How (not) To Dress Minnesotan

I don't know if you've heard, but I've been hearing something about it exactly every 37 seconds... the Superbowl is in Minneapolis this year, and it's this Sunday. I happen to live near Minneapolis, and have lived in various places near Minneapolis for my entire four+several decades (well, except for those first few months where I lived somewhere else, but that's another story).

Over the past few weeks, I've been subjected to more articles/news stories in regards to:

• what Minnesotans do (no, we don't all go ice fishing every weekend)
• what winter pastimes Minnesotans love to participate in (no, we don't all skate or ski)
• what Minnesotans eat (Lutefisk what?)
• where Minnesotans dine (we're not all trust fund families, so Burch Steak and Butcher & The Boar, though great, are not on the regular rotation)
• what Minnesotans drink (which includes a lot of things besides craft brew)
• how Minnesotans survive basically being frozen to death for 14 months of the year

Oh how I love hearing about how hardy we are to live in this arctic climate! One would think that instead of bike lanes, we should've installed sidewalks built specifically for snowshoes and a commuter lane designed solely for snowmobilers. Instead of the war over backyard chickens, it's a battle to see who can own the most penguins.

To the out-of-towner who has never been to Minnesota and only hears about how cold and awful it is and how people sprout icicles made out of snot, it's hard to believe that it actually gets hot in the summer (and yes, it lasts longer than a month), people get to wear something besides fleece and "strategic layering" becomes a distant memory.

It's at the end of these warm months and before our kids go back to school that something happens in Minnesota that I have yet to see mentioned in any Superbowl visitor Guides: The Minnesota State Fair. It's during these twelve days of gluttony and animal barns and Vitamix demonstrations that the most entertaining lesson is learned: what some Minnesotans actually wear in public, on purpose.

It would be interesting to see what this guy wears on a non-State Fair day. I like to think that he chose this outfit so that he would be easy to spy in crowds. If only his socks had been orange and green, too.

Just like in every single other state I've been to, Minnesotans struggle with parking between the lines, too.

They might as well add "useful for hauling cheap ass styrofoam filled carnival prizes" to the reasons why one would rent a wheelchair.

In addition to a lot of eating, the State Fair involves a lot of walking. This fella was extra prepared with the KT Tape strategically applied to his super jacked, milky white calves.

About all of that open toe footwear you see, though. Keep in mind that the State Fair streets, while not strewn with human feces and mountains of trash, are strewn with traces of animal feces, discarded food and more spit than an entire baseball team produces in a season. So while sandals and flip flops look great, it's going to suck when these people can't wear them next year because I assume that, when they got home from this fair, they looked and sniffed at the condition of their feet, and just chopped those suckers right off.

I wasn't sure if this was a man or a merman. Or maybe it's a mermaid. Again, not sure.

When I heard some clomping approaching from behind me, I stepped aside, preparing to pet the nice horsey. I was disappointed, and then thought "yeah, shoelaces can be SUCH a pain in the ass. All that tying!"

So I guess if you don't want to mess with tying your shoes and can't stand the thought of scumming up those flip flops or sandals, just say fuck it and go barefoot.

Not 100% convinced that what you're seeing here is a real Gucci bag, and also not sure if what you're seeing is shoes or electric tape, slapped on to resemble shoes.

And here we have the most hydrated man on the Fair grounds, along with someone walking while looking at their phone, which makes me rage.

Shirts, even though they seem so constraining and frivolous, are not to be considered an optional accessory. Pleather backpack, though? Absofuckenlutely necessary.

Yes, jorts are still a thing. Jorts in a variety of lengths, apparently not a thing.

I guess one way to solve the "but I don't want to stain any of my favorite outfits" dilemma is to just go to the Fair in your favorite slutty pajamas.

If the horizontal stripes aren't slimming and the vertical stripes are, let's just go with the diagonals.

I don't know what is on her back, and I really think it's best to leave it that way.

So this guy went through the trouble of picking out a shirt, but he couldn't be bothered to actually put the shirt on. Again, people, wearing a shirt is NOT OPTIONAL.

But apparently pants are.

And here, standing in line in front of one of the Gibb brothers, is someone staring at their phone and as a result, is stricken with paralysis and unable to navigate a beer line.

Wearing white pants to the State Fair is strongly discouraged, even if they do make your ass look great. Shoes that fit... also a bonus.

Sometimes while at the Fair, you spill your food/beer/snowcone, and it's only the truly prepared fairgoer that remembers to bring his own towel.

This 19yo dude won the award for Most Convincing Old Man Outfit.

You'd think that "pleather skirt that leaves dents in my skin" wouldn't make the list for State Fair wardrobe choices, but you would be wrong.

Hey check it out! Some bras have translucent straps but this one is better! The entire thing is translucent! And you don't even need to wear a shirt with it because it's invisible, so therefore it must make me invisible!

This booth right here, Sweet Martha's Cookies, is the main reason why so many people wander these overpopulated streets. They happily fork over $18 for a bucket that is overflowing with chocolate chip cookies, stand around and eat themselves into a calorie coma, and then carry that damn bucket around with them for the rest of the day.

Oh, and the booth NEVER looks like this, as it's usually MOBBED with people standing in lines ten fairgoers long. So if you ever see it like this at any point during the twelve days that the Fair is actually running, go buy a lottery ticket.

And about that ice fishing pastime that not all of us (including me) participate in, there are icefish house models at the State Fair because, I mean, why wouldn't there be!?

So if I WAS to go ice fishing and I had $16K, this is what I would gladly use. Yes, this is an icehouse and yes, that's a fireplace and yes, of course there's a bathroom.

This picture sums up the State Fair better than anything. Perfectly civilized and most likely highly educated people, voluntarily sitting on grit coated streets, shoving gobs of fatty foots into their mouths using hands that probably haven't been washed.

It's the best. And I look forward to it every single year.

One last word of wisdom; if you do happen to be in Minnesota for the State Fair and not the Superbowl, use your stealthiest skills to smuggle in a flask of vodka. Towards the end of the day, when your feet are tired and your entire body feels like it's coated with a questionable film, wander over to the Blue Barn, buy a blueberry lemonade and dump the contents of that flask into said lemonade. Now, take a giant gulp, and then say thank you, Mean Mom.

And then go home and wash your feet.

The Time That A Cake Made Me Have To Miss Day Drinking

Whenever I'm at a party and someone says "Would you like a piece of cake?" and I say "No, I don't like cake," they inevitably stare at me in disbelief. Like, "How can you not like cake? And frosting! What about the frosting!?" Well, to me, cake is an overrated hunk of wasted calories. The texture is weird, the flavor is usually overwhelming, it makes a mess when you cut it (cleaning cake crumbs off of a counter is THE WORST!) and seriously, don't even get me started on the grossness of frosting, especially when that cheap ass green and blue Costco frosting stains someone's teeth.

The one exception that I make maybe once a year is carrot cake. But it has to be a perfectly prepared carrot cake, which means no nuts, no raisins, no chunks, no excessive oiliness, and the cream cheese frosting better not be thicker than a piece of foam core.

My husband's birthday occurred this week, and we have been celebrating in stages for the last few days; dinner out one night, grilled steak and cake on another, party and gifts on yet another. It's like he's an eight year old again. Anyway, I purchased a carrot cake at a shiny new HyVee that recently opened near our house, and as a result, have spent the last two days, let's see... how can I put this in proper medical terms... oh I know... pissing out my asshole while wincing in extreme abdominal pain.

Once I realized that I had purchased what was obviously a frosting coated cylinder of death, but before the odorous post-cake repercussions had set in, I tweeted at HyVee:




And they actually replied:










Of course, HyVee! That sounds like the PERFECT solution to my problem! Let's try ANOTHER terrible carrot cake, just to see if maybe I happened to purchase the one dud! And besides, this scenario is highly improbable, since I'm pretty sure that every single one of their carrot cakes contains raisins and nuts, which is basically like saying "Here, have this cake filled with poison and rocks and little nuggets of chewy rabbit shit."

After managing to stay out of the bathroom for five consecutive hours and sleeping off and on for about eleven, I decided that I would, in fact, contact customercare@hy-vee.com:


To: customercare@hy-vee.com
Subject: Worst. Cake. Ever.
Hi there.

I am contacting you per the instructions I received via twitter, after mentioning an awful cake that I purchased at HyVee. Please excuse the delay, as I am just now finally feeling well enough to sit at my computer.

I purchased a carrot cake at the HyVee located at 9409 Zane Ave. N. in Brooklyn Park, Minnesota on Friday, January 26th. The cake was $19.99 and was labeled “best if used by February 3.” Since I was planning on serving this cake on Monday, January 30, I assumed it would be edible. I brought it home, put it in the refrigerator for the weekend, and then pulled it out on Monday.

The cake looked amazing. It really did. It almost looked fake, it looked so amazing. The multiple layers of carrot cake, with perfectly placed blobs of frosting separating each layer… it reminded me of a cake that was prepared solely for picture taking purposes, all carefully crafted and coated with inedible lacquer. Well, guess what? That’s exactly how it tasted. It was like it had been dried out to match the same texture and taste of a kitchen sponge that had been used to mop up raw chicken juices for three weeks straight. And although no where in the description does it mention the inclusion of raisins and nuts, IT HAS RAISINS AND NUTS! I guess I should’ve flipped the box upside down and squinted at the 1pt font ingredient list, because then I would’ve noticed that the cake contains raisins and nuts, which are basically the surest way to ruin anything.

After sawing through the cake, serving up a couple slices to my kids and skeptically taking a bite myself, I instantly knew within the first half a bite that it was wrong on every level. It didn’t taste like cake. It didn’t even taste like food. It tasted like something that you’d buy for someone that you hated. It wasn’t sweet, it wasn’t soft, it tasted like sadness. I took the plates from my kids and chucked them - plus the entire cake - into the trash, hoping that the bite still wreaking havoc on my taste buds wasn’t going to have negative repercussions.

Well, even though I hoped, I realized on Tuesday at 5am that it wasn’t going to be a good day. Sharp stomach pains, several trips to the bathroom, filmy sweats and fatigue plagued me all day yesterday, and continues into today.  Coincidentally, yesterday was a birthday party that had been scheduled for my husband (yes, this carrot cake was supposed to be his birthday cake). It was so much fun to attend and sit there, sipping ginger ale, while everyone else bowled and played ping pong and ate chips and guacamole! I had a great time sitting there, when I wasn't sprinting to the bathroom every 14 minutes! Thanks, HyVee carrot cake!

In addition to the inedibility and obvious spoilage of the cake, my daughter, before I chucked the sucker into the trash, looked at the top of the cake and - with her amazing contact lens assisted vision - said “Oh look, there are black hairs on the cake! Gross!” Sure enough, I looked and there were three short, wirey, frizzled looking hairs clinging to the blobs of cream cheese frosting, nestled right next to a few carrot shavings. No, I am not making this up. HyVee sold me a rotten hairy carrot cake.

So while I am obviously irritated about the money I wasted on a cake, I am actually more irritated about the fact that I got sick and basically missed my husband’s $900+ birthday party, and the most irritated that, after years with zero disappointment, I strayed from Lunds & Byerlys bakery.

Sincerely,

the Mean Mom

Was I pissed about the wasted $19.99? Yes. Was I pissed about the excessive shitting? Yes. Was I happy about the immediate loss of water weight? FUCK YES. But most of all, was I pissed about having to miss day drinking with an open bar?! OH MY GOD I'M PRETTY SURE THAT'S THE WORST SCENARIO ANYONE COULD EVER HAVE TO SUFFER THROUGH!

To my surprise, Hy-Vee replied with the following:



Yes, that's exactly right, HyVee. I was disappointed with the quality. I just used a lot of extra words to express those feelings.

Later that afternoon, the nice manager man from the Hy-Vee that sold me the Worst Cake Ever contacted me via a phone call and wondered if I'd be home for a little while. I'm like "Uh, yeah, since I still have to be near a bathroom." About a half hour later, he appeared at my front door with a bottle of wine, a giant vase of flowers and a very generous gift card. He apologized profusely, I forgave him, and then I said "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to use the bathroom."

Lesson learned: if you end up pissing out of your asshole after eating something funky, email customercare@hy-vee.com.

Yes, some people suck

THE MEAN MOM'S

GUIDE FOR

HOW TO NOT SUCK AT BEING A PERSON

1. Don't text and drive.
2. Don't eat bacon cheeseburgers or gyros while driving.
3. Don't apply makeup while driving.
4. Use your turn signals to indicate shit, like turning and switching lanes. And then turn that shit off.
5. Try to reach a speed of at least 55mph by the time you're at the end of the entrance ramp.
6. Learn how to zipper merge.
7. Don't start sentences with "I don't mean to sound racist, but..."
8. If you see something that would make someone happy, buy it. Unless that thing is a Maserati or a puppy.
9. If you see garbage on the ground in a public place, pick that shit up.
10. Give a homeless guy something to eat, and a hug
11. Hold the door open for the person behind you. And I don't mean the "walk through, stick your arm backwards and lean awkwardly to hold it open" version of holding it open. I mean open the door, step back, let the person walk through, and then follow them. But not in a creepy way.
12. Don't cut lines.
13. By the time you get to a cashier, you better be off of your phone.
14. Don't let your dog shit in your neighbor's yard, no matter how annoying the neighbor is.
15. If you miss your turn while driving, please just continue on and find a place to turn around. Don't slow down to 3mph or, even worse, throw it in reverse.
16. Learn how to sneeze and cough into your elbow.
17. Don't make excuses for a kid's shitty behavior.
18. Don't email teachers if your kid is displeased about a grade.
19. Don't fish for compliments. If you're thin and/or pretty, you already know it, so stop calling yourself fat and dogfaced.
20. Buy a kid a bag of Skittles.
21. If you see someone wipe out - as long as there isn't blood involved - it's okay to laugh. But then HELP THEM UP!
22. Have a sense of humor
23. Don't wince every time someone says "fuck"
24. Wash your coat once in a while because chances are, it smells like food
25. Don't walk diagonally through giant crosswalks.
26. Take all holiday decor down in a timely fashion.
27. Stop being passive aggressive.
28. If you volunteer or do something great for someone, just do it and then shut the fuck up. Doing it so that you can get claps via posting LOOK AT ME BEING AMAZING on Facebook or whatever is shitty.
29. Don't be racist.
30. Don't be homophobic.

I need to unsee that, but let me take a picture first

Due to the fact that my kids are now older and several of their friends know that this blog exists, I have done them a favor and taken a break from ripping on them in long form. They know when they screw up and they know when I'm furious (because they know how to interpret my angry eyes and flailing arms), so dragging our disagreement on for days just so I can write about it in a way that makes me look very super right and them look like fools, while satisfying, is probably unnecessary. Every parent I know could write (or at least talk) about the five thousand ways in which their kids piss them off, and all those kids know that they're pissing off their parents. Well, except for those parents that are convinced that their children are sent straight from the heavens, destined for a life of perfection, never committing a wrongdoing or uttering a bad word, NEVER throwing a tantrum or a fistful of sand, ALWAYS shitting nothing but organic goodness and FOR SURE going to be a genius that solves all of the world's problems. I, personally, love those parents, because they give me something to laugh at and write about. Just like all those people that go to the Minnesota State Fair.

What I have realized over the last couple weeks is that there are a large number of people that eagerly wait for me to go to the State Fair, just so I can take pictures and share them. And while I know there is probably a larger number of people that are wishing me straight to hell and think that I'm the Worst Human Alive for taking these pictures and sharing them, I really don't care and, well... those people are probably pictured below:

Behold, the 2015 Minnesota State Fair:

I'm pretty sure that this girl is probably on Diflucan,
and has a tube of Monistat in her purse.

Just a thought, but if you're over the age of 6 and closer to the age of 56,
maybe say no to the pigtails.

This dude really likes his popcorn.
And so does the dude on the bench behind him.

Not even sure if there's anything in this picture
that's more distracting than the bedazzled fannypack.

I've always wondered what it would be like to fan myself
with Sid Hartman's face.

I saw pickle hats, pig hats, Sun Country airplane hats...
and exactly one newspaper hat.

The very best place to sit at the fair.
A bar, a breeze, some misters, and a view of people like...

This guy.

Here is, in my opinion, the classiest looking girl at The Fair,
even if she is LOUDLY bitching at her husband.

I offered, they declined. Must have been the beer in my hand,
or possibly the flask in my purse.

Next time, just wear the underwear on the outside of your skirt.
Also, it was 88 degrees, which means that poly must've felt AMAZING!

One of the kajillion pairs of black socks that I saw.

And of course that's a pair of shoes and stinky socks
on the ground next to me...
that someone took off of their sweaty feet...
because apparently you're allowed to do that shit when you're at The Fair.

Is it back sweat, or a Rorschach test?

It's a good thing he wore the flesh toned underwear because otherwise
he'd look as foolish as the dude in the plaid boxers next to him.

Oh, so people actually do wear those free XXXL Metro Transit t-shirts!

I guarantee that this dude, at some point during his day,
lost his shorts.

They were all out of strollers, and wagons, and wheelchairs, and walking skills.

WHAT AM I GOING TO WEAR TO THE FAIR?
Oh, here's a doily and a Fruit of the Loom bra. Never mind.

Hard to believe that in this case, a picture from the front would
be even worse.

It really does not matter how hot and humid it is,
shirts are NEVER optional.

This dude followed his How To Go To The State Fair checklist very thoroughly:
fanny pack, umbrella, I-don't-give-a-fuck outfit...

Yes, she's pretty damn fit.
No, that doesn't mean she should have half her ass and a whole vagina hanging out.

I repeat, a picture from the front would be even worse.

What does this even mean? Did he ride his Harley to Cancun?
Do they sell Harley's in Cancun? Does he love Harleys AND Cancun?
Are they shorts or capris?

I really need to create a new State Fair Scavenger Hunt, and add
1. Wife beater family, and

2. Dictionary definition of Fair Family.
The pink crocs would have earned me bonus points.

Instead of the Fingertip Rule that schools are using, maybe they should
change it to "if your shorts are smaller than your purse,
and there is visible belly loppage, burn those shorts."

Also, note to dude with the moose knuckle on the bench: you also need bigger shorts.

For sure when it's almost 90 degrees outside,
skin tight jeggings should be the go-to wardrobe staple

For sure if I had a hat that looks sort of like a condom, that shit would
be worn front and center. 

Game of the day: figure out what is in his bag,
and what that stuffed thing is on his belly.

They came straight from the dentist.

Caption courtesy of someone else that will remain anonymous:
"Oh look, he has a hemorrhoid to sit on."

If your shorts look more like denim underwear than shorts and
cut off all circulation, PLEASE DON'T WEAR THEM IN PUBLIC!

Yes, those are pajama shorts.
And I'm pretty sure that's "War and Peace" on her back.

You've got a lot more, goin' for you at Hank.
Hardware Hank. 

You, just like thousands of other sweaty people, can
lay down here, put your head on a pillow and find your sleep number.

It's almost like playing Where's Waldo

1. Leggings aren't pants.
2. A pillowcase isn't a shirt.
3. A bra isn't optional.
4. The shelf bra doesn't count.

When putting on both straps and wearing a shirt
is obviously too much work and it's so much easier to just
be all HERE ARE MY BOOBS!

And again, HERE ARE MY BOOBS!

So, what is that pink doohickey hanging off of
her shoulder bag strap anyway? Is it a Barbie walkie talkie?

honestly. speechless.
Like, these leggings aren't pants! In fact, I'm not even wearing any skin!

Wearing this coat in almost 90 degrees really demonstrates
this guy's commitment to camo.

After coming in from chores and wrangling, Dawson was
so hot that he physically ripped the sleeves off of his shirt...
before going to the State Fair for cookies.

I knew it wasn't just the Asian girls using these parasols.

I REPEAT... be grateful that this picture wasn't taken from the front.

Just think, some lucky kid is now the proud owner of a purple gorilla that has
been thoroughly coated in ass sweat and State Fair road scum.

It's 88 degrees, and this is America, so let's for sure let the boy wear shorts and a short sleeve shirt
and make the girl cover every square inch of her body.

Yes, this actually happened and yes, that's a swim diaper and
yes, I'm still traumatized. 

You wear your blue tiedye shirt and jorts and I'll wear my blue tiedye shirt and jorts and...
oh yeah here's a grey backpack so you can carry all our shit.

Permawedgie

I cannot be the only one thinking "There's Something About Mary."

He's Powered by Stihl. And Pronto Pups.

The cool thing is that those little fringy things were dragged right
through that awesome looking "spill."

You guys! I found them! I FOUND THE BABY JESUS'S!
In an assortment of sizes!

There was, like, a 10% chance of rain, so RAIN BOOTS IT IS!

This lady really likes purple.

Holly Hobby is here! YOU GUYS! HOLLY HOBBY!

Meh... a shirt is overrated. Let's go with the bra.

Meh... a shirt is overrated. Let's go with the tube top.

So many cankles.

This cow was soooo pregnant and yes, she's giving me a
"ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?" look.

What is actually happening I'm so confused and I'm obviously hallucinating.

A really great way to see The Fair

It isn't even so much the outfit as it is the fact that those bibs
are way too long and oh my god just THINK of the shit that
got mashed into the bottoms. 

Because taking a picture of a group of people trying to take a group picture
using a selfie stick proves that people should just go back to
asking someone passing by if they'll take their picture.

I will be honest and admit that every year when I go to The Fair, I consider NOT taking these pictures and just letting people go by without my hypercritical eye gazing at them in shock, especially since Zoe is getting older and maybe it's not setting such a great example. But then, after I took the picture of the dude with the sleeping bag-size bag of popcorn and she said "You HAVE to send me that picture. That was HILARIOUS! Who buys that much popcorn?", I looked into her sweet little face and realized that I didn't have to necessarily take the pictures when she was around... the pictures could wait until I went BACK to The Fair with my husband or my just-as-hypercritical best friend. So instead of worrying about getting a picture of everything that walked by me, I instead enjoyed a few hours with my daughter, committing some of her State Fair quotes to memory...

"That bathroom was absolutely disgusting. I think my hands are actually dirtier."

"Something smells really horrible. And I think it's a person."

"Overhearing other conversations is actually hilarious, but they're all about food!"

"That guy back there bumped into my arm with his arm, and it was the stickiest, grossest thing that has ever touched me."

"Those aren't shorts. There's no way that those are shorts."

"Hey there's lemonade. And beer right next to it! Super convenient!"

"Those girls aren't going to be able to wear those outfits to school."

"What is that on the ground? Wait, never mind. I don't want to know."

"Ohhhhh... that's a boy horse."

"So yeah... we can go home now."