Today’s bloggy-ness is brought to you by the words: bits, rooms and raging.
I am scared to bits by fireworks, gun shots or any other loud and sudden noises. I’m the jumpy sort and I have no idea where this fear comes from. In fact every time my family decides to set off fire works, shoot off guns, or do something else equally bang bang bitches I run and hide with my family’s various pets in one of the rooms in our house. Last New Year’s me and the dogs, Moose and Betsy, went and hid in the bathroom when my family set of fireworks and shot their guns at midnight to ring in the new year.
This year with my sister not being home, my mom decided to shoot a gun instead while my dad set off his “hand held” fireworks. That meant that I had to take pictures of the whole process and well that more or less meant that I had to be brave, pretend like the process gave me a raging hard on and watch my family do all the crazy things that I am absofrickenlutely terrified of. As a result, my mom got to coin the term “firework karma”.
You see, those bitches (bitches being the fireworks) sense fear. They know when you fear them and they plot to exploit that fear. And they plot to do in a very bang bang bitches manner. The first time that this happened was a few years back. My mom had convinced me to stand on our back porch and watch my family set off our usual New Year’s fireworks. She’s probably in cahoots with the fireworks because deciding to trust my mom, I stood out on the back porch to watch a spectacle that I in no way, shape or form enjoy in the least. Well, that year we had one of those pinwheel things that you attach to something and you set it off and it spins in circles. Well! That year the pinwheel wasn’t pinned very well and it spun right off the side of the smoke house it was pinned to and came pinwheeling straight for me.
It actually took me until this year to get brave enough to be around loud things that go bang bang.
I survived my mom and Uncle D shooting off their guns at midnight. That wasn’t so bad. I may or may not be slowly getting over this intense fear of gun noises. I mean, I can shoot a gun and hit a target just fine, but it scares the poop out of me much like a laxative would cause me to have a case of the screaming squirts.
Sadly instead of lighting and throwing a screamer, my dad lit and threw something else. It landed, shot straight back at us and then flew up in the air with a bang. I swear that thing was going to fly right at me and bite my face off. And all that I could do was sit there in terror and hope that I didn’t get hit. I was smart enough to know that if the firework wanted to hit me that there was no out running it. Thankfully it shot off up into the air. But it had to make a run at me first. Like it was warning me not to mess with it or other fireworks.
So I said “fuck that game” and I decided to go back in the house.
And if I knew that I wouldn’t have gotten in trouble for it, I would have gone inside, gathered up all the fireworks in our house and drowned them in a bucket of water in full view of where that original fire work had exploded into the air. Then all the fireworks in the world would know not to mess with me anymore.
All of this makes sense in my head.