Maybe I just needed a quasi-festival to get me out of my quasi-funk.
Last night we headed down to our town's Okctofest--which was neither fest nor October themed. Under a 95 degree blanket, we walked past the kiosks of Italian Ice and Empanadas and quickly realized that we were not going to get the Brats and beer that we craved, so we all decided to walk down to a restaurant instead.
Our original table of 14 quickly doubled with other friends who completed their festival tour in 4.2 minutes, and pretty soon we had half of the outdoor restaurant in our pod.
We sat in front of a quasi-band that played their karaoke too loudly, but J. and J. got on the dance floor and quickly drew a crowd of cell phone camera paparazzi with their little toe heads bopping to "Dancing Queen." One woman asked if they were twins, then if they were brother and sister, and finally when she looked at me asked if they were adopted.
Dude, it's blond hair not a Roswell discovery. Is it that much of a stretch that I could have given birth to her? I don't think so...
Anyway, it was fun despite not having any of my fall-related cravings satiated and my maternity questioned.
Tonight we're off to a wedding after sports, and this morning the paper printed my swine flu tips because when our community faces a pandemic, it is Suburban Diva to whom the city looks to for quasi-guidance.