Yes, I realize it’s
Wednesday Thursday! I’m all confused because my husband is home and my brain has turned to something resembling a disgusting gelatin salad. Why? Because this thing called “summer break” happened. If you’re a teacher or live in a state with year round school (lucky bastards), then you were overjoyed by this occasion. If you are like me and have too many little boys and not enough meds, then you probably felt like you were dropped into the middle of Apocalypse Now. It took some time, but I’ve finally crawled out of the trenches and I’m back at work, spreading my bad advice to the world of frazzled moms.
So, let’s get down to business…The 4th of July. Honestly, I’m not even a big fan of the holiday. I like to refer to it as National Rednecks Blow Shit Up day. You see, I live in Texas. Texans like to use gunpowder to make things go “BOOM”. It doesn’t matter if it’s a string of firecrackers in a metal trashcan or a bullet in a deer. They like loud noises and if there’s some blood or something dies–all the better!! Now you won’t see this down in Highland Park but I don’t live there. I live up in “horse country.” There are plenty of wealthy folks out here, too, but as they say “you can take the redneck out of the trailer park but you can’t take the trailer park out of the redneck.” Anyway, fireworks are prohibited in our neighborhood, but rednecks who’ve weaseled their way in here don’t give a Roman Candle full of shit about no damn ordinances. “By God, this is America! George Washington and all his folks didn’t blow the shit out of some indians and redcoats AND pour coffee in a lake just so we couldn’t set off some firecrackers in our own damn yard!” And because this is the mindset of a few of my neighbors, they will set those damn bottle rockets and Black Cats off until 2am. It makes me crazy. It makes me want to go out there and strangle them with their wife-beater, but there’s another damn ordinance against that , too.
Ok, enough bitching. Let’s focus on the fun things about the holiday. My husband’s family always invites us to come out to their land so my boys can indulge in a redneck-lite version of the holiday. Their older cousins take them to the dock of the pond and help them shoot off lots of fireworks. It satisfies their deep boy craving for explosives, and I get to watch it from a “farm-house” that’s nicer than my real house (these are Highland Park people). The best part about the time is that my husband’s family likes to drink. This year’s theme is “Chili dogs and Champagne.” Now, tell me you aren’t jealous.
Speaking of liquor….
I know that you’re probably expecting some fancy red, white and blue layered drink called an Independence Bomb or Liberty-loda or Screw John Hancock Against a Wall. But all of those require way more effort than I’ve allotted for this little blog. I have to save my energy for breaking up fights, washing off marker tattoos they’ve drawn all over their faces, and requesting that every dinner conversation does not start with trying to slip some reference to balls or nuts in (I know, it’s a bad habit I’m trying to break).
If you’re expecting something fancy like above, head on over to RollingOut and get the recipe. If you’re in Apocalypse-Jello-Brain world like me, stick around. The OCD Martha Stewart part of me would love to make those beautiful drinks, but my reality is making the half-ass Martha side of me give you this…
Shiner’s Ruby Redbird has become one of my favorite summer beers EVER! And it is a perfect drink for my 4th of July libation pick. Why? There’s no fancy glasses required or layering. It has the word “red” in it so it qualifies as patriotic. And when you see your neighbor trying to use his ass crack to shoot off rockets you can take one of these over to him, saving him a trip to the ER and you a trip to the therapist. I’m not going to get into all the details of what makes this beer taste yummy to me. For that I’ll send you over to the folks at Summer Beer Review. Why them? Because when I was looking for photos of the beer their’s had flamingos in it.
Now, if beer isn’t your thing, you need help; but until you get that help, I’ll give you one more idea. Make a simple drink (cranberry and vodka, margarita, champagne, martini, straight ethanol) and sugar the rim with Pop Rocks. Yep, Pop Rocks!! Who wouldn’t have fun with that? In fact, I’m even making Pop Rock truffles today to take to the family shindig.
Go to Pizzazzarie to get the good on this mouth-full of fun. You know you want to.
I have to change the title of this little bit because it’s just a bitch to type out. Anyway, here’s that hint: DON’T LET YOUR KIDS SHOOT OFF FIREWORKS!!!! I know this is a ceremony for entering manhood (turning 6) in many parts of the south, but it’s stupid. I admit I have an extreme phobia of fireworks, but it’s with reason. I actually know people who have been badly injured by fireworks. A good friend of my god-daughter had a massive hole blown in his thigh. I have the picture on my phone and show it to my older boys so they understand these aren’t Nerf fireworks–they don’t bounce off. I may scar them emotionally by doing this, but they can hide those scars for a therapist or horrible girlfriend to dig up later. Finger stumps and melted ears are harder to hide. If you have a tough gut and no gag reflex from years of cleaning up puke and patching up your kids after they shank each other with Legos they’ve melted down, then go Goggle “firework injuries” for a very blunt reminder of what they can do.
I know, I was going down a depressing path there, and I’m trying to remedy that. But what can I post for this 4th themed bit to make you giggle? If rednecks shooting bottle rockets from their asses didn’t do it, I may have to dig deep. Hmmm… I’ve searched and searched and found some pretty disturbing stuff but nothing that really made me laugh. Oh, well. I guess that means we should use this time to reflect on the sacrifices our forefathers made to form this country. Let’s take a minute to be thankful for all of the blood they shed so that we could have the freedom to do this in their honor…