Today fireworks, tomorrow the world.

This weekend I found myself traveling to strange outer limits of the universe.  The place I traveled is a land called Arkansas.  Rarely do people go to this land of wild boar noises and cut off tees, but I grappled with this adventure.  Most people seem to be in a bad mood.  This would be reason 5,678 why I didn’t go to college there.  Maybe there’s something in the water.

While adventuring in this land crawling with the danger of ex-boyfriends in every corner, I learned something about myself.  I DO NOT want to have too many children in my later years.  I became frightened when cornered by three children aged eight and ten (the eight year olds are twins) with nowhere to turn.  They wouldn’t take no for an answer.  They began crawling up my bare legs.  I had no choice but to make cheese dip.  The one good thing about Arkansas is that it is the number one consumer of Velveeta in the world; therefore there is always cheese around.  The cheese saved me from an untimely death.

I came to the realization that it is only possible to have more than two children if a parent is either a polygamist or a three-headed creature.  Thank goodness I realized this before I shot three kids out and obviously became an alcoholic, with nowhere else to turn.

While in Arkansas I took a roll on the tube.  For those of you who are uninformed the tube is an inflatable device that is built to ride on water.  I was quite the tube enthusiast back in my day and decided to take it for a whirl with my nephews.  My dad used to go easy on me, since I have a Y chromosome, but this time no mercy was seen or felt. 

I am currently waiting to make an appointment for a kidney transplant since I no longer have working kidneys and I hear they are important.  I flew off the tube like a floppy Frisbee.  Legs spread, elbows out, I tried to stay on.  Several times, I was nearly successful until the unspeakable happened.  My swimsuit bottoms began inching down.  Any schooled woman knows when such a thing happens there is no chance of survival.  You have two options: lose your bottoms or let go of the tube.  I chose the latter of the two.  I couldn’t sacrifice losing my pants and my dignity in front of these males.  I have to wear the pants in this family.  Literally.      

After exiting this crime scene of a seven year old, a four year old, two eight year olds, one ten year old, four fourty-somethings, two sixty-somethings, and an eighty-something (also known as my cluster-you-know-what of a family) I ran as fast as I could.  Just like the gingerbread man.  My family is normal most of the time, but sometimes it’s just too much.  I need my space and when I can’t get it I turn into Ursula from The Little Mermaid.  Children fear me.  After spilling wine on my dad’s boat I knew it was time to flee like the Jews.  A girl can only be so frazzled.

I found myself in another godforsaken town, this time in Mississippi.  I went to visit my boyfriend, Jake.  He is currently living in a camper and working at a fireworks stand that is conveniently located next to a Texaco.  I can’t say EWWWWWWWW enough times.  Gross.  No running water.  Small amounts of air conditioning in sweat-your-balls-off weather.  If I had balls, they would be gone.  No question.

I’m very proud of Jake for putting up with these shenanigans for as long as he has.  I couldn’t do it.  It’s just not for me.  I like my air conditioning, bathtub, and Internet, not to mention civilization.  All the folks around these parts were very nice but not quite the hottest firecrackers if you speak my lingo.  Their use of the English language was astounding.

However, there was a light at the end of this tunnel heated by the fires of hell.  I was inspired to go above and beyond my means of creativity to develop a show.  A fireworks show. 

Every summer I go to my lake house for the Fourth of July.  This year is going to be spectacular.  I have already decided.  I am going to put together an amateur fireworks show.  Perhaps if I do this well, others will pay me to do the same for them (I need some doll hairs to support my binge eating habit).  I’m currently doing research on what types and how I should do this.  If I blow off a finger or singe my eyebrows off I will be pissed.  At least I could get some nice little pain pills for that.  I’m always looking on the bright side.  I envision my fireworks show to be bigger than the average Joe’s but slighter smaller than that of Disney world.  I am also planning to be prepared if I have a rival.  If they try to one-up me I will show them who the fireworks boss is.  Never one-up a one-upper.

June and I need to go get McDonald’s.  Fat camp is next week.