I'm sitting here, enjoying my Buffy/Angel bingefest (by the way, if you should ever choose to delve into the Buffyverse for yourself, I HIGHLY recommend using the combined episode watching order by The Watcher's Council - helps immensely understand where the Angel episodes fit in continuity-wise with Buffy) and I suddenly hear this horrible thrashing and banging at my teen daughter's door. Not what you want to hear when you're knee-deep in supernatural being world. Then I realize the dog is in there, frantically throwing herself at the door to get out, for some reason. So I go there to check on her and ask, "What's up with the dog?" and my daughter mumbles, "I don't know, she started freaking out, maybe she needs to pee." So I walk her out to the dog run, let her out, and she does an about face and runs back in and makes a beeline for my room, straight to my husband's side of the bed. Which is really unusual, because she is rarely allowed in our room, and never on his side of the bed because the cat box is over there. Then I was worried maybe something was out back, like a coyote or something and she could hear it and we couldn't.

Then I hear it. Fireworks. Some asshole is setting off fireworks in our neighborhood. At 12:30 at night. While we are in the midst of a historic drought. What the everloving HELL? Besides my dog being a quivering, drooling mess, that is just stupid for so many reasons. I go outside and see a party two doors down, thinking it's them. They notice me looking in their direction and I think they heard the screen door slam, so I don't hear any more go off. I stood there for awhile, and all was quiet. Go back in, think it was settled, then a crapload of them go off. Oh man, was I PISSED and my husband knew it. He was trying to tell me to be chill, but me in my jammies, old lady readers pushed up on my head, slip on Keds on my feet, marched outside, and realized the noise was coming from the other end of the street. I walked out in the middle of the street just in time to see some twerps standing in the street run into a house. I stomped down there, heard voices in the garage and saw light under the door, so I banged on the garage door. The light went out. Clearly, I was dealing with Wile E. Coyote here.

So I went to the front door and rang the bell. Guy answers and I just said, "Shoot off one more firework and I call the cops," while wearing my best pissed off teacher/mom face. His actual response - hand to God? "We weren't shooting off fireworks." I just gave him a look I imagine looked something like this:

and said, "YES. You WERE."

And he said ...

"Okay, we won't."

Really, people? We have to celebrate a random, dry Saturday night by possibly burning the neighborhood down while everyone sleeps?

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I weep for the future. (By the by, I hate that particular house - rental. Revolving door of misery. Wrapping this all up, I'm convinced that house is sitting over the Hellmouth.)