July 5, 2002

Last night we did our part in the war to defeat terrorism by shooting off a shitload of fireworks made in China. It was the first time I spent that much dough on Chinese products without going to Wal-Mart.

The guys that live above us had a bunch of fireworks also. Diana H. came over. Snow came over. Chris had been there since the night before. Scott from one building over came by with a small cooler full of Budweiser. Actually he was full of Budweiser, the cooler was almost empty by the time he came to watch us blow up the parking lot.

For those of you that don't know I live in a three story brick apartment that was built in the late sixties.
The tax info to my apartment is located here
It has six apartmens and is divided by a stairwell. On the third floor lives the Crazy Ole Bitch Upstairs (COBU). Anyway, COBU calls 911 about once every two weeks, sometimes more if the voices in her head tell her to. Every six months or so she gets carted away in an ambulance. She often can be seen walking around the complex with sandwich bags on her hands. I've suggested rubber gloves but she doesn't listen to me.

As is usual, last night COBU attempted to ruin our fun by calling the cops. Since she has cried wolf a million times the officer walked right past us and merely commented on how much shit we had and how she thought we were going to set the trees on fire. She then hauled her butt up the stairs to talk down COBU. After about twenty minutes the cop came to our apartment door and asked us to not shoot in front of the building anymore. She explained that she didn't want to end our fun but would have to if COBU called again. We moved around the corner and continued unmolested.

There is a great firework called a Seven Shooter that I would recommend to anyone that likes a bit of random danger in their fireworking. The Seven Shooter looks like a big firecracker and, once the fuse burns down, a small intense flame about one inch long shoots out. After about three seconds the piece then jumps in the air in no direction in particular and then ejects seven firecrackers which fly out in no direction in particular and then explode. These may be the only truly random things in the universe. Anytime you light one there is a chance someone could get hurt. We bought a lot of them.

Listened to on the bus: Born to Laugh at Tornadoes by Was (Not Was)
Reading: Brother Termite by Patricia Anthony