"You ladies ready to win some shit?" That's the first thing the schills yelled at us when we'd gotten past the admissions booth at the carnival last night. Whoo. Hard to resist, eh?

Obviously we didn't die a mangled carnie death last night. We had fun, and despite the carnie's best efforts, we didn't spend a fucking boatload of money. But that's mostly because we only rode one ride. Or I should say that Deb, Sara, and I rode one ride (4 tickets each = $10). Jake watched from the sidelines while she ate a pizza slice for dinner and took pictures for me. It looked something like this.

Deb was actually having a good time, but somewhere on the ride she was possessed by a carnie demon of some sort. We had to get management to call a slayer and a backup witch to get her back to normal enough to take her home. Maybe it was the corn dog.

Mostly we walked around admiring the lights and looking at stuff that we might want to do. Sara says she swears she heard a mom call her kid Female (pron. Feh-mahl-Ay), which would be an urban legend come true.

Sara also made Jake go test the Guess Your Age and Weight guy. Of course he lost. He guessed 23, and Jake is 36. Like taking candy from a baby carnie. Jake and I were both thinking we should make him guess her gender. Sara picked out a blue feathered roach clip as her prize. Eww. This thing pegs the skank-o-meter.

All she needs to go with it is a halter top with fringe and a couple tickets to RAW is WAR. Somehow it got left at our house last night. But she says she's going to put it in the crime scene van. (And yes, it is clamped to her nipple. Or at least her shirt over her nipple.)

This is the ride that was too scary for Jake.

What better fun for kids that to be slung around in the abdomenal cavity of a happy soulless-eyed bear wearing a gooby hat and overalls? You can pretend the bear has eaten you, and your revenge is that writing and screaming in his guts is going to cause him severe gastro-intestinal discomfort.

I wanted to try the rock-climbing wall, but Sara convinced me to go to the rock-climbing gym near our chiropractor's office sometime instead. Much cheaper, more handholds, and no stupid time limit. Probably safer, too.

I also had fun just taking pictures of the lights and rides.

But the best part of the whole night was when we, as a family, picked out a special memento of our evening. Something tasteful that reflects our personalities. Something that will occupy a special place at the Ranch and in our hearts for the rest of our days.

There was one booth that caught our attention almost as soon as we walked through the gates. A talented photographer displayed his wares under the gleaming midway lights, and frankly, I don't know how anyone could've passed up this opportunity.

And I had to think about it, because it's sort of a family thing, but I decided to share this symbol of our committment to each other with you readers. You're kind of like family, too, but not in the "we'd give you a kidney" kind of way. So here it is.

Better than a velvet Elvis.

And with that picture, I've breached the 90% level of my online photo space at Diaryland. I'm going to have to either get Andrew to sell me another 5MB of space, or figure out how to link to my damn mac.com photo space (if anyone knows how to do this, tell me, please).

I don't know if I'll be able to update from the hotel in San Diego, but I'll have my laptop and camera there, and I'll try. If I get laid, I'll find a way by gum.