A few weeks back it was Mrs. D-Zo Christmas.
Friends of ours wanted to meet The Bean and since they have a 9-month old, we needed to meet during the day before both of our children grew horns and hooves and turned into night demons from the underworld.
You guys are never going to guess where they suggested we meet up.
The Ice Cream Festival!!!
Of ice cream!!!!
Since I'm never one to build expectations so high in my head that they could never possibly be met, I immediately started dreaming about all the ice cream deliciousness I'd encounter. Red velvet ice cream is the new hotness, and naturally I'm going to want to sample some good ol' perfectly executed chocolate, and maybe, because you need to be adventurous at these things, I'll get myself a tiny scoop of some bacon-infused something or other and wash it down with peanut butter ice cream because it turns out bacon ice cream is nasty. It was going to be a most excellent outing.
Day of, we arrive at the park. The Bean is strapped in. I've eaten a piece of celery all day and am totally prepared to get my ice cream on.
When we couldn't immediately find which part of the park the festival was taking place in, I should have suspected something. But it's a pretty big park so we walked around.
A loud noise a few hundred yards from where we were caught my attention.
We turned a bend and there in its glory was the ice cream festival!
Although...I wouldn't really call it a festival. A festival brings to mind row after row of vendor booths, weird artsy things, live musicians, port-o-potties and some stoners.
Leading the path to "the lane of 6 booths" festival, was an ice cream truck. You know, the guy who sells Bomb Pops, Choco Tacos and Sno Cones. And from what I could tell, his line was the longest.
But I stay optimistic, determined to have an orgasmic ice cream experience. We decide to make a lap up and down ice cream alley.
Our recon, did not provide the glimmer of hope I was seeking.
At the opposite end from the ice cream truck was the "live music." A DJ who was blaring into his microphone asking the audience "DO YOU LIKE TO WEAR JEANS?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!!! DO YOU LIKE TO WEAR JEANS?????"
And then, amazingly, a rap song about wearing jeans came across the loud system.
We passed 6 or 7 booths. 4 of these booths were selling things OTHER than ice cream. Cup cakes, funnel cake, hot dogs.
I was beginning to think we were at the crap food festival.
2...TWO booths had ice cream. The lines, as you might imagine, wrapped around the park. But I was getting ice cream dammit.
I'm so cute when I'm delusional.
We hear the murmurs about 5 minutes after we get in line. "They're out of ice cream."
You can wait for my shocked face. Wait for it...
It now made sense why the ice cream man was making out like a bandit. I was tempted to run to the grocery store, pick up some Ben & Jerry's and make a killing charging $4 a cup.
We left with Michael having not sampled anything and I had a tasting of some strawberry/lemon sorbet. While delicious - is in no way, shape or form ice cream.
Am I wrong in thinking that the first rule of the ice cream festival is have some mother f*cking ice cream???
We headed straight to our local ice cream shop, because once ice cream is emblazoned on my neurons, we better be getting some damn ice cream.
I get a feather up my ass about ordering a coffee milkshake. See note above about setting realistic expectations. It's all I can think about. Remembering how much I love coffee milkshakes. I haven't had one in YEARS. Life is about to be awesome again.
Everyone from the failed ice cream festival had the same idea we did. More lines. Yea. But this place is equipped with ice cream; a novel business plan for sure. And I order my coffee milkshake.
I really should've just ordered a chocolate sundae and drowned that shit in fudge, peanuts and whipped cream.
Moral of the story: While hard to believe, ice cream can indeed be the cause of great disappointment.