Happy Fourth of July.

Isn't America wonderful? I mean, it's the only country I know of that blocks off an entire day to stand outside in the sun, thus providing a foothold for skin cancer; to barbeque, and make lots of smoke pollute the air, making it difficult for contact-wearers to see and maneuver themselves around without falling over large pieces of furniture; to stand outside in hot, humid weather and practically wear a sign that says, "I'm here, mosquitos! Come and eat up!"; and finally, to give teengers an excuse to wear sarongs, bathing suit tops, lots of glitter on various body parts, and metallic eyelashes.

Okay, today's bitchfest was sponsored by the McMahns's: Home of Screaming Children, The Smell of Poopy Diapers, and Other Moody Teenage Girls.

Mistake Number One: I tagged along with my mom and Mike, her flavor of the week, to a party/barbeque at a quote-unquote "friend's" house.

Mistake Number Two: I brought one book. That's right. Only one. Not even enough. It turned out to be the most boring book o' the century. 437 pages of insightful blah blah blah, who cares.

Mistake Number Three: I decided to hide from the sun and sit in their living room to read. Two toddlers were busy watching PBS, the most bothersome TV channel on the planet. I mean, just reading the listings for that channel make me itch all over. I don't know why, I just do.The toddlers were quickly joined by three twenty-something new mothers. So they had their three babies, all sleeping quietly on their shoulders, and best of all, Not Bothering Me.

So all's well until my mother blows a fuse by blow-drying her hair, and God forbid, Arthur disappears from the TV. So a couple of wah-wah-wah and all that shit, but then the infants wake up. They scream forever. And ever. So after they calmed down, all the mothers wanted to talk about was what it felt like during labor and how many drugs they took.

They looked like they wanted me to make a meaningful contribution to their conversation, but being a little loopy from my Arbor Mist and, above all, not having ever been pregnant, I couldn't relate. So they would make a statement, look at me, and say, "Right?"

"Right," I said, and went back to my book. That's right, the boring one. But anything was better than the conversation about being in labor for four hours. That's just gross.

Mistake Number Four: I didn't realize that I had my cell phone turned off, so when I heard a phone ringing, I walked over to mine to see if I had a call. Well, it obviously wasn't my phone, but I had a gazillion missed calls.

Argh! And to think, I might have escaped a few half-hours of boredom had I had the good sense to leave my phone on.

Mistake Number Five: I went outside to yell at my mom for something, and some lady wanted to talk to me forever about the play I'm in. I, in the meantime, was giving the mosquitos a good holiday feast. I'm like a bug magnet: I go outside and all the bugs in the tri-state area flock to me like nine-year-old girls to stores selling only Britney Spears merchandise.

And by the way, there were about four girls who only wanted to sing Britney Spears and N'Sync at the top of their lungs with the bedroom door open. Their older sister, who is my age, didn't really mind because she also worshipped lip-synced pop music with every fiber of her being.

The only timed I talked to her was to say, "Is that music loud enough? I mean, can't you turn it up a little louder so we can all hear it outside and be further tortured by Britney's horrible, computer-enhanced voice?" And she said, "It's possible. Um, be right back." And then I think she muttered "bitch" under her breath as she walked off. Not that I blame her, but I think by then I had a right to be, dammit.

But me and my big mouth. Ugh. Sure enough, the music got louder. So did the voices singing along. I wanted to march right in there and beat them over the head with my incredibly boring book and explain the concept of summer reading in Advanced Placement classes.

But they could have probably interpreted it as the lyrics to some cool new Britney song, or something. Who knows. These chicks were weird.

And about the oral fixation: I haven't bitten my nails in a week. I'm trying to break the habit, but it makes me want to, even more than ever, put small, usually plastic, objects in my mouth. Today, I satisfied my medical condition with my ring. I kind of made a fool out of myself, because I went outside to get a root beer, and my mom asked what I had in my mouth. I took out my ring and explained my oral fixation to her. However, this explanation included the following statement.

NO, I SWEAR IT'S TRUE. I SWEAR THAT THE SENTENCE WRITTEN BELOW IS ENTIRELY TRUE UNDER PENALTY OF DEATH, DISMEMBERMENT, NATIVE AMERICAN ANT TORTURE, CRUCIFIXION, ELECTROCUTION, CHINESE WATER TORTURE, AND RED HOT POKERS.

"I swear, if it fits in my mouth, I put it there."

Well, I got the attention of every guy in the backyard really quick.

I promptly retreated to the safety of the nearest bathroom where I beat myself over the head with a roll of toilet paper, and then discreetly made my escape to go back to reading the Bore O' The Century.

I was so flustered my then, I was going back and forth between my Arbor Mist and Mountain Dew. It has this really weird taste when mixed together. Something like taquila. Or....whatever. I almost finished off the bottle of strawberry Cheap-o Wine.

I need to have a Cheap-o Wine tasting party. The motto could be, "If it has a cork, don't bring it!"

I would get a few hundred guests. But that's just an estimate.

Well, I've got to call Jessica and save her from the boredom of her boyfriend's family in Arkansas. I promised I'd called and give her a diversion from her torture.

Oh yeah. I almost forgot. If you were wondering why I said I was coughing up my stomch fluids, I think it's because I'm developing pneumonia, or something. My Overly Helpful Friend Abigail said that I was suffering from consumption, just like Elizabeth Barrett Browning. I told her I didn't, and she said that that's probably what Elizabeth Barrett Browning thought too, right before she died.

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!