Guest post by Zoo, channeling an 85-year-old woman.

The Fourths of July of my childhood involved barbecues with family and once the sun went down, gathering in a parking lot downtown to watch the city fireworks. We'd sit on the bed of my dad's pick-up truck and simultaneously "ooooh" and "aaaaaah" at the pretty light show. In later years we'd be able to see them from the front porch of my parents' house (until the neighbors let their trees grow too high). We never bought our own fireworks for the Fourth in Hilo; New Year's Eve was always the big fireworks holiday there.

Fourth of July the last several years has involved dealing with dogs freaking out about the noise. We had 90+ degree weather this weekend (and of course, no central air), but I couldn't leave the windows open because every little sound would send Boris into a fit of barking hysteria. We've been dealing with this in spurts all week as neighbors experiment with their fireworks in preparation for the weekend - poor Boris had been spending about half his time hiding in various spots around the house with his tail pathetically tucked between his legs and looking at us with the woeful "How could you let this happen to your special boy who brings you so much joy Boris" eyes and holding his bladder much longer than we thought possible because he was too scared to go outside. Our house was a gut-remodel before we bought it, and fortunately the new windows block out quite a bit of sound when they're closed. Which unfortunately means they block in QUITE A LOT OF HEAT.

By the time dusk arrived at around 8pm or so last night, there was constant noise from fireworks - mostly from the empty lot next to our house, which basically made it sound like they were being launched from the living room couch. Our neighbor dogs were here for the night, so by 9:30pm, I had four dogs huddled around me, panting heavily, shaking, and looking at me with eyes so wide you could see the whites all the way around them. By 10:30pm I decided to give up and take them all up to the bedroom, where we had the window air conditioning unit, hoping that the room and the noise of the A/C would help.

At this point I realize I'm now an adult. Old. The crotchety home- and dog-owner who was all AREN'T YOU PEOPLE DONE YET? WITH THE NOISE? And the SHOUTING? And the WHOOOOO after each burst? And seriously, is ANYONE ELSE concerned about the possibility of FIRE being caused by these fireworks being set off RIGHT NEXT TO OUR HOUSES?! Because the dog that is on my bed is trembling so hard his fur is vibrating off him and the bed is shaking so much I feel like I'm on a roller coaster. Cheese and rice. Damn kids. With the summer and the staying up late and the fireworks and the fun.

True romance.

So remember my injury a week or so ago? When a couch practically ATTACKED me and I almost died and almost was dead and then got cookies? (And bee-tee-dubya, my rib cage still hurts when I sneeze - what up wit dat, bitches? Anyway.) And remember when I was eating those delightful cookies my dear husband made a special trip to get for me and watching the movie Return To Me? Well, I'm watching it again right now, only this time from the beginning (because I apparently have to think of new and fun ways to torture myself when I'm PMSing and already emotional) (not to worry, I will be watching plenty of Family Guy later on) (I still like parentheses) and the part? in the beginning? where the dog doesn't leave the front door until the wife comes home? and then later how the dog never leaves the door basically, like, EVER after she dies? Kills me. Just makes my heart shatter through my chest in a million little pieces. The last time I saw this movie was before meeting my dear chocolate-chip-cookie-getting Mr. Zoo, and now seeing the heartbreak of that damn dog makes me all anxious at the prospect of anything ever happening to him.

I definitely need to die first.

But then he would be eating soup for dinner every night and never properly load or unload the dishwasher in my absence.

Yeah, I definitely need to outlive him.

Currently reading

Victoria Victorious - Jean Plaidy

From the back cover: At birth, Princess Victoria was fourth in line for the throne of England, the often overlooked daughter of a prince who died shortly after her birth. She and her mother lived in genteel poverty for most of her childhood, exiled from court because of her mother's dislike of her uncles, Georve IV and William IV. A strong, willful child, Victoria was determined not to be stifled by her powerful uncles or her unpopular, controlling mother. Then one morning, at the age of eighteen, Princess Victoria awoke to the news of her uncle William's death. The almost-forgotten princess was now Queen of England. Even better, she was finally free of her mother's iron hand and her uncle's manipulations. Her first act as queen was to demand that she be given a room - and a bed - of her own.
Victoria's marriage to her German cousin, Prince Albert, was a blissfully happy one that produced nine childreen. Albert was her constant companion and one of her most trusted advisors. Victoria's grief after Prince Albert's untimely death was so shattering that for the rest of her life - nearly forty years - she dressed only in black. She survived several assassination attempts, and during her reign England's empire expanded around the globe until it touched every continent in the world.
Derided as a mere "girl queen" at her coronation, by the end of her sixty-four-year reign, Victoria embodied the glory of the British Empire. In this novel, written in a "memoir" by Victoria herself, she emerges as truthful, sentimental, and essentially human - both a lovable woman and a great queen.

July 3, 2009 Finished