Happy Birthday, 'Murrica... Gresham Style!

Pickup trucks, BBQ, blowin' shit up: welcome to Gresham

Although I usually like to party in exotic faraway places, I decided to go bestow the charming, hardworking 'Murricans in my East County neighborhood with appearances at their festivities. Of course, to fit in, I was going to have to go with something a little more simple for the evening: little black dress and pearls!

The first gathering I dropped in to left me with quite a puzzled impression of my area's youth. Numerous young lads on bicycles seemed to have a major problem with my manner of dress and the fact I had brought along my cat, Mingette (it's French), to mingle at their function. Assorted adults also appeared to disapprove of the shaker of martinis I brought along to enhance the evening.

Martinis and Mingette

As I reluctantly departed from the first event, I encountered a darling little old lady, who slowly walked down the street with her stylish bamboo cane and scrunchy, angry face. I greeted her in my customary way of inquiring if she wanted an autograph, and she responded with a compliment for our community.

"Damn idiot fools!" she said, wobbling in fury, "They're going to burn everything down!" How charming, my new friend, you dear sweet lady. Truly, what a treat that would be for us all. Mingette meowed sadly that her buzz was wearing off and I gave her a sip of the martinis.

A quick stop at the ATM

The shaker was soon depleted as I sojourned from house to house, watching the residents of my area set fire to everything in sight. I was pleased to see fathers handing their nine-year-olds lighters, educating them in the delightful tradition of explosive digit removal. This value of this type of bonding and education must never be underestimated.

I admit, I had been somewhat dismayed at society's current propensity for downplaying the importance of a father figure in a youth's life, but what I witnessed repeatedly this evening gave me a renewed sense of hope. The influence of my own father essentially assured that I would someday be on my current path to righteous do-nothingness. Filled with pride and optimism for the future, I headed off to find some more money for the next round of martinis.

The regular fireworks social hotspot, the middle school track, was a strangely desolate place. This was disappointing as I so looked forward to tripping over the endless spent fireworks all over the running surface the next day during my laps; it's become a special annual tradition. Fortunately, a family poured out of their minivan and started dancing with Roman candles in the parking lot, so all was not lost.

Light meal for my purse pal

On the way back from the middle school I joined up with a jovial group of my neighbors that choose to perform their incendiary arts in the driveway of their apartment building along the high street. I was surprised that unlike the last 10 years, the smoke cloud did not envelop the entire block.

Further disappointment began to taint my celebratory mood, until I noticed that a kind resident had left a scattered meal of a piece of juicy steak, a half-eaten corn cob, some delectable BBQ chicken, and fine utensils and a platter on the ground for little Mingette. I helped her out of my handbag so she could take advantage of the bounty. Tempted to join her, I then recalled the handful of Special K I had dined upon earlier, so my kitty had to feast alone.

I arrived back to my posh abode to spend the evening listening to the outrageously loud explosions, the resulting car alarms, and the assorted other bangs and gunshots. In total, this year seemed far noisier with a great deal many more rockets exploding in the sky than years past. Let's hope the trend continues and my assistant remembers to buy glow sticks for me. I also need to get started on planning my outfit and signature cocktail for next year. Kisses, everyone!

My handler says my nap "Looks like a Hollywood crime scene."
It certainly is a crime I'm not in Hollywood. Seriously.