You call it the NY State Fair.

I call it “Where’s the fried dough?”, oh and “We need maple sugar candy!”

Going to the fair this year was a truly eye-opening experience. My memories of what going to the fair was like as a little kid and what it is like for me now are so different that it’s barely the same place when comparing the two.

My memories of the fair as a kid are of Maple sugar candy (because that was the only place you could get it that I knew of), the gravitron and that ride with the swings that goes up and down so you feel like you are flying.

My memories of the fair as a teen are of eating a caramel apple and having my worst case of “itchy mouth” due to something on the apple in my entire life. It was awful. But I also remember the zipper, which my friend Johanna made me go on and I had such a fun time we went on it two more times. (Which probably cost $20) Also, I do not remember being there when the sun was up.

And now my memories of the fair will be a sort of general meh feeling and balking at how much everything costs. But I got my fried dough dammit, and eating that stuff reminded me of the good fair, the fair that I went to with Mom and my brothers and sisters. The awesome fair where there were rides and all sorts of fun stuff ot eat and look at.

I will also remember this picture, me and my boy at the fair sniff sniff :)

Don got me this car-antenna-pom-pom from Disney... I think it's great!

My mother used to threaten me by saying, “I hope, when you grow up, you have a child just like you!” Maybe all parents say that to their offspring… but I’m starting to dread those words like a gypsy curse. Judging by what my Mother-In-Law has said about Mike, and how I know I acted as a youngster, this little boy is going to give us a run for our money!! I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Clearly, I don’t have a choice. :)

I don’t think it gets much cuter than this. Notice the nice shiner on my left eye. Some things never change.

Fast forward a few years… In this picture I am sporting a savage tan and probably the WORST haircut ever. That’s what happens when the mullet grows out. Educational posters will be sent to all pubic schools featuring my mug and the caption: “Don’t let this happen to you. AVOID THE MULLET!”

Mooooommm, Pleeeeeaaaaasse can I have the pink stonewash zipper dress!?!? Without pictures like these, there would be no photographic proof of the terrible fashion crimes committed during 80s.

This photo was taken moments before my 13th birthday party — the one in which Jeanneatte Hartman did a rousing interpretive dance to Debbie Gibson’s “Electric Youth” on my living room floor. Is it me, or does it look like something threw up all over my pants? And I’m surprised I still have feet what with the blood flow being constricted so much by those tight rolled pant cuffs tucked in my tube socks.

Valerie Smith and I on our way to a Bar Mitzvah or something. Working the symmetry between my hair and balloon dress.

I started with the tude quite young. Either that or I’m “making a gift.”

I love this picture! The first and last time I EVER smoked. Apparently, my father thought it might be funny. Note the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. At my old job, I actually replaced my badge photograph with this one.

Grandma and I on our birthday. Karen’s noisemaker is way more interesting than taking a picture with Grammy. And check out that GIANT bowl of baked beans! Those were the good ol’ days.

Grandma and Grandpa took me to some carnival in the dead of winter or something because all of the pictures of that day, I’m bundled up like Nanook. I totally had the hots for the carnie boy. Wonder what he’s up to now?

Whoa there, am I sexy or what? Chubby belly squeezed into a tube top, vertical stripes playing off horizontal stripes, and those shorts couldn’t have been hiked up any higher. Also, nice freakin’ mullet!