Mini-Donut-Trucks Date Back to the 1600's

Oh, you didn't know that?

Well, neither did I, until the Mini Donut truck parked outside my booth at the MN Renaissance Festival on Saturday. Nope, not kidding:

(Pic courtesy of PJ, who posted it on facebook today, because the one I took with my non-renaissance-iphone didn't turn out). What this picture doesn't include is the costumed street performer who stood next to the truck for the entire day, 9am to 7pm, holding a sign that just read: REALLY?

Other fun shenanigans at the Renaissance Festival last weekend:

• It rained Saturday night, so there were large puddles everywhere Sunday. Two street performers pretended to fish in a puddle outside my booth. Husband said "the only thing they're likely to catch in there is an STD."
• DonutTruckGate and the new Mermaid Peep Show (which you have to pay extra for and is located in the Children's Realm of the festival, which I find amusing...although it may be touted as "See a Mermaid" instead of "Mermaid Peep Show." Semantics.) were the topic of every improv bit for pretty much every entertainment show at the festival.
• Apparently said ridicule was so exhausting for management that by Sunday afternoon that someone asked the donut truck to leave. So he set up on the other side of the parking lot and continued to sell to patrons. Kudos to him! It wasn't HIS fault stupidity ran amok and likely screwed him out of many sales.
• Participants park in a gravel pit. A deep gravel pit, filled with looming pyramids of sand and rocks, excavation equipment, puddles that can swallow your car, and six inches of mud. Oh did I mention there are NO LIGHTS down there, so when workers are done at 8:30 or so they're navigating in the pitch black to try to find their cars in a maze of filth and deadly obstacles? Yeah.
• The shuttle driver who is SUPPOSED to drive workers down to their cars (for safety purposes...ie so they don't get hit by lost drivers trying to find their way OUT of the pit) decided to call it a night at about 7:30 on Saturday.
• Another shuttle driver made pretty raunchy comments about bouncing boobs (yes, most all of us women out there wear corsets or bodices, and they DO push our cleavage up. It was the style of the Renaissance.) and actually stopped the bus and asked workers if he could WATCH THEM CHANGE. What the fuck, dude? He's been reported. I wasn't on the bus at the time. I likely would've popped him one and gotten fired, so it's probably good I wasn't there.

My feet are three sizes too big today, my legs hurt, and I'm bone tired. But selling mead is kick-ass fun and I have a great crew. All opening-day shenanigans aside, it was a fabulous weekend.

One weekend down. Six to go. If you're in MN, stop by!

Hamburgers: A Gateway Vice

I had fabulous lunch with Z the other day (one of the three excellent friends I got out of the divorce (layoff) with The Company Which Shall Not Be Named). Ok, lunch (the food) was mostly just ok, but the company was fabulous, and the conversation was inappropriate (as usual). After all, this is the man who is consistently considered a "nice guy" and assumed to be innocent as well.

Don't get me wrong, he IS extremely kind: a stellar example of friendship and caring and all that shit. But he's a sneaky fucker who hides a seriously sick sense of humor and dirty mind under a fedora and an "I'm a nice guy" smile. I mean, the man RULES at Cards Against Humanity. He's pretty much just awesome. For example: he recently threw the following into an email to all of us: Once again my penis is more trouble than it's worth. Which is a bummer because in general we get a long pretty well, it's just sometimes I am very disappointed in him. Then again sometimes I do things that assuredly make my penis be disappointed in me. So I guess we are even.


Luckily,  HE remembered what we talked about that day and thus saved this post, because I have the memory of a fucking gnat and needed his help 20 minutes after the conversation to remember.

Anyway, we were discussing 50 Shades (which will not die!) and why it's so horrid. In true random fashion, I received this as an explanation for his openmindedness. No, that's not a single word. Yes, I did just write it that way.

I hated hamburgers until I was 14. I don't know why: I just didn't like them. Then at drama club I had a McDonald's hamburger because I was starving and it was the only thing available, and it was awesome. AWESOME. Why the fuck didn't I like these things??

I learned my lesson: now I'll try anything once, because what the fuck, I love hamburgers!

Of course, this began a whole discussion on what sorts of things have been tried in our sordid pasts. Z's is more sordid than mine, believe me, but those are his stories to tell if he wants to. Let's stick with mine for now:

Weed*: I've been a participant at a Renaissance Festival now for over a decade. I've had plenty of opportunities to smoke pot, but I have to say: WEED + HAY FEVER = BAD BAD BAD HEADACHE. Fail, people. Fail. I can't even be around it. Also, I think pot smells like death (I also think lilies reek of death, so don't take my word for it): like rotting sweet things. Ish.

Alcohol: Yeah. My viking heritage HOSED me on this one, because I really like the taste of a good whiskey or mojito, but my body doesn't process it well. Sigh. Once (again, during Fest, because it's a wonderfully bad fucking influence on me!) I polished off a smaller bottle of Captain Morgan myself. This was not long after Husband and I moved in together (not married yet). I spent that night on the bathroom floor, naked, alternating between sleeping with my cheek on the nice cold tile or hugging the toilet like a goddamn lost love. Husband? He checked on me once or twice...and kindly threw a towel over me in case I got cold. He said later it wasn't worth helping me back into bed because he knew I'd just end up back on the bathroom floor anyway. He was right. But he doesnt' get hangovers at all so he irks me anyway. I still drink, but the Captain isn't welcome anymore and I rarely get more than tipsy. Sigh.

Sex: My ancient past is pretty boring, actually. For as much as I write about stuff other people tell me and even things I've done, I had the totally normal, boring enough high-school-boyfriend experiences and such until much later. And (SURPRISE!) much of my shocking exposure to alternate relationships (open marriages, polyamorous groups, summer flings) came my first few years working at fest, because it's generally a pretty nonjudgmental place. After seeing the successes and failures out there in various formats, I'm a firm believer that the best romantic relationships are those where both partners trust enough to let it all hang out, if you will, and experiment. All the different aspects to that would build a blog all by themselves, so let's just leave this as: the older I get the more open minded I am, which likely is why people tell me all their weird relationship kinks and issues. :)

Ultimately, anything can be a mind-opener. Age, experience, mistakes: learning a lesson that opens you to all new possibilities can't be a bad thing.

Hamburgers and Ren Fest....what's opened YOUR mind to the possibilities in life?

*I'm a bit of a control freak, therefore no other drugs have ever appealed to me. Call me crazy, but I like being in charge of my actions. Hell, I don't even get tipsy outside of my house unless I KNOW certain people are around to watch my back. Paranoid? Sure am!

PS: Fail, spellchecker. I beg to differ: Mojito is indeed a word. And a fucking tasty beverage, too.

UPDATED AGAIN (WTF?): Um, That's MRS. Titts, Actually.

Once again it's nearly time for the MN Renaissance Festival to begin. I've worked at Fest now for twelve years. I've been a t-shirt-and-mug-pusher, a beer wench, a balloon blower, a calligrapher, a gate guard, and even an entire BAND for the bellydancers (that's right, I OWNED running that ipod, bitches).
And still after all that time, I'll be "Mrs. Titts." Because my husband's been at Fest every season for over 20 years, and at least 95% of the regulars don't know his actual name: just his nickname. Of course, those who DO know him outside of that environment often call him Titts anyway, because he doesn't usually answer to his actual name out there. Snort.

A side effect of my introvertedness is that a lot of people often don't remember my name (he does introduce me as ME, people): they just remember I'm Titts's wife. It would grate on my self esteem a little, except that I generally don't want to know all those acquaintances we only see at Fest anyway: I have all the drama and relationship-sustaining duties I can handle. Ha!

However, should I start that sex/relationship/advice blog I keep thinking about, it'll decidedly be "Mrs. Titts" related, because I can't make that shit up. Perhaps "That's MRS. Titts To You."

Ideas? Thoughts?

In other news, Husband (lordy, I should just start calling him Titts here so he has a nickname instead of an office title) is either amused or baffled because I put "hair doodies" as an option on my birthday list. More about birthdays later, I'm sure, but he's been hounding me about the word "doodies" all day. It's probably not even a word... NOPE! According to spellchecker it's not. Fuck you, spellchecker.

UPDATE: To clarify, I'm pretty happy as Mrs. Titts in general. :) The people who make it through the first border of STAY-AWAY-FROM-ME all know my real name, and I'm quite happy they've remembered, but I'm just as happy having an alternate name in a place with so many random people. It's a buffer. I use it as such pretty shamelessly. The week or two before Fest is just a little weird as I work on putting on "Mrs. Titts." It's a like corset...perfect in certain situations, but it's not all I wear. :)

UPDATED AGAIN:
What the hell. Clearly I wrote this post REALLY poorly, judging from the snarky responses I've gotten. This post is about me being a big weenie and hiding behind my husband's amusingly inappropriate nickname at a place where I 1) don't know NEARLY as many people as he does and 2) often get overwhelmed by too many peeps, anxiety kicks in, and I don't always want to be known by every goddamn participant and patron on the grounds.

This post is NOT about whether you know my husband's real name. If you've known him since you were kids, went to school with him, have been to our house, have fucked him, have had drinks with him outside of fest...etc etc etc etc OF COURSE you know his real name. Good for you! The fact remains there is a large Fest population I don't ever see or know outside of that microcosm...and to them I'm perfectly happy to remain Mrs. Titts. In case you missed the point, that's what I was writing about.

Also, it's apparent that not only was this particular topic a fail humor-wise (that's cool, I can't always be funny) it was also a pretty epic fail for my anxiety, since I've been irritated over this all goddamn day and rewrote crap here a zillion times.

FYI: I exaggerate. A lot. Get used to it.

I Know a Few of These

http://www.examiner.com/x-2593-Modern-Love-Examiner~y2009m3d28-The-toxic-witch-wears-two-faces-in-life-and-in-love-but-here-is-how-you-can-spot-and-avoid-her

The subject of this article, the Toxic Witch, is ever so reminiscent of a few unnamed women at Fest. Renaissance Festival is one of the most accepting places for people of all backgrounds to hang out together: that accepting attitude unfortunately seems to be a magnet for the unstable of both sexes. Occasionally the visibly "issued" will show up: men looking for girlfriends in the WAY too young age category, ex-girlfriends who follow around their former lovers and hang outside their booths making everyone uncomfortable...

But the worst are the women who purposly befriend couples only to attempt to break them up later. The ones who try to get in the man's pants while he's drunk at the bar after hours only to tell the S.O. all about it the next day, or spread insidious rumors to anyone who will listen. These women are so pathetic, they do it just to see if they have the power to create drama and trouble between a couple. Many a man has been on the receiving end of these rumors, and quite a few relationships weren't strong enough to withstand their efforts.

Fest is just like high-school: rumors fly like mad and gossip provides entertainment on the hot days. Befriending one of these women only brings out the pain-in-the-ass factor, and unfortunately it can take a little while to get the TW radar working properly to avoid trouble. But it does start working eventually, and just like any other bully in life: the more you ignore one of these raging bitches, the sooner they go away.