Arsonphobics+Fireworks+Tequila=Trouble

I freaking hate the 4th of July.  I don’t know if it’s because I saw a kid get a bottle rocket through the eye as a wee one or if it’s that my bionic hearing makes the damn things sound like they’re going through my eye.  Whatever the reason, I become a shit-ball of a person on our country’s grand birthday.

I’m pretty sure that’s sacrilegious since I am a bicentennial baby and all.

(That makes my current age 33.  Don’t give yourself a headache over the math.)

So what does an Independence Day Heretic do to make her life more interesting?  Marry a pyromaniac, fire-cracker head, lunatic that spawned from a herd of pyromaniac, fire-cracker heads- who treat America’s Birthday like Jesus and the Blessed Virgin’s birthday all rolled into one, of course.

When the Hubbs and I were first dating he adamantly informed me that the 4th of July took precedence over any other holiday. {GASP!  Surely not Christmas?!?!  Freaking Fireworks come before the Baby Jesus laying in a manger?!} What the shit?

Our first Independence Day together should have foretold of the joys to come.  I spent the whole night pacing around inside his parent’s kitchen trying not to pee my pants while his whole brood of family and friends yukked it up in the driveway sending a variety of explosive devices in every direction.  Occasionally I would feel the need to  prove my incendiary prowess and venture into the garage {ears stuffed full of cotton so as to muffle the explosions in my bionic eardrums} and gain my place in his crazy-ass family.  I was quickly outed as the Ebeneezer-Scrooge-meets-The Grinch of home-fireworks and furthermore voted outcast of the First Family of Independence.

Following Fourth of July’s have found me in some super special situations.  One fave had me in tears as  I nursed my baby girl’s burn wound that occurred when one of her uncles tried to throw a firecracker at her dad and didn’t notice her standing right next to him.  That was the year I learned NO ONE should wear a skirt {no matter how freaking patriotic it is} around these crazy people on the 4th.    I won’t recall all of our now nine Independence Days together, but I will tell you that Arsonphobics+Fireworks+Tequila=Trouble.  Period.

This superb 4th occurred away from the Hubb’s family, but he was determined to continue the Family Traditions.  An unfortunate set of circumstances which I don’t clearly remember and no one seems to agree on anyway + too much tequila for the crazy lady arsonphobic (that means fear of fire and that would be me) = me decking my husband in front of our children and friends and yelling things not even I could reason followed by three days of the silent treatment (from him, not me.)  Needless to say, I get a little apprehensive around this holiday.

This year I was sure to stay the hell away from Tequila.  See, I did my part!  I am growing up.

Unfortunately the Hubbs claimed he was sick and the holiday pretty much sucked ass for him.  Now that I look back on the day, I’m thinking he wasn’t truly sick, but so depressed that we had decided not to spend any money on fireworks this year that he just couldn’t function.

It was so torturous for me to watch him be so miserable that I decided next year I am going to do the following so he can have a pyromaniac’s wet dream of a fireworks extravaganza:

1.  Save 50 cents a day for the whole year so he can have $182.50 to spend at the lunatic stand on whatever powder keg of craziness he wants. (plus a pack of sparklers for me to sit around and write my name in lights while everyone else blows their arms off.)*

2.  Travel whatever distances we must to ensure that he is surrounded quite comfortably with as many of his brood of pyromaniac family as possible so that they may cohabitate happily with M80’s and Bottle Rockets and Mortars and Shells and Explosive devices of whatever notion they so choose.

3.  Wrap my daughter’s vagina in fireproof material and ban all skirts so she is sure not to have her Jesus flower blown away when her dad loses his freaking mind and throws firecrackers at all his brothers and surely hits her in the crossfire as my punishment for giving into their craziness.

4.  Purchase this CD that was the only source of mental aid when I googled “fear of fireworks therapy”.

The Fear of Fireworks Sounds CD for both Cats and Dogs

This CD has been recorded on the night of a bonfire party, with all the bangs, whizzes, pops and squeaks, some distant, some closer to. The idea is that you play the CD on a regular basis, starting at a very low intensity, increasing the volume over a period of time. You aim to never upset your pet. Over a number of weeks, your pet will become less responsive to these sounds. Play the CD in the evening when the fireworks are going off and it will also mask the sounds outside.

5.  Lastly, and possibly my most important Independence Resolution:  Continue to abstain from celebrational tequila at any gathering that could result in fireworks of any kind.

Amen.

*Please note, I am well aware that $182.50 will get you a couple of those smoking snake things that whistle plus a cup of jack squat in this day and age, but whatever.  I am doing my part.

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6 thoughts on “Arsonphobics+Fireworks+Tequila=Trouble

  1. So tiff thought it would be ok to give both of the kids GIANT sparklers. Kynzengten thought hers was so spectacular that she should show her brother the incredible detail of the sparks coming out of the end. Up close. Tears followed. From the discourse that followed it was clear that it was all my fault. Next year I am buying only pop its.

    • For some reason, all I can think of to say is, Duuuuuude. That’s awesome.

      Pop-Its are the way to go. You get a pack of, I dunno, a million for a buck. And the best part is, no one can get their private parts blown off if you throw it at them. Pop-Its for sure.

      Of course it was your fault. Who else’s would it have been?

  2. You crack me up!! Don’t be dissin the pyro-Budinich clan. The only thing worse is if you put all that “badness” on a dock where the insane pyro drunks can burn the kids, then drown them trying to put the fire out! Been there (Jack was 2), never again! 🙂

    • LOL Linda! See the above tequila induced decking of the Hubbs… that occurred on a boat dock in VERY similar circumstances. They lost that canister that holds the big mortars and decided it would be just fine to just throw them off the edge of the dock and let them explode about 10 feet away. It was super smart. And I was super freaked out! And I still get super-pissed every time I think about it! Those things are supposed to fly up hundreds of feet in the air! It’s almost as brilliant as shooting Roman Candles at each other.

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