Hey Baby, It's The 4th Of July
Happy Fourth, y'all (I've given my distinctly suh-thun' accent a chance to seep through for just such an occasion). I suppose that means its time to finally suck it up and accept that summer is technically here, despite the fact that the weather has been decidedly forcing the issue every day for the last several weeks. I'm not a big fan of the heat, and pretty much do what I can to dodge it in its most extreme instances. Like trying to swim every day when possible, which if anything has given me some rather intricate looking tan lines due to the weirdly twisted structure of my swimsuit. But hey -- I at least look vaguely healthier than I have all year, and it's funny seeing my brown legs stopping just short of my terminally white, white-white-white booty. At least I'm not scorched. Cancer's just around the corner, sweetheart! Whee.
So after work I'm hoofing it down to my parental units for a backyard weenie roasty thing and then the subject will probably come up as to why nobody thought to drive down to North Carolina to buy some fireworks that are otherwise illegal in this state. What other use is there living so close to the NC border for us southern Virginians? Somehow my father always knew how to get the hook-up, and childhood memories were filled with neighborhood kids piling into the very same backyard shrieking and squealing as we'd hit the dirt every time one of my father's errant roman candles whizzed precariously over our heads. And I remember the weird spiny-thing which gave off ferocious sparks that he lit on the back patio that sent me, Cullen, Jeanne, Sheryl, Lara, Lisa, Mark, Ron and Gary scrambling for the wooden picnic table which collapsed under our weight on one side, making everyone slide to that side and pile heavily on top of me, being the one furthest to that edge of the table. I think after that year we started taking the firework shenanigans out to the front street, where we were instructed to sit quietly in a line and merely spectate -- making Smurf noises of appreciation in unison with every firework display ("Ooooooo... ahhhhhh!"). Not quite as exciting as Roman Candle Keep-Away, but fewer picnic tables were harmed whilst in production.
Last night at approximately 12:01 am Joe and I were startled to hear explosions already in the works in our new neighborhood. At least I assume that's what they were. In my old 'hood we'd have more than likely chalked it up to gun-play, or another dope deal gone horribly awry.
Oh, how I love my new neighbors. Toot your illegal fantoozlers all you want, my little Who's down in Whoville. Have a happy -- and safe -- Independence Day.
So after work I'm hoofing it down to my parental units for a backyard weenie roasty thing and then the subject will probably come up as to why nobody thought to drive down to North Carolina to buy some fireworks that are otherwise illegal in this state. What other use is there living so close to the NC border for us southern Virginians? Somehow my father always knew how to get the hook-up, and childhood memories were filled with neighborhood kids piling into the very same backyard shrieking and squealing as we'd hit the dirt every time one of my father's errant roman candles whizzed precariously over our heads. And I remember the weird spiny-thing which gave off ferocious sparks that he lit on the back patio that sent me, Cullen, Jeanne, Sheryl, Lara, Lisa, Mark, Ron and Gary scrambling for the wooden picnic table which collapsed under our weight on one side, making everyone slide to that side and pile heavily on top of me, being the one furthest to that edge of the table. I think after that year we started taking the firework shenanigans out to the front street, where we were instructed to sit quietly in a line and merely spectate -- making Smurf noises of appreciation in unison with every firework display ("Ooooooo... ahhhhhh!"). Not quite as exciting as Roman Candle Keep-Away, but fewer picnic tables were harmed whilst in production.
Last night at approximately 12:01 am Joe and I were startled to hear explosions already in the works in our new neighborhood. At least I assume that's what they were. In my old 'hood we'd have more than likely chalked it up to gun-play, or another dope deal gone horribly awry.
Oh, how I love my new neighbors. Toot your illegal fantoozlers all you want, my little Who's down in Whoville. Have a happy -- and safe -- Independence Day.
posted by Melissa at 8:35 AM
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