My Annual Affair with the Fair

     Towards the end of winter, the fair has finally made its way around the United States to stop, once again, in Orlando, Florida.
     Attending the fair the night of its arrival has become a loosely defined family tradition. My dad, my dad’s girlfriend Lisa, my younger brother Kirk, and I have gone every year since we’ve lived in Orlando with Lisa.

     We’ve had a few good times at the fair, though Kirk has been too scared for most rides until recently, and Lisa usually conducted us to the beat of a private schedule dwelling in her head. From a combination of the aforementioned and other irritations, frustration quickly grew, over the lack of spontaneity, and the overabundance of control.
     After the first year of true colors flying around our house, I found it pointless to even go as the resentments rose to higher peaks. It was a waste of time to argue with each other, and an equal waste of time getting angry over a reason that wouldn’t exist if I stayed home. Unfortunately though, it’s often easier to go along with things than to try and oppose them.
     Luckily, I found daydreaming to be entertainingly distracting enough to satisfy me.

     The fair has always seemed so romantic, not because of the stuffed teddy bears your boyfriends are supposed to win, or the fantastic kiss you’re supposed to receive while stuck at the top of the ferris wheel. My concept of romanticism actually dispels love and relationships—respectively or combined—for its main definition.

     Romanticism can be absent from love and any field it battles on. A personal romance can exist, romanticism is simply feeling positively alive without a single doubt that we’re only existing.
     I crave the rush of the rides flipping and yanking me every which way, tricking me into thinking I’m going to be launched into the unknowns of space. The fair arouses me to this plane of living, and, when metaphorically applied, this describes the ultimate romance between two human beings as a development of love.

     The difference between love and romance is easily confused because of the magnitude of definitions. Allow me to clarify what applies to my perception: love can lack passion, love can be dry and dull. Love can exist based on supposed obligations. However, when do we ever romance someone out of obligation? Never! Romancing someone; the seduction of a loosely defined love, a strongly defined lust. Of any and all things that invent a person; romanticism.
     For me, it’s living instead of existing.

-~-

 

My friend Alanah went with us this year. Her nickname has been Allama for years, and finally, after much waiting and anticipation, she has met her match, haha.

We ate a lot that night, this was the first thing I indulged in.

Waiting for Alanah's favorite ride to start, the one that spins around in a weird off balance circle and plans extremely outdated rap music.

  Omnomnom, corn. I had some too.

 I was so excited about that cotton candy because I had never had it the traditional way, on a paper cone.

 

I forced Alanah to ride this, and she cried, haha.

 Waiting for the ride (pictured above) to start. At this point Alanah told me she was getting off, but she didn't. She just proceeded to scream how much she hated me, haha.

  A puppet gave us beads.

  Their first order of business should have been realizing it's not spelled "busness."

 Piña coladas always find their way into my life.

 She thought we looked like lesbians drinking out of the same cup, but I thought it was cute.

 Until next time.