Typically, going home to Dallas, Oregon never ceases to provide insta-fodder for NW is Best. Better yet, if I'm lucky enough to make it home for the annual Krazy Dayz/Summerfest weekend, shit goes DOWNNNNN. Someone asked me the point of this annual summer celebration and I literally couldn't answer. It's basically just a chance for every Dallasite to let their freak flag fly for a whole 48 hours. And fly they did - Saturday's parade was a flurry of exposed bellies, Shriner's, mini ponies, the France School of Dance, baby holding and shielding my face from old classmates on Main Street. Before I launch into the weekend glory, I've got to give big ups to my darling BFF and grandma extraordinaire, Matie AKA Mater Bates, Girlfriend, Poopy Grandma, etc. That's MATIE - rhymes with KT and also, when paired with "Arrrrghhhh!", is a typical pirate greeting. She is a total doll and has faithfully worked at the Main Street hardware/gift shop since Lady Gaga was in diapers, saving me a front row seat each year for the illustrious freak parade. I hope my forthcoming account doesn't make me sound high-and-mighty...trust me, I used to cruise in this thang EVERY year. One year I was dressed as Dorothy with Rem as the Tin Man, both wearing rainbow wigs and clown face paint while our BFF's rode bikes pulling their cats in a fake circus cage. Another year I was strapped to the back of my dad's SEPTIC TRUCK throwing tootsie rolls...oh my GAWD. And yet another year I fell off of a church float and almost got ran over. Twice. GOOD TIMES PEOPLE.
A brief history lesson here - "Summer Fest" is known to Dallas' Original Gangsters as Krazy Dayz. Not sure what ole' dummy ever thought to change it's awesome name. Maybe it has something to do with this guy (at right) who goes by the ubiquitous alias' of Wind Walker, Leaning Larry, Laid Back Lenny, etc. Pretty sure this dude's real name is John Something-Or-Other. He went to high school with Robb Barnes and apparently sizzled his brain with tasty drugs. He now can be seen all over Dallas with his trademark walk - tilted backwards at ~ 45 degrees. To keep things stylish, Wind Walker usually carries his backpack on his chest as well and as been seen numerous times picking up cigarette butts from the sidewalk and saving them for later. Tastyyyyyyy. So maybe the name change has to do with Krazy Dayz offending our local color, I can't really be sure. Maybe worth writing to the Chamber of Commerce about now that I think of it...
Saturday, I woke bright and early, around 9.30, all abuzz with excitement about the day's festivities - parade, bike riding and backyard tanning. As I was throwing on my parade uniform of mismatched tops and cut-offs, my wondering eyes beheld a voicemail notification. Enter Drew Hundley and Patrick Mount - two very hilarious, very single Air Force helicopter pilots. Fun fact: Drew's vocal twin is none other than Kenny Powers. These perfect strangers stayed with me for 4 days last weekend and are now in the Inner Circle of Friendship. They also left me the longest, most ludicrous voicemail I've ever received early Saturday morning. Not only did I listen to it 6-9 times, but also transcribed it for your reading pleasure. Blanks mean I really couldn't make out their slurred speech but feel free to insert whatever you wish...
"Listen, here's the deal. You, me, a ___ in ___'s mouth, a Flemish peasant woman, whips, chains, whistles, yo-yos and a pack of everlasting gobstoppers and some 100 mph tape, golf tees, chicken con carne, and some 5 lb bags of ice - obviously 3 because any more would not make any sense....But anyway this is Drew and Pat and we were just calling to say 'hello' and we're very upset. Obviously you're in uh, Losertown, Oregon at this juncture and we are drunk. We almost got arrested tonight because of one of our friends, so that's neither here nor there so we were calling to say we heart you but we're also calling to say you are the heart of our team and we miss you and we're gonna miss you forever. So call us tomorrow and leave us a drunk voicemail. And we will miss you forever and always or as the Chinese say, "Ching chow Wang Chong doo we". Okay welp talk to you later"
Try to tell me that's not dumbest yet funniest thing you've ever read. Just try. That really set the positive tone for my day as I headed out the door with my adorbs mother who complained that our parking spot, a whopping 3 blocks away from the parade route was, "so far away". Approaching Main Street, my heart was pitter-pattering. This is the town I love more than anywhere else. This is where I'm a legend in my own mind and Krazy Dayz is the one time a year where everyone can be a celeb. On the way to the market to pick up cheese and Chex Mix mom goes, "Why do people wear weird things in their hair at things like this?! Have people lost all sense of dignity??" Well, this is Dallas so yes mom, they have. Next I popped over to the Antique Mall to hobnob with my gorgeous ex-babysitter, Micah. And by ex-babysitter I literally mean she was my babysitter growing up. She dated the ticket-taker from the movie theater once upon a time and taught me how to swim. Now she lives near me in Seattle and I babysit her cherubs - we've come full circle folks. As I was holding Baby #1 of the weekend, I had a delightful exchange with a crusty old lady on oxygen who i was standing near and slightly blocking her northern vision of the route.
Lady: I can't see a THING (as the parade is still half a mile away...)
Me: Um...you know, you could just ask me to move. That would be WAY more polite.
Lady: Well, are you gonna move or what?
Me: Don't you worry (muttered expletive under breath
Didn't let ole' Thundercloud McGee ruin my morning though. I dashed off to the front lines with the parentals just in time to watch the Chamber of Commerce Director ride by dressed like a mermaid on a pirate ship. Hey, I never claimed Krazy Dayz was classy. Unfortunately this was the first year I can remember that the Color Guard didn't start off the parade - big no-no in my book and the Itemizer Observer can expect a Letter to the Editor from me shortly. What followed was no less than 20 church floats sporting slogans like, "God's grace under the sea" (what does that even mean?) with 15+ youth stuffed on there singing 90's praise and worship songs, the France School of Dance doing the exact same parade dance they've done for 20+ years, an entirely green pony who walked by to murmurs of "animal cruelty" and "who would do that?", a miniscule group of Shriner's sans the paraplegic doll with a crutch usually propped on one of their rooftops, and about 100 mini ponies pooping all over the place. It was really hard to narrow down my top 3 crazy sightings but it seems to have come down to these winners:
And with that, my beautiful parade was over. From there we grabbed lunch, held some more beautiful babies (Dallas is definitely riding a baby boom of late) and it was homeward for some backyard tanning - the kind where you don't want your dad to come out in the yard, if you know what I mean. Naturally the ONE TIME I do this is the ONE WEEKEND they're giving helicopter tours over our farm. Sweeeeeeeeet. The helo started out flying over the far edge of our property and then steadily progressed to directly over my yard. Coincidence? I think not. You're welcome people of Dallas with $30 to spare and an eye for the divine. That evening the dogs and I played, harassed the chickens and mom and I resurrected our biker gang Hellz Angelzzzzz and thugged it up around town on 2 wheels. We ultimately ended up crashing my uncle's 30 year reunion at the bar. I could have sat there and people watched all day but I was slightly underdressed and the promise of s'mores at home was calling my name. Around the firepit we tried to roast flat s'more mallows (dumbest invention ever) with sticks that were WAY too short. Luckily Robb Barnes is a MacGyver of sorts and duct taped a roaster to a long stick and we were good to go. That's until I got called "disrespectful" for trying to shove a dirty marshmallow down my germophobic mother's throat and the party prompty ended. Somebody needs to learn how to have a good time...
thursday is the best day of the week. the impending weekend is gleaming in the not-too-far distance and i hear crazy shit at work on the reg like, "i mean, if they want, we'll wax their ass". i also have an uncanny ability to find ridiculous timesucks online that i can't help but camp out on between the hours of 7 and 4.
speaking of timesucks, i was thinking fondly of my hometown this morning while reading the freshest edition of our local twaddle, the itemizer observer. known to many as the "item-squeezer", it's a great opportunity for polk county residents to air their grievances (please read the last letter...PLEASE) and let people know they procreated, died, or plan to wed (click to see my high school crush...le sigh). i love where i grew up. i particularly enjoy reminiscing with people in safeway saying yes, i did go to oakdale heights and yes, i do remember getting suspended in 5th grade for smoking behind the tires on the playground. dallasites have memories like steel traps. everyone forgets the cool stuff like my 13th birthday party in 2000 being Y2KT themed or the fact that i regularly freestyled on the girl's soccer bus under multiple pseudonyms.
most friends from home lament the fact that my memory is unparalleled. i can't help it that my mind can remember, with startling clarity, what addison dreizus did for the 4th grade talent show or why my older brother flipped off jackie cornell for the first time. while i'm riding this wave of hometown nostalgia, i thought i'd write an open letter to friends from home thanking them for allowing my thursday to become a hot mess of random hometown memories.
dear stephanie brady,
i love you. thanks for making 5th grade the best year ever. thanks for rocking airwalks, shorts and an oversized polar bear/coca cola sweatshirt on your first day (a week late due to your appendectomy). for inventing the perfect lunch of bologna with mustard, sunny D and a twinkie. thanks for your rad birthday party that one year i had a huge crush on manny romero. thanks for all the soccer nicknames and making practice a constant mockery of coach vorderstrasse with me. thanks for gettting drunk with me in new york last year and always reminding me that some friends (you) really will be friends for life.
dear jason braun,
for some reason, i remember WAY too much about you. and for that, i am sorry. thank you for your unquenchable love of dinosaurs. for covering for me so i could kiss nick mcbride behind the dugout at the kids inc. fields. for having a dad that was willing to keep every single sports statistic of yours in his palm pilot. thank you in advance for becoming a ridiculously famous baseball star that will put dallas on the map for something, anything. just remember me when you get to the top...
dear hannah thompson,
i miss you. thanks for those awesome mints from indiana and making sunday sermons at EBC bearable. thank you for that ballin' birthday party in the 90's where we squirted paint on spinning paper discs and all the slumber parties. on that note, thank you for being the only friend to come to my 5th birthday screening of beauty and the beast in theaters. for always protecting me back in the goal as my fearless defender. thanks especially for having a hot brother with hot friends (heyyyyy zach). for teaching me how to play duck hunt (gun against the TV screen is the way to go girllll). oh and thanks for having the coolest dog ever - may muggsy rest in sweet, sweet peace.
dear macey blaine (now crow),
please stop appearing in my dreams 2-3 times a month. it's weird. thanks for opening all my presents at my 6th birthday party and make it seem like my idea. for telling me i was singing through my nose in choir class. for breaking your arm in 4th grade gymnastics class so i could finally shine out there. thanks for scaring the crap out of me at lacey's house when you staged a murder scene in her bathroom complete with a hair dryer cord wrapped around your neck. thank you for making all my athletic achievements look paltry and for assisting in a fair share of my high school antics - like making a fishing pole out of string, a rule and pen to drop down mcgowan's a-crack in chemistry. come home soon.
dear nick newbill,
wherever you are, thanks for getting caught looking at porn in the 6th grade. LOVED seeing your punishment of dad shaving off one of your eyebrows the next 6 weeks at school.
dear matt hamilton,
thanks for being the WORST PROM DATE EVER. for making me share an $18 entree with you, for nearly giving me whiplash in your new car, for temporarily abandoning me in a shari's parking lot off of lancaster and expecting a kiss at the end of the night. SUCKER.
dear alyssa cudmore,
my first friend. thank you for having the coolest house EVER. for the best night in history of prank calling from your grandma's apartment. for trampoline sleepovers that scared the shizzzzz out of us and especially for being one of the few dallasites that i truly believe will change the world. really takes a burden off my shoulders...
now that you're all enraptured with my quaint hometown and the characters in it, feel free to pay a visit with me. i go home at least once a month and i can promise a night at the drive-in, fresh eggs from the farm and a slammin night at north dallas bar and grill.
A brief history lesson here - "Summer Fest" is known to Dallas' Original Gangsters as Krazy Dayz. Not sure what ole' dummy ever thought to change it's awesome name. Maybe it has something to do with this guy (at right) who goes by the ubiquitous alias' of Wind Walker, Leaning Larry, Laid Back Lenny, etc. Pretty sure this dude's real name is John Something-Or-Other. He went to high school with Robb Barnes and apparently sizzled his brain with tasty drugs. He now can be seen all over Dallas with his trademark walk - tilted backwards at ~ 45 degrees. To keep things stylish, Wind Walker usually carries his backpack on his chest as well and as been seen numerous times picking up cigarette butts from the sidewalk and saving them for later. Tastyyyyyyy. So maybe the name change has to do with Krazy Dayz offending our local color, I can't really be sure. Maybe worth writing to the Chamber of Commerce about now that I think of it... 
Didn't let ole' Thundercloud McGee ruin my morning though. I dashed off to the front lines with the parentals just in time to watch the Chamber of Commerce Director ride by dressed like a mermaid on a pirate ship. Hey, I never claimed Krazy Dayz was classy. Unfortunately this was the first year I can remember that the Color Guard didn't start off the parade - big no-no in my book and the Itemizer Observer can expect a Letter to the Editor from me shortly. What followed was no less than 20 church floats sporting slogans like, "God's grace under the sea" (what does that even mean?) with 15+ youth stuffed on there singing 90's praise and worship songs, the France School of Dance doing the exact same parade dance they've done for 20+ years, an entirely green pony who walked by to murmurs of "animal cruelty" and "who would do that?", a miniscule group of Shriner's sans the paraplegic doll with a crutch usually propped on one of their rooftops, and about 100 mini ponies pooping all over the place. It was really hard to narrow down my top 3 crazy sightings but it seems to have come down to these winners:
And with that, my beautiful parade was over. From there we grabbed lunch, held some more beautiful babies (Dallas is definitely riding a baby boom of late) and it was homeward for some backyard tanning - the kind where you don't want your dad to come out in the yard, if you know what I mean. Naturally the ONE TIME I do this is the ONE WEEKEND they're giving helicopter tours over our farm. Sweeeeeeeeet. The helo started out flying over the far edge of our property and then steadily progressed to directly over my yard. Coincidence? I think not. You're welcome people of Dallas with $30 to spare and an eye for the divine. That evening the dogs and I played, harassed the chickens and mom and I resurrected our biker gang Hellz Angelzzzzz and thugged it up around town on 2 wheels. We ultimately ended up crashing my uncle's 30 year reunion at the bar. I could have sat there and people watched all day but I was slightly underdressed and the promise of s'mores at home was calling my name. Around the firepit we tried to roast flat s'more mallows (dumbest invention ever) with sticks that were WAY too short. Luckily Robb Barnes is a MacGyver of sorts and duct taped a roaster to a long stick and we were good to go. That's until I got called "disrespectful" for trying to shove a dirty marshmallow down my germophobic mother's throat and the party prompty ended. Somebody needs to learn how to have a good time...