What do fireworks have to do with hogs?? OH...BIKES, not PIGS!!

My eyeballs are hanging out of my head & it's only 10:30 at night. I guess early days inevitably lead to early nights. I'm debating on making a cup of tea and grabbing a light snack then heading to bed. I'll probably sleep on the couch tonight since it's cooler down here and freakishly hot in my bedroom. The kids rooms are perfect but I doubt the girls would want me in bed with them and Little Man Meatball's crib probably won't hold my big ol'booty.

This post is probably going to be filled with complete nonsense since I'm doing most of my typing with my eyes closed. This is some serious right brain activity going on here...very random thought process. The cat is asleep beside me and finally quiet. She followed me around all day meowing but I don't think she really wanted me, she just wanted some crack. I should clarify...kitty crack...those treats, Feline Greenies or whatever they're called. Seriously, those things are kitty crack. I have to hide them in a ZipLoc bag in a drawer so they can't get them or they'll eat the whole thing until they puke. Even the dog likes them. Of course, the dog eats the shit out of the kids' diapers in the garbage so I guess she's not all that fussy to begin with.

I watched fireworks last night from the girls' bedroom window and they were really nice. I got to overhear the neighbours conversations about how the fireworks reportedly cost $45 000 (we don't use commas in numerical figures in Canada, that's an American thing). I guess for 45 grand it better be a good show. I also overheard a not-so-bright neighbour ask why there was a celebration for pigs. It was then very carefully explained to her that a HOG was a Harley Davidson motorcycle (it was the brief synopsis of the history) and that HOG was actually an acronym for Harley...Owners...Group....duh....and that this particular conglomeration of people who share in a mutual respect for a rather flatulent exhaust were gathering to celebrate their bikes, their individuality and a whole bunch of other things that my brain is refusing to find words for. I'm almost positive she's still confused.

I'm going to buy a Harley. I think I'll buy a really old one that's all crusty and drive it around like I'm Queen Shit of the Feces Kingdom. Maybe not. I would like to have one though, they're interesting to say the least and although I do tend to equate their sound with farting I enjoy the sound of them -- I also enjoy passing wind, keeps the belly from getting sore. So, the girl with no driver's license is going to add Harley Davidson to the list of vehicles where HUMMER H1, Hayabusa, Cessna, a yacht and many other unattainable engines lay. I like Harley names though, they're amusing. EG: Wide Glide: My butt when I dance; Softail Cross Bones: When I dance with skinny people and we get tangled up; Night Rod Special: sounds like a vibrator (I'll get that one :P); Fat Bob: That kid who lived down the street and always had cookie on their face. Alright, that's enough...I could go on but I won't or I'll be answering to a lot of angry bikers...

Honestly though, I hope the people that are here from away enjoy their stay and those from here enjoy some new faces. Just don't cut me off in traffic again.

I'm feeling rather cynical this evening...my apologies...