't look like a Coco.

Me: (another, longer pause) I'm not.

Maybe it was his first day. I really wish I could wear my engagement ring while I'm working sometimes. (Astutely figuring that Coco the Stripper is not, like me, engaged, I left it at home.)

I got some nice screen time again, but no dialogue (again -- dammit!) It's a pretty funny scene -- a man's wife sends his priest to the club to drag her husband away from my charms. (There should be more scenes with priests in strip clubs. Can somebody out there make that happen?) At any rate, it didn't suck to hear this take after take. "Look at that, Reverend. Perfection named Coco. God made that. God is great." Hehe!!

Not that I take that kind of thing to heart, mind you. But it made up for this -- copied verbatim from the character description in an audition notice for the next day:

ATTRACTIVE LOOKING, INTERESTING FACE, GOOD WITH DIALOGUE. SHE IS HOT AND HAS A GREAT BODY, BUT IS A BIT PAST HER PRIME ALREADY. NOT VERY SOPHISTICATED. EVEN A BIT TRAMPISH. GREAT ACTRESS.

Anyone who's still wondering just how, exactly, I became the snarky delight that I am ... please read that again.

... at least my agent thinks I'm a "great actress."

back from a happy 4th of July

I hope everyone out there had a wonderful 4th of July. Nothing commemorates our forefathers telling the British to eff off 233 years ago like blowing stuff up, does it?

Mr. UB & I celebrated by making a whirlwind trip up to Oregon to visit His Parents. (I was just excited to see that they do not, in fact, live above the Arctic Circle -- it was actually warmer there than in L.A.)

So, what exactly does one do on the 4th in rural Oregon? Why, go to the St. Paul Rodeo & Parade, of course!
His Dad had entered his pride & joy, a 1934 Ford that he's been restoring for the past 8 years, in the parade. And let me tell you, if it wasn't quite clear that Toto & I were no longer in L.A. before the parade started, it sure as heck was once things got underway. To wit:

Rodeo queens!
Vintage fire trucks!

Vintage ... other vehicles!

Other oddities: a non-marching band
As someone who used to wear the full St. Pepper-esque wool uniform, complete with heavy uncomfortable hat, to competitions in Barstow in freaking August, I have very little respect for people in casual clothes who ride the parade route. But they did sound pretty good.

That's more like it. This drum corps brought it.

Little girls riding wooden horses on a flatbed truck? Why not? Take that, Imperial Britain!

Give us Liberty or give us a gigantic inflatable creepy pumpkin head! On second thought, we'll take both!

Here come the Mr. & His Dad. Work that crowd, Actor Boy!

More vintage cars with extra-cool passengers:
I think this is a Chevrolet. But I'm positive that those Australian Shepards in the hipster 80's shades are called Lollipop & Lulu.

No idea what year/make this car is, but the tiny lap passenger is a rescue dog called Eeyore. (Are my priorities showing?) The only hair on his body is whiskers & a faux-hawk. He also has a spiked collar -- 'cuz he's a total badass, and that's how he rolls.

Me and His Parents. One of these hats is being worn ironically -- can you guess which one?

Other things spotted after my camera battery died: a guy riding his horse on top of a semi doing some fancy lasso action, the world's tiniest buggy being driven by a woman dressed like a pilgrim (and pulled by a pony, natch), and a tractor hauling the biggest spool of hose I've ever seen (I think they were one of the event sponsors?) We had a blast.