Okay, not really.
But really- it's going to rain some more. We got power back on about 11:00 last night but Lily woke up to none this morning. She said that Owen was still asleep when I talked to her about half an hour ago. "But I don't know how," she said. "It's hot as balls."
Haha! Lily cracks me up.
So it's the 4th of July. Are you making potato salad? A red, white, and blue Jello mold? Or maybe even this, which I stole from Kati's Facebook page?
Anyway, I'm not in the mood for Patriotic Partying. Not that I ever am but still. I'm watching my country go batshit crazy with the new stealth abortion restrictions and the voting rights being taken away and the Christian Right Wing fuck-you-this-is-what-the-Bible-says bullshit. Let's not even talk about the whole immigration thing. I hear down in Texas they're pouring money into more and bigger walls, more and better-armed border patrols and whatever the hell they use to discourage people from slipping over the border to take away the high-playing toilet-cleaning and field-picking jobs from decent Americans.
Meanwhile, one of the most beloved parts of Tallahassee's 4th of July celebration is the Naturalization Ceremony where a group of lucky hand-picked folks receive their American citizenship.
I don't get it.
They have a big ass party in a Tallahassee park every year with a country music band (nothing says AMURICA! like country music, right?) and I don't know what all. Okay. I just checked and there are more bands than the one so that'll be swell but I won't be going. Are you kidding me? They could charge me not to go and I'd cheerfully pay whatever they asked.
We don't have so much as a damn sparkler around here.
Yes. I am being extremely curmudgeonly today. So sue me.
Speaking of suing, I am not a litigious person but if Owen doesn't come off his no-kissing clause I'm hiring a lawyer. Thank god that Gibson still allows kisses. Here's a picture from yesterday of Owen at 7:30 a.m. with his new chimp.
That is one happy chimpanzee, y'all. The boy's pretty happy too.
Hey! At least it wasn't a flippin' clown.
My poor generation. Not only did we have to deal with the Cold War and the threat of nuclear annihilation, we had scary-ass toys, too. Here's another favorite toy from the fifties. Every girl wanted one. Including me.
Thank god I never got one. I did, however, receive a complete holster/guns/cowgirl hat outfit which I loved. Turned me into the gun nut I am today.
Okay. How in hell did I get from the 4th of July to the terrifying toys of my childhood?
I have no idea.
It's not raining here for a moment. Maybe I should take a walk. And then I can come home and rustle up a nice, patriotic macaroni-cheese and wiener bake.
But before I go, let me just point out that after a fifties childhood, the hallucinations brought on by LSD, peyote and psilocybin were a piece of damn cake and a huge fucking relief. If any generation needed an alternate reality, it was mine.
Happy Fourth of July, Y'all!