Good evening, beautiful Star Children. Today, I went to the first annual ‘Ren in the Glen’, a new Renaissance fair that opened nearby. I haven’t told you guys that I’m in that crowd, but I am.
I have personal relations with a pack of Border Morris Dancers and a band of Belly Dancing Gypsies. I know, my life is mega exotic, and we all love it.
It’s really a fun scene, lots of people dressed up (me included), music, shows, fire-dancers, Flame-throwers, giant bubbles, laughter, dancing, food, ale, and ridiculous accents that just put you in a killer mood (in a good way, not a Freddie Vs. Jason way).
It’s where scantily dressed women dance not on a pole, people openly discuss their sexuality and preferred sexual positions, people young and old hit on you in old english, and you are allowed to burst into raucous song, with the only reaction being people joining you. In one word: Beautiful.
Another beautiful highlight was the shirtless (and abbed) band of tumblers. Please sir, can I have some more? There’s one named Gary, and he is gorgeous (and, sadly, thirty). We became friends, and it was good.
There was a drunken man dressed as Jack Sparrow. He was attractive, because he dressed well. Also, because he was method actor, and he was incredibly drunk (on rum, of course). He asked me to be older so that he could shamelessly hit on me.
Then, there was the candy man. He was old and had a beard. He told me he needed a third wife and winked at me. He then offered me a seven week job in Cinncinati, selling candy and fudge at this huge re-enactment festival thing. If he hadn’t been so old and weird, I totally would have said yes. The offer was ten an hour and all you can eat candy, thirteen hours a day, paid one hour break to eat and wander the festival, and all expenses paid. Sweet deal, right?
Anyway, I’ll be heading back tomorrow to get some more awesome stories to tell. For now, revel in the fact that my life sometimes hits amazing status and that you are slightly jealous.