I think the title to this post might be my new obscenity-alternative.
Last year I was downtown, where all the action took place. People were everywhere, fireworks were deafening, and it took me literally 45 minutes to drive out of the “parking lot.”
This year, one of my gal pals kindly opened her home (and her crazy good decorating skills) to us. They live about a mile and a half from the town’s festivities, so we still caught the good stuff. I really got a kick out of watching fireworks from far away 1) because that’s just not something that’s physically possible in Jersey (unless you’re down the shore) due to the lay of the land and trees and stuff, and 2) because it seems more like cannon and all that. It made it easy to understand why fireworks are symbolic of warfare. All you heard were muffled booms and all you saw was a distant explosion. And no sweaty, half-drunk people were elbowing you in your back. That was the way to do it.
Anyways, fireworks was really just a sideshow. Because our hostess is officially one with “the mostest.” Exhibit A:
Finally, no Mexas get-together is complete without a piñata. This little number was stuffed with candies and glow bracelets. And this is me, demonstrating a “modified power V” stance that Nae taught me for softball a few weeks back:
Hope all my blogging friends had a lovely July 4th, no matter where or how.