Dear Old People, I Get It Now.

To all the Old People Across America,

Let me take this moment to apologize, sincerely, from the bottom of my weepy heart, for the loudness I've inflicted upon you. I'm sorry for any hooting I've done under lamplights, any parties I've been a party in, any street jamz I've encouraged the bumping of, any unfortunate shouting matches I've incited--any of it, all of it. Also, this one goes out to all the people in the quiet houses at college, whom I tormented with my late night plucky antics and banshee behavior--you were way ahead of me on the curve into adulthood. So sorry. Because, you guys, I get it now. Being loud around places other people are trying to sleep is FUCKING RUDE.

I am like an angry old man, shaking a veiny fist from my sealy posturpedic bed at all the haters. I am livid at what happened on our Independence Day, because I was trying so hard (so hard, you guys) to sleep. Now, I am not an unreasonable man. Let me explain.

It's the fourth of July: the bi-annual amateurs night (right behind New Years Eve), and there are three kinds of people who participate in this celebration. The party people who want to get wasted and party, the square most-of-the-time-well-behaved normal people who have NO idea how to drink or behave themselves when they do so, and the crazy people who delight in a night they can indulge in their naturally crazy behavior and finally blend in. I don't know who's the worst here. Something about Fireworks makes everyone in America feel they have the license to go fucking craaayzaay. I get it: mob mentality is a really powerful thing and being granted an excuse to be irresponsible can feel relieving. But a cause for celebration should be handled responsibly--controlled chaos, you know what I'm saying?

Right now the Giraffe, Little Boo and I are housesitting in a fancy neighborhood where the lawns are manicured and the windows have views people pay good money for. Grown up land. Were we sleeping in the ghetto of our own house I probably would not feel angry nor surprised. But here we are, in a quiet area, watching over this big house and the hyper-anxious dog who lives there. This dog is nuts. I love all dogs. You know this to be true. But this girl, she has huge nails, which she nervously scrapes all over the hardwood floors all night, she obsessively drinks all the water she can find (even if it's pee from the toilet), and then she has to urinate every 3 hours. Also, her favorite activity is to pace around the bed with her giant nails and whimper. Sleeping has already been a challenge. Last night was enough for me wrap myself up in a straight jacket and hurl my tired body down into the dark of a potato cellar.

While I understand that America needs to let off steam and pretend it's all about our country's independence, I certainly didn't think they would do it in this neighborhood. Everyone shot their wads during the big fireworks display, I get that. We watched it, too. When we drove home it took us over an hour to go half a mile. I get that. Teenage girls walked down the street flipping everyone off because they felt so cool. I get that. We pulled into the quiet of the grown up neighborhood after midnight, and all was calm. That made sense to me. The nervous dog had peed all over the place (probably due to the freaky sound of fireworks and drinking all the toilet water she could find). I cleaned it up, and we took her for a walk. By the time I got into bed it was 1:20. I was supposed to wake up at 6am to start a day full of meetings and work. "5 1/2 hours of sleep? Not ideal, but I've functioned on worse," I thought. Then I set my alarm and tried to go to sleep. TRIED. The next thing I know the dog is circling the bed, scraping her godforsaken nails like some cruel morris code. (*circling the bed, yes. The bed in this house is in the middle of the room. I don't even know how to explain that choice.) Up the stairs, down the stairs. Pacing the front door, circling the bed. Whimpering. Digging trails of anxiety as she goes. Eventually I get up, pissed by the pressure of attempting to get 4 hours of sleep, and let her out. I'm so mad I refuse to look at the clock because seeing how much time has passed without sleep will only make me more enraged. I get back in bed.

The next thing I know the sonic sounds of booming, and the cheap flashing of lights rock the house. SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE is lighting off goddamned fireworks. Again and again and again. Much like the gunshots in the ghetto, the sound ricochets off the walls of the bedroom. Where is it coming from? It sounds like it's coming from right outside the window on the corner, but it could be anywhere. All I know is it's CLOSE. It's after 2 in the morning, and someone is setting off gigantic fireworks in the peaceful, rich person neighborhood. Two in the morning!!!!! The dog goes crazy. Between the constant light and sound show coming from the street and the insane behavior of the poor dog, it is maybe a minute before my melt-down button is pushed and I start to lose my fucking mind. I can't call the cops. Everyone is calling the cops tonight. What am I supposed to say? "Hey, I'm trying to be a responsible adult and people are being really rude with their fireworks. Please stop fighting crime and come make them stop"?!??! No. I can't say that. The cops won't do shit. I try to wait it out, thrashing around the bed like a whiny child. Maybe someone else will call the cops. No one does. Bam bam bam. The dog is losing her mind. So am I. The Giraffe gets up and goes outside. "Be authoritative, honey," I think, "tell those assholes to quiet the fuck down". He doesn't. I don't blame him. Then inconsiderates lighting their shit off would just laugh if some square in pajamas told them to quiet down. It just goes on and on and on. Eventually I wonder, who spent all this money on fireworks? Why did they wait until everyone in the world was trying to sleep to set that shit off? How am I going to function on 3 1/2 hours of sleep? Life is so unfair!!! The world is so cruel!!! Woe is me!!! Pretty literally, that's what I was thinking. Somewhere, in all of that mess, my alarm got turned off. I missed my first meeting. No babies died, no bombs were set off, it wasn't the worst thing in the world--but it fucking pissed me off. Now I'm tired and behind schedule.

So here's the deal. When I was laying there in agony, like I was passing a kidney stone or something, I realized exactly how other people must have felt as a result of my behavior. That really sucks. I am almost 30 years old, and sleeping and being responsible feels pretty fucking good, and when people mess that up at totally insane times of the night I get so upset. It's not ok. I was that guy once or twice! THAT GUY, you guys! And you know what? It's so fun to be crazy and irresponsible. Totally fun sometimes. I get it. But wouldn't it be best to have your unbridled fun in a place where it's not at the expense of others? Go nuts and also be respectful? Is that so much to ask? Or take your rioting inside at a reasonable time? See, I still love the insanity. I think that's great every now and then. But the world goes on. People get up and go to work. Tasks have to get accomplished. Things must be done. Getting in the way of that for others when there are perfectly reasonable other places to do your woot-ing and loot-ing is just so disrespectful.

Maybe the rage I felt last night was some sort of payback for all the running around neighborhoods I've done when others were being responsible. Point taken, world. I also see how clearly I do not want to identify that kind of disrespectful behavior with myself anymore. That's what music festivals and camping trips and crowded city blocks are for. Everything has a place. It's important, I think, to be a conscious person in the world, and do things in the right places, at the right times.

We all have to live here.

Now I'm tired, grouchy, and opinionated as ever. But I'm also sorry to all the old people I've ever kept awake. That shit was not cool. Ugh. I'm going to stay in a retirement community for New Years Eve.

Mama.