Tag: Fireworks

Painting, Pyro-ing, and the Proletariat

“Um, we’re mature enough to be married…honestly…”
-C.

Think impressionism, Pac Man, horribly pretentious comments about class structure (on the part of starving newlywed/students), peacocks, pyrotechnics, possibly a little lawbreaking don’t mix?  You’ve clearly never been on a group date with Venice, Val, J., and C. 

Last night we went to Color Me Mine, stayed there until 9 when we got kicked out, at which time we hit up the “lower income” (quote by J.) supermarket that recently opened in the area that sells nearly expired products at discount for some ice cream…but on our way back to pay for it, what should we spy but fireworks.

Editor's Note: Not done by Venice, Val, J., or C.  No one in our pyro party are nearly as impressive as this.
Editor's Note: Not done by Venice, Val, J., or C. No one in our pyro party are nearly as impressive as this.

We really had no other option than to buy some.  Really, none.  It was imperative.  Venice and I loaded up our arms with sparklers while the guys practically dove into the bins trying to find the best, er, bang for their buck.  This was discovered in the form of an explosive intriguingly labeled the “Jumping Cyber Monkey” (the boys faces lit with unholy glee, you should have seen it). 

Then we scurried back home to hold bunches of sparklers and light them at the same time (I nearly died), frolick around twirling them, light off the Jumping Cyber Monkey (which made a little more noise than anticipated towards the end) while Venice did her signature dance move in front of it (which is indescribable…truly), and round off the evening by lighting “worms” (which look like nothing so much as flaming, growing poop) while we giggled. 

Like I said.  We’re responsible, mature adults.  Really.