Krazy Dayz

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...

the squirrel

as i was busy frolicking around the emerald city with my sweet marmee this weekend, robb barnes was busy doing man things in central oregon. why do i call my dad robb barnes? because he is a wild west legend - half man, half tall tale. he's like all the best parts of paul bunyan, davy crockett (the man, not the lady dog), pecos bill, johnny appleseed and john henry. robb barnes is a guy you want in your corner. and also apparently in your cabin when you discover a squirrel infestation.

this is the basic gist of my phone conversation with robb barnes last night. some details are a bit wonky but the general idea is intact - my dad killed a squirrel with a 2 x 4, string and 150 lb. rock.

dad was helping our family friend add a wall to their cabin in central oregon. at some point in the weekend it was discovered that a critter had munched all the vent coverings. later on, the culprit could be heard rummaging around in the roof and was soon spotted near the eaves by its rooftop entrance.

my first question at this point was, "where was your gun?" at any given time, robb barnes could be packing 2-5 firearms/weapons on his person (boot, fanny pack, shoulder holster, belt, etc.) this would place him squarely in the dwight schrute category of weird - minus the nunchucks, bowstaff and beet affinity. unfortunately the only .22 on the premises had no ammo. i can imagine robb barnes' frustration but also his elation at having to mcgyver a solution to the squirrel problem.

now...where were we? yes, squirrel. spotted. robb barnes takes a 3 foot long 2 x 4 and rams it into the squirrel, temporarily rendering him stunned and barely conscious yet unreachable in the eaves. thinking quickly on his feet, robb barnes then creates a lasso out of twine and LASSOES THE SQUIRREL. i kid you not.

my second questions, "so, you now have a squirrel on a string?" robb barnes: YES

why a string you ask? according to robb barnes, "because sometimes critters have diseases so i didn't want to touch him" um, try ALL THE TIME robb. now his trusty sidekick david digs a tiny pit in the ground and robb flings the NOT YET DEAD squirrel in and rolls a "150 pound lava rock" over it's shallow, earthen grave.

i can't emphasize enough that this is a TRUE STORY. after hearing this tale, i'm suprised i still had speech capabilities. before this story, i would have told people i was a small town country girl. now i'm forced to freely admit that i also seem to hail from hick territory as well where "our shirts are white, our jeans are blue and our necks are RED"

the fourth

puh-raise the Lord for friends who take pity on you and let you bandwagon their 4th of july festivities. enter: aaron jones - who invited myself and other pretty people to his aunt and uncle's gorgeous home on mercer island. his lovely family not only let me parade around in a freedom-kini but allowed my little black child to frolic around the property and even managed to convince me that the girl cousin with two black eyes was actually a gold medal cage fighter. unaccustomed to being openly lied to by someone i just met, i fell for it hook line and sinker. only after repeating the story to my freshly-met soul sister, noelle, did i realize how ludicrous it sounded and realize the error of my ways. i digress.

it was the perfect day - open water, red/white/blue in abundance, good friends, nitrogen-riddled meat in a bun and my dog sporting a sexy american kerchief. i got to satiate my need for speed on a jet ski with kramer, aaron and andria. big ups to kramer for teaching me how to sail over yacht wakes and making my legs feel like tonya harding just took a pipe to them. now, two days later, i'm still walking like the tin man. L-7 weenie right hurr. all in all, it was my 2nd best weekend of the year (i honestly do keep track of these things) and i was the happiest i've been in a long time. like, shit-eating-grin-plastered-on-my-face happy. like constantly screaming in kramer's ear while jet skiing, "I'M SO HAPPY RIGHT NOWWWWW!!!" happy. life just doesn't get much better than this...

trusty steeds

my cute friends at the dockside fireworks show

sunset on lake washington

candidate for my future home

most favorite thing in the world: fireworksssss

davy bean sleeping through the fireworks with uncle kramer

completely unrelated to my fourth of july, but hysterical nonetheless...dad put mom to work on america's birthday mowing fields. thank God the man learned how to send picture messages because he sends me the occasional show stopper that just kills me.