The Fireworks Were Hailing Over Little Eden Last Night

It's been a busy weekend at Girlyshoes. The RLA and I had a road trip Saturday, partly on purpose and partly by accident. We had planned to go to Boca to pick up fireworks for the Fourth, added in a jaunt to Lake Worth to see a tattoo artist, and at the last minute rounded off the day with a chance to meet Dan.
And the plan went off without a hitch, if, by without a hitch, you mean that the RLA got the name of the tattoo shop wrong, and copied their phone number wrong, and I read the map to the fireworks store wrong, and caused us to drive about ten miles east of where we needed to be, which in turn let us take the very scenic drive north to Lake Worth on Old Dixie Highway.

Well worth the drive, however, was Altered State when we finally found it. I ended up with a new tattoo. I don't know why it is that the RLA, who WANTS a new tattoo, can go to a tattooist and leave with nothing, and I end up with ink. They (tattoos) are like potato chips: nobody can have just one.

Scott is my newest ink idol. Not only is his color sense incredible, but he also has a wicked capacity to draw freehand, and his touch with the needle is very light.

He added a flaming star to my existing angel cat. When he asked if the flames were a little too hotrodish for me, the RLA just snorted and said "Hell no. She's a gear head." Isn't he romantic? And he even paid for the work.

After the star was done, we went back south on I-95 to Donny Aaron's Arsenal of Fireworks, a 6,000 square foot, air-conditioned palace of all things Black Cat. Smoking eyeballs, a case of bottle rockets and more things that blow up or emit smoke, flames, shooting balls of fire, or sparks later, we were ready to head even further south and east to meet up with Dan.

In order for him to recognize me, I wore my "I'm blogging this" t-shirt. It worked. It also worked that I forgot to take along his cell phone number, and since we'd had a couple of unexpected extensions on our drive and were running late, I ended up calling the restaurant to tell them if a tall guy with glasses and a shaved head came in looking for someone, but he wasn't sure exactly who? that would be Dan-the-blogger and they should seat him at the bar and tell him that MizShoes-the-blogger would be along shortly. Dan was recognized as such, and was happily slapping back a bourbon and beer when we arrived. He did keep them separate, so it wasn't technically a boiler maker. Not wanting, ever, to let a guy drink alone, I had a shot of tequilla and a beer chaser. The RLA is always the designated driver, and I the designated drinker, so things worked out well.

Dan is as wonderful in person as he is in pixels, and a fun time was had by all. I think. He wouldn't have lied about it, would he? No. Dan left with a bag of mangos, fresh off the tree. I hope they made it back to the other coast without getting impounded at the border.

On Sunday night, I was in the kitchen when I heard Jojo chewing on something that didn't sound like a doggie toy. It was a box of safety matches. I pried it from her jaws and noted that the box was burned along one edge. Ever attentive to details like that, I went off looking for the matches. Yes. Yes, most of them were burned as well. It seems that she was somehow able to light the box of matches whilst chewing on them. Only I could have a dog that plays with matches. Luckily for all involved, her muzzle did not catch on fire, my kitchen cabinets did not catch on fire, her mouth was not burned by either fire or sulphur, and the tile floor only had a tiny scorch mark. She must have slobbered enough to put the spark out. That's why fire should be left to professionals, or at least persons with opposable thumbs.

Yesterday we packed up the fireworks and headed over to the Rancho De M&RJ for a traditional bbq. There was beer, burgers, doggies, potato salad, grilled corn, grilled chicken and much hilarity among the participants. For desert there was red velvet cake with blueberry sorbet inside. Then fireworks at the park. Then more blowing things up at their house. There was even real fire, when the spinning flaming thing that we nailed to a tree in the back yard caught the dead leaves below the tree on fire. Luckily one of the gang had gone into the house for more beer, and saw the flames in the back yard when they were merely three feet high, and we were able to put the fire out with a garden hose.

That's why fire should be left to professionals.

Didn't stop us, though. Once the fire was out, we were all back in the front yard blowing up more stuff. Did you know that a six-foot pvc pipe makes a most excellent launch pod for an M-80 bottle rocket? Now you do.

Happy fifth.