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Happy Holiday

I know yesterday was actually the 4th, but I work for one of those organizations that gives us the seven major holidays, so when one falls on Sunday we get the Monday off. Which is great. So I’m sitting around watching the CBS soaps and catching up on the laundry from the trip.

I’ve noticed a lot of bloggers – even some of the European ones – are recognizing Independence Day. (Does anyone really call it that??) So I thought I better at least mention it or I may end up on our illustrious homeland security’s black list. I already bought Michael Moore’s book “Dude, Where’s My Country?” so I’d better not tempt US-Patriot-Act-Fate.

Here’s the thing: there’s not a lot of holidays that I even like.
Halloween – not into costume, all that candy is murder on the figure, and the gory, gross, eerie stuff freaks me out.
Christmas – never a fun time around my house growing up. Mother always had a complete breakdown at Christmas, so the holiday just sucks for me. Everything about it – the tree, the stockings, the lights – all has negative connotations for me. Plus, Christmas usually means getting together with family and I am sooo not into that. Ever. Holiday or no.
New Years – never ever lives up to the hype. I hate going out b/c it’s Amateur Night - folks who never drink are out getting tight and trying to drive home. Short of being invited to the high society, black tie, party of the year (which, so far, has yet to happen), I will never be satisfied ringing in the New Year.
Thanksgiving – well, at least I like the food. The down side is all that cooking usually leads to me & Big Daddy getting stressed and irritable and arguing. Then, of course, there’s the whole family-coming-over thing again.
Easter – don’t care about the religious part, so once My Kid no longer believed in the Easter Bunny, that holiday fell by the wayside.
Valentine’s – Big Daddy says this is the day you “say ‘I Love You’ the biggest way you know how.” I try, but I’m just not a romantic. So I pick up a card and have sex with him. Done.
Memorial & Labor Days – My deceased father was a veteran of WWII. These holidays just make me miss him. I’m into the whole cooking out and drinking mojitos part…as long as family doesn’t have to come over to share the meal.

Then there’s the Fourth of July. I grew up outside D.C., so we used to go to the Washington Monument for the national fireworks. Then we moved to Mississippi and one of the many culture shocks I suffered was people setting off their own pyrotechnics. I do not mind telling you that that scared the ever-loving shit out of me. Mother had always taken great pride in frightening us with horror stories about kids getting their fingers blown off and shit. I was the kid too afraid to do sparklers.

Once I got out on my own I didn’t have to do fireworks anymore. No more crowds. No more explosives. Several years of basically ignoring the holiday. Then My Kid got old enough to where Big Daddy wanted to set off fireworks with him. And we moved out to the county, where all the other families in the cove bought hundreds of dollars worth of mortars, bottle rockets and firecrackers to set off. I’m getting used to it, I guess. It’s their thing. They live for it. All the kids in the neighborhood come to our house b/c they know Mr. Big Daddy is going to have the biggest and best stuff. The only way I even got the two of them to go to the coast for my reunion was to promise we’d be home by dark on Sunday for their annual show.

I need a happy pool party with red, white & blue bunting like they always have on As the World Turns and Guiding Light. Until then, I’ll get me a Philly cheese steak from Lenny’s. That’s patriotic, eh?