Tuesday, July 3, 2012

Anyone have a spare xanax for tonight?

I have a confession to make.   I don’t like the 4th of July.  I dread this holiday. 

The truth is, Fireworks freak me out.  I can’t stand them – there is not enough xanax in the world that keeps me from simultaneously wanting to wrap a towel around my head and crawl under a bed and haul ass far away when those explosives go off.  I would lead a very fulfilled life if never go to a firework display ever again, staying far away from the crowds of knuckheads and the random, heart stopping blowing up of cherry bombs and bottle rockets. 

I am true to what I have felt since I was a kid.  Loud noises have always made me shriek and jump –  the sound of a popping balloon makes my heart race.  As a kid I hid under the blankets during a couple of firework shows  and my parents were perceptive enough to realize – “hmmm she really seems unhappy…”   I grew up not going into the fray of bodies and noise.   When I was seventeen,  I gave it another  try  and my teenage bravado could barely hold at bay my internal terror of the relentless blasts.

When I lived in New York, I was able to escape the fireworks and traditional hoopla – the city cleared out on holiday and unless you made a point of going to the fireworks on the East River, I could easily avoid the mess. One year, I had fun watching the movie Yankee Doodle Dandy in Bryant Park.  Another, there was a Twilight Zone marathon on TV – I think I stayed indoors for twelve hours, only moving off the couch to answer the door for delivery.  That was an ideal 4th of July.

I know that I am in the minority and I really don’t understand why I feel so strongly against fireworks.  I am not an anxiety riddled person – I just have always hated loud, blasting fireworks. 

But here is the rub – We live in a town that celebrates with a huge fireworks extravaganza and we have close friends who host a fantastic party right under the umbrella of the blasts.  Sophie loves the feeling of being so close to fireworks that it rattles her body – and while Katie must have earplugs in for the big finish,  (she is my daughter) she enjoys the party.   Sure, my family could just go to the party without me –but  I get worried that in such a crowed scene, Cliff and I need to have one-on-one defense to keep an eye on the girls in this situation.   I feel better thinking that my presence will magically protect my children from an errant missile exploding in their vicinity.

 I also can’t resist good party –and this one is filled with delish food, interesting people, and the greatest game imported from the mid-west…Cornhole!  Basically it’s bean bag toss, but the fourteen year old boy in everyone can’t resist the endless jokes of, “I’m next to Cornhole!”, “Wow, you are an amazing Cornholer.”  "You just missed the Cornhole!"  The Cornhole jokes never stop.  
 I hate to miss out on a good time with rockin’ friends. (hmmm, maybe that was part of the problem in college…).

Maybe in a past life I was killed in the French Revolution and I am trying to work out some karma.

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