Another year of the Iowa State Fair has come and gone. I was recently reminiscing about previous years and some of the high (or low) points. Some of my biggest fans have been around for these monumental times, so I thought I'd put them together in one place before I forget about how awesome they were....I've already forgotten some of the details.
1. The most infamous ISF moment has got to be the night that I attempted to pick up my friend John at the wrong house. There just so happened to be a guy named John that lived 3 houses down in another red house with a red SUV in the garage. The wrong John was a retired elderly man with a very concerned wife. I showed up in proper fair attire, low cut black cowgirl dress, green alligator boots and cowboy hat. Hopefully I never forget that one. But here's a recap http://www.facebook.com/?ref=tn_tnmn#!/notes/val-hageman/ben-wanted-me-to-write-a-story-about-how-paul-revere-ate-a-tyranasourus-rexand-h/440646868808. (Side note: this was the first time I've read that story in nearly 2 years...for some reason I recall it being written better. But if you'll note the time, it was written at 3:00 a.m., after a wild night at the fair.) Also, I don't know where or why a Tyrannosaurus Rex came into this story, muchless the title, but I do know that we had Paul Revere's pizza when we got home from the fair, I'm guessing it has something to do with that???
Also noted in this Facebook note was a reference to George Bush. What the hell does that have to do with anything, you ask? Well, while John and I were leaving the fairgrounds that night there was a couple that was getting into a fight, it was about something really stupid, like the lack of cabs at midnight at the fairgrounds. All of a sudden the guy freaks out, and screams, 'What do you want me to do, call George Bush?!' It made absolutely no sense. Barack was already in office, George was nearly helpless at this point. But the event topped off a really weird night.
2. I have a picture from this night, but remember few details. My cousin Amber and I went to a concert at the grandstand. I have no clue who we were there to see, but I do remember that we were in either the very top or 2nd to top row of the upper deck of the grandstands. We were stuck smack dab in the middle of the section which was terribly inconvenient because we were drinking beers on a pretty aggressive pace. This started to piss off the teenagers that had to get up and let us thru every 20 minutes and they were got more vocal with their annoyance with every drink that we got. So, being the courteous person that I am, I decided that since no one was in the seats directly in front of us, that I'd just scale over a row of seats instead of inconveniencing the kids again. So, I swing one leg over the seat, and as I'm bringing the other over, I hear and feel, rrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiipppppppppppp. Did I mention that I was wearing a knee length jean skirt with a 4" slit in the middle front? Well, it turned into an 18" slit. Good thing I'm always sporting full coverage undies. I have a pic of the aftermath somewhere. We'll see if I have the guts to scan it.
3. Another cousin time, I was in the grandstand with Tara and we were playing catch up and chatting during intermission and then continued thru the next concert. Again, I don't remember who we were there to see. But our constant chatter must have started to piss off the concert goer in front of us. At one point she turned around and says, 'Are you girls going to talk the entire concert?' Yikes, I'm guessing this was the first time ever that Tara got in trouble for talking too much. I'll take the blame on this one. Cranky bitch. Live a little.
4. Leaving the fair one night with some Hagamaroes I encountered another domestic dispute. In this case, the guy was being an absolute jerk, yelling at his girlfriend and being completely out of control. I took it upon myself to stick up for this stranger, interrupted and said something along the lines of, "Honey, you don't have to put up with this asshole, why are you letting him talk to you this way?' This made Super Ass much more furious and irate. So I continued sticking up for her and started my own argument with him. This turned out to be really dumb, and I ended it. Not before attempting to literally kick his ass with my green boots. Mind you, I was 3 feet behind him and just mocking the motions, well, I got a little ambitious in one of my last attempts to 'kick' his ass and did a super high kick, while walking across 30th Street at Dean Avenue (one of the main and busiest gates at the fair for some of you non regulars) with at least 200 other late night fair leavers. Side note: this fair night I was sporting some torn up jeans with holes up and down the legs as well as a hole in the bottom leaving the hem just flailing behind. At some point during my wind up and execution,the bottom hem of my torn up jeans got stuck under the heel of my boot. Once my jeans realized they were being stretched to their max, and my heel extended, this stopped me in my tracks and I ended up high-kicking myself to the ground and landed square on my butt. This impressed everyone around. I think at least one Hagamaroe peed herself.
I'm sure there are more, but as I've stated earlier, the devil is in the details and I'm getting old. Feel free to add your best ISF moments in the comments.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
Just when you thought I couldn't get any dumber...
If you've been keeping track lately, I haven't necessarily been kicking ass and taking names. I've had what one may call, 'a good run of bad luck.' I'm not dying and as far as I know, I'm healthy so it's nothing serious, but it is enough to give me a headache and a bad attitude. So, tonight I come home from work with all intentions of going to the gym for the first time in a month or so. My plan is to come home, watch the news, convince myself I'm smarter than everyone on Wheel of Fortune and then go run in place at the gym and watch the Olympic beach volleyball gold metal match. I promptly change into my gym clothes so I don't talk myself out of it, charge my ipod for an hour and I'm ready to go. I grab my phone and ipod and head out the door. Halfway down the stairs I realize I forgot my water bottle, turn around and just then I realize, I don't have my keys. Son. Of. A. Bitch. I go to the door, turn the handle just to make sure I wasn't overreacting, but yes, it is indeed locked. I google a locksmith and call, they'll be here in 15-30 minutes. So I hang out on the balcony, checking for wandering criminals, shoot out a few texts, and the guy shows up within about 20 minutes. Not too shabby.
While I was hoping for the male stripper version of a locksmith (similar to the often envisioned hot cable guy or hot Mid American guy that I've never gotten), I knew better than to expect that. Just a week ago I watched a locksmith come to the rescue of a guy locked out of his car outside our office. The locksmith showed up in a 1992 Taurus with no hub caps, a coat hanger and a sideways hat. I adjusted my expectations, but one can dream.
Up the stairs comes an 18 year old kid. He turns the doorknob, yep, it's locked. He pulls out his toolkit that looks like he could clean my teeth and fill a cavity with, and looks up at me and says, 'just to let you know, this is going to be $95 plus tax.' 'What? I thought it was $25.' He stands up and says, 'thats only if there's a kid locked in a car.' 'Well remind me to start locking kids inside next time!' He chuckles, I don't. I don't need this shit right now, but what's my other option, hit the screen out of my bathroom window and jump from the balcony into my window? 'Ok, fine, proceed.' He wiggles an Allen wrench (or in April Hageman terms, 'monkey wrench') in the keyhole and takes out a nail file and starts shaking it. I'm sure there is some method to this, but I'm pretty sure I know what to do next time. That doesn't seem to work so he gets out a small drill, looks at me and goes, 'this isn't going to drill thru, it's just going to vibrate a little bit, pretty much the same thing I'm doing with that tool, just faster.' (Insert your own dirty joke here.) He plays around a little bit longer, and then pulls out a folder of plastic cards. He tells me that if a criminal were to attempt to break into my house, they would use something like this to bypass the locked door, and that if I had used the dead bolt, a criminal can't bypass it without knocking down the door. Good to know. So he continues playing with his plastic cards, apparently have switched over into criminal mode, and pops the door open. Then he looks at me strange and goes, 'are you sure the door was locked?' 'Um yeah, the handle is still locked.' 'But I don't think it was engaged,' he responds, 'I think your door is just heavy and neither of us pushed on it when we tried turning the knob.' 'You have got to be kidding (or more colorful language) me!' He tries it a couple more times, locking the door and shutting it and then just pushing it open. Sweet mother of God, I am an idiot. So, having not used my deadbolt except from when I am actually in the apartment, I have left my door open to intruders every day since I moved in. Thankfully my friendly, pre-facial hair growing age locksmith sympathized with me a little bit and gave me a 'deal' only charging me $65 to push open my door. I guess it's time to call someone who can actually fix my lock now. But good news to all that read this, referral unlocks are only $35! Call me if you need a door unlocked, I can get you a deal.
P.S. I still made it to the gym to see Misty May and Kerri Walsh kick ass.
While I was hoping for the male stripper version of a locksmith (similar to the often envisioned hot cable guy or hot Mid American guy that I've never gotten), I knew better than to expect that. Just a week ago I watched a locksmith come to the rescue of a guy locked out of his car outside our office. The locksmith showed up in a 1992 Taurus with no hub caps, a coat hanger and a sideways hat. I adjusted my expectations, but one can dream.
Up the stairs comes an 18 year old kid. He turns the doorknob, yep, it's locked. He pulls out his toolkit that looks like he could clean my teeth and fill a cavity with, and looks up at me and says, 'just to let you know, this is going to be $95 plus tax.' 'What? I thought it was $25.' He stands up and says, 'thats only if there's a kid locked in a car.' 'Well remind me to start locking kids inside next time!' He chuckles, I don't. I don't need this shit right now, but what's my other option, hit the screen out of my bathroom window and jump from the balcony into my window? 'Ok, fine, proceed.' He wiggles an Allen wrench (or in April Hageman terms, 'monkey wrench') in the keyhole and takes out a nail file and starts shaking it. I'm sure there is some method to this, but I'm pretty sure I know what to do next time. That doesn't seem to work so he gets out a small drill, looks at me and goes, 'this isn't going to drill thru, it's just going to vibrate a little bit, pretty much the same thing I'm doing with that tool, just faster.' (Insert your own dirty joke here.) He plays around a little bit longer, and then pulls out a folder of plastic cards. He tells me that if a criminal were to attempt to break into my house, they would use something like this to bypass the locked door, and that if I had used the dead bolt, a criminal can't bypass it without knocking down the door. Good to know. So he continues playing with his plastic cards, apparently have switched over into criminal mode, and pops the door open. Then he looks at me strange and goes, 'are you sure the door was locked?' 'Um yeah, the handle is still locked.' 'But I don't think it was engaged,' he responds, 'I think your door is just heavy and neither of us pushed on it when we tried turning the knob.' 'You have got to be kidding (or more colorful language) me!' He tries it a couple more times, locking the door and shutting it and then just pushing it open. Sweet mother of God, I am an idiot. So, having not used my deadbolt except from when I am actually in the apartment, I have left my door open to intruders every day since I moved in. Thankfully my friendly, pre-facial hair growing age locksmith sympathized with me a little bit and gave me a 'deal' only charging me $65 to push open my door. I guess it's time to call someone who can actually fix my lock now. But good news to all that read this, referral unlocks are only $35! Call me if you need a door unlocked, I can get you a deal.
P.S. I still made it to the gym to see Misty May and Kerri Walsh kick ass.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Hagamaroes take on Country on the River
Good morning, all! I hope you've all been well in my absence. I just got home from a nice weekend with fellow Hagamaroes, and I thought I'd let you know how things went. I took the liberty to pack a journal for this occasion, knowing that it would indeed be filled with memorable events...I had no clue how well that plan would work out....so here is my detailed account of our weekend in Prairie du Chien. You're welcome.
Friday
3:15 p.m. Kim walks in the room in a cute little dress, lifts up the back to show off her bare buns. Somebunny forgot their underwear.
3:16 p.m. Kim is wearing my purple underwear.
4:30: Lady on bus (whom we've dubbed Ms. George from her freckled arms that are similar to our uncle George's) leans over to her seat mate and says "wanna feel how wet I am down here?" April and I looked at one another in amazement and cheersed our Busch Lights, and then threw up all over in our heads.
5:00: Freckled guy to the left (whom we've also taken to call George) leans over to his buddy and says, "ya know, the girl on my facebook that I like, with the big titties...end scene.
9:25: (Side note: I wish you could see the handwriting on this entry) Lirp says, 'Travis Tritt looks like a cross between Ronnie Dunn and Billy Ray!' I just read on the Facebook that he was 'visibly drunk'. Apparently when one is drunk, they can't make these types of judgements. I thought he was fine.
Saturday
7:00 a.m.: The breakfast sausage smells like pot. Lirp Dogg has changed her name to Lirp Lion. Kim threw away my underwear.
7:30: April starts cleaning the chocolate from the mess in her purse. A rousing game of 'poop or chocolate' ensues.
10:04: April looks at me and says, 'its 10, we can put vodka in our coffee now". Ok...I'll go along with this.
Random untimed note: Waiting in line for shuttles last night a bus full of people slows in front of us, a ding dong looks around and says, 'are they dropping people off?' I sarcastically say, yeah, they're coming from another concert.' She snarks back at me, 'well you don't have to be so mean about it :(' I almost got punched.
11:05 I just tweezed a stray pube from Trisha's forearm.
11:41: About 30 minutes ago April started cleaning the chocolate off all the stuff in her purse. We're going to write an apology note for the white washcloth that looks like its covered in shit. She's almost done.
12:19: Maid service came in and switched out towels and emptied trash cans. One of them carried on a conversation with April while she brushed her teeth and then touched her arm while telling us to enjoy our weekend. It was weird.
12:32: Kim silently walked out of the room to go back to shower. She crop dusted on her way out. I called her room saying only, 'I know what you did' and hung up. We could hear her giggling thru the wall.
2:04: 'Kim, you look like a little Chinese lady, would you do my nails?'
2:49: Kim and Trisha met members of Gary Allen's band. Tisha farted. They have already reserved their room for next year, the Fur Trader Suite.
3:06 Traffie's first band spotting from her post on the AC unit.
3:10: Talked with Levi and Gary Allen thru the hotel window. They like us.
3:42: Gary Allen's band member, Levi took a drink out of Traffie's cup. Her brush with fame.
4:27: Kim got walked in on in the porta potties by an old dude. I think she'll lock the door next time.
5:49: One man Memorial Day parade as Darryl Worely sings, "Have you Forgotten' he is wearing camo shorts, a cutoff t-shirt and carrying a huge American flag. We later got a picture with him.
11:26: Kip and Tosh - night night snorey-snorey panks (this is word for word from the journal).
11:30: Mike and Steve Spalla show up having gotten a ride from the concert grounds by the porta potty truck.
11:45: Val to April: Do you have enough vodka in there?
April: Don't question my altacohol intake?
Val: Ok then, I won't.
Sunday
7:30 a.m.: April: 'these jeans are awful hot to sleep in.'
9:30: on the way home...Val to April: Were you talking about corn last night? Like the sneaky corn that sprouts up in the middle of beans?'
April: 'It's called volunteer corn. Not sneaky corn.'
Until next year....
Friday
3:15 p.m. Kim walks in the room in a cute little dress, lifts up the back to show off her bare buns. Somebunny forgot their underwear.
3:16 p.m. Kim is wearing my purple underwear.
4:30: Lady on bus (whom we've dubbed Ms. George from her freckled arms that are similar to our uncle George's) leans over to her seat mate and says "wanna feel how wet I am down here?" April and I looked at one another in amazement and cheersed our Busch Lights, and then threw up all over in our heads.
5:00: Freckled guy to the left (whom we've also taken to call George) leans over to his buddy and says, "ya know, the girl on my facebook that I like, with the big titties...end scene.
9:25: (Side note: I wish you could see the handwriting on this entry) Lirp says, 'Travis Tritt looks like a cross between Ronnie Dunn and Billy Ray!' I just read on the Facebook that he was 'visibly drunk'. Apparently when one is drunk, they can't make these types of judgements. I thought he was fine.
Saturday
7:00 a.m.: The breakfast sausage smells like pot. Lirp Dogg has changed her name to Lirp Lion. Kim threw away my underwear.
7:30: April starts cleaning the chocolate from the mess in her purse. A rousing game of 'poop or chocolate' ensues.
10:04: April looks at me and says, 'its 10, we can put vodka in our coffee now". Ok...I'll go along with this.
Random untimed note: Waiting in line for shuttles last night a bus full of people slows in front of us, a ding dong looks around and says, 'are they dropping people off?' I sarcastically say, yeah, they're coming from another concert.' She snarks back at me, 'well you don't have to be so mean about it :(' I almost got punched.
11:05 I just tweezed a stray pube from Trisha's forearm.
11:41: About 30 minutes ago April started cleaning the chocolate off all the stuff in her purse. We're going to write an apology note for the white washcloth that looks like its covered in shit. She's almost done.
12:19: Maid service came in and switched out towels and emptied trash cans. One of them carried on a conversation with April while she brushed her teeth and then touched her arm while telling us to enjoy our weekend. It was weird.
12:32: Kim silently walked out of the room to go back to shower. She crop dusted on her way out. I called her room saying only, 'I know what you did' and hung up. We could hear her giggling thru the wall.
2:04: 'Kim, you look like a little Chinese lady, would you do my nails?'
2:49: Kim and Trisha met members of Gary Allen's band. Tisha farted. They have already reserved their room for next year, the Fur Trader Suite.
3:06 Traffie's first band spotting from her post on the AC unit.
3:10: Talked with Levi and Gary Allen thru the hotel window. They like us.
3:42: Gary Allen's band member, Levi took a drink out of Traffie's cup. Her brush with fame.
4:27: Kim got walked in on in the porta potties by an old dude. I think she'll lock the door next time.
5:49: One man Memorial Day parade as Darryl Worely sings, "Have you Forgotten' he is wearing camo shorts, a cutoff t-shirt and carrying a huge American flag. We later got a picture with him.
11:26: Kip and Tosh - night night snorey-snorey panks (this is word for word from the journal).
11:30: Mike and Steve Spalla show up having gotten a ride from the concert grounds by the porta potty truck.
11:45: Val to April: Do you have enough vodka in there?
April: Don't question my altacohol intake?
Val: Ok then, I won't.
Sunday
7:30 a.m.: April: 'these jeans are awful hot to sleep in.'
9:30: on the way home...Val to April: Were you talking about corn last night? Like the sneaky corn that sprouts up in the middle of beans?'
April: 'It's called volunteer corn. Not sneaky corn.'
Until next year....
Sunday, January 8, 2012
And then I got called a fat chick
Picture this, I show up at a bar around 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night when a lot of boys have been drinking for about 7 hours. It was the Friday before New Years, Iowa State played a bowl game at 2:30 and Iowa was set to kick off (how's that for football talk?) at 9:00 p.m. I walked into The Ridgemont and it smelled like everyone in the place had taken a bath in stale beer. I found my friends Ben and Jeff, and expressed my concern. Jeff claimed that it was one 'acquaintance' in particular that may have hit his limit hours prior, and also suggested that I stay away from him. Stumbleina, as I will call him, was not coherently able to express his age or the approximate number of drinks he had consumed. This is okay with me...no judgements, but he looked awfully huggy. This I am not as okay with. I minded my own business for awhile, until Stumbleina came our way. I kept out of it until I heard him say this to Jeff, 'Yeah, Iiihhmm pretty drunk, but I'm sschhhur I could still pull a fat chick toniiight.' I chuckled to myself, but THEN, he turned to me, attempted a stink eye wink, and toasted to me! I looked at Stumbleina and nicely asked, 'Wait a minute, did you just say that you could pull home a fat chick tonight, and then turn to me and cheers me?' Stumbelina had no clue about the lethal combination of attempted speech and action that he had just committed. He slurred his way out of it, and I took off, without slapping him in the face, might I add! Here's to self improvement in 2012! Go me.
Friday, January 6, 2012
I got hit on at the laundromat
After all that cynicism, it's true. You can meet people at the laundromat. I was just sitting in a plastic chair paroosing emails on my phone and thinking to myself, 'huh, doing your laundry in a public place is kind of uncomfortable. Pretty much every stranger here probably has some idea of the kind of underwear I'm wearing right now.' As that thought exited my sweaty head (I had a big night, gym, laundry and dishes), I felt the presence of someone over my shoulder. 'Wanna play pool?' Huh? Someone couldn't possibly be talking to me. I turned around, and Austin repeated the question. I responded with, 'eh, I really don't play', 'Well, do you want to?', he responded. 'Eh, er, well' I was trying to come up with some reason why I shouldn't. He came back with, 'It's gotta be better than playing solitaire on your phone.' Touche, Austin. Touche. So I caved. Austin asked the typical questions: name, what do you do, where are you from, why are you so sweaty, you know, just regular stuff. So I played along, taking a break to get my clothes out of the wash to transfer into the dryer. As I hung up my delicates (you know, the stuff you claim shrinks in the dryer), he watched. Asking questions like, 'you don't dry your jeans?' as I hung my skinny jeans on a hanger. I responded with, 'well, if I did, I'd never make it back in them'. This seemed to end the question and answer session of the laundry monitoring.
I returned to the game of pool, which, btw I had managed to make the first ball of the game in, stripes...with absolutely no skill involved, just luck. I really (really) suck at pool. Eventually I lost the game, but in the sometimes painful process, learned some exciting facts. Austin is self employed, an entrepreneur of sorts. He repairs windshield cracks, and does other odd car related handy jobs. Like buffing headlight covers when they yellow and get scratched up. He noticed I drive a Grand Prix, which wasn't a difficult observation because it was the only car left in the parking lot, and mentioned that someday I would likely need this service because Grand Prixs are famous for getting yellowed headlights that need buffing. Such a problem had never registered with me. Oh well. Austin was not doing laundry, btw...he just goes there to pick up chicks? I have no idea. Anyway, it was time for Austin to be on his way, so he gave me a card, in case the inevitable happens...you know, a chipped windshield, or foggy headlights. As he was leaving, he quipped, 'give me a call if you need your headlights buffed!' 'Er, ok...?' Then he clarified that he was meaning the ones on my car. Good thing, because I already had my shirt off.
So that was fun. P.S. Austin was wearing a gold band. The lady working at Dud's N Suds said it was on his right hand, but I didn't notice that part. She said he was flirting with me. Huh, I hadn't noticed.
I returned to the game of pool, which, btw I had managed to make the first ball of the game in, stripes...with absolutely no skill involved, just luck. I really (really) suck at pool. Eventually I lost the game, but in the sometimes painful process, learned some exciting facts. Austin is self employed, an entrepreneur of sorts. He repairs windshield cracks, and does other odd car related handy jobs. Like buffing headlight covers when they yellow and get scratched up. He noticed I drive a Grand Prix, which wasn't a difficult observation because it was the only car left in the parking lot, and mentioned that someday I would likely need this service because Grand Prixs are famous for getting yellowed headlights that need buffing. Such a problem had never registered with me. Oh well. Austin was not doing laundry, btw...he just goes there to pick up chicks? I have no idea. Anyway, it was time for Austin to be on his way, so he gave me a card, in case the inevitable happens...you know, a chipped windshield, or foggy headlights. As he was leaving, he quipped, 'give me a call if you need your headlights buffed!' 'Er, ok...?' Then he clarified that he was meaning the ones on my car. Good thing, because I already had my shirt off.
So that was fun. P.S. Austin was wearing a gold band. The lady working at Dud's N Suds said it was on his right hand, but I didn't notice that part. She said he was flirting with me. Huh, I hadn't noticed.
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