For we Canajuns, it's July 1, Canada's Birthday. The day Canada became Canada. It happened 142 years ago. That's a long time ago. I feel older than that most days. And I also realize I probably look that old. Not only that, but I realize that this post should have been posted last week. Such is how I roll lately.
I planned on spending the day with the family, doing fun family things that fun families do on Canada Day, like going for a bike ride, all cheery-like, or maybe going for a picnic and enjoying the warm summer breeze, or perhaps going to the beach, since we in Ottawa are fortunate to have plenty of beaches to enjoy.
But nay, guys, none of those things happened. Why, you ask? Because it was cloudy. And cool. And the weatherman said it was going to rain.
But it didn't, guys. And that just pissed me off even more. Which made me want to do nothing all the more. Which really doesn't make any sense, when you really think about it. But whatever. It is what it is, and it's too late to change it, because it's now July 8, and life is passing me by like a freight train, and I'm aging by the second, and getting more and more depressed as we speak.
So, as the day progressed, and the rain threatened, and the children kept proclaiming that we had not yet done anything of substance on ye special day of Canadians, I decided to take the kids to see the fireworks. We usually do that on Canada Day anyway, but because of the iffy weather, Mr. Handsome and I were humming and hawing and wondering about it for the better part of the day. In the end, I said we'd go, but if it started raining, I wouldn't be a happy camper.
Then, I gave the kids the choice of either going to our usual spot to watch the fireworks, or to actually venture downtown to watch them. The difference, in case you care, is that downtown is where the fireworks actually get fired, so you're up close and personal with the sparks and noise and just "the thing" of it all. You're also right in the thick of drunken idiotic folks who do things like scream, "YAH CANADA!!" in your ear as you stroll by, or pee in the bushes in broad view of 3,425 people, or vomit in the middle of the Confederation Square. This is in inverse proportion to the place we usually go to watch the fireworks: a nice, family-oriented park full of greenery, water, geese and fairgrounds, where crowds gather just to be together and enjoy the day, along with the nice perk of a gander of fireworks at the end of the day.
So, as I was saying, I gave the kids the choice. Em, when asked where she'd rather go, said, "I don't care. I don't know if I even want to go. Oh, I guess I'll go, maybe. Whatever. I don't care." And Dee said, "Downtown! Downtown! Downtown!" And Mr. Handsome said, "I don't want to go," as he lay on the loveseat, his head buried in three pillows.
So, although he felt very guilty, Mr. Handsome stayed behind as the three of us rallied against the masses and made our way downtown to watch the fireworks. Parking the car should have been a massive problem, but we found a nice spot on a side street about 15 minutes' walk away from where we wanted to be, so that was great.
After ducking and diving between many a drunken idiot, most of them 20 years and younger, we got to Confederation Square, which is smack dab in the middle of downtown Ottawa, and provides a pretty good view of the fireworks. All the streets down there are closed down for the day, so it's easy to get around, once you move past the throngs who all seem to think that they can only walk on the sidewalks, although the streets are carless and totally doable for pedestrians. But nay, we are talking about sheep, people. Sheep who do not think. And these were drunk sheep, which is the worst kind of sheep.
Anyway, we finally got there, and I decided to try taking night pictures with my newish handy dandy Canon XSi, despite not knowing much about this camera yet because I haven't had the time to really sit down and learn it. And we won't even talk about PhotoShop. Still.
So, in my effort to be artistic and all things creative, I decided this would be an awesome photo.
And this is the kids in front of the statue commemorating the soldiers in World War I. I was actually quite proud of this photo, seeing as it was dark out, and I know nothing about how my camera works. Of course, the kids were totally embarrassed by my phototaking, telling me everyone was looking, blahblahblah.
Very touristy shot, isn't it? That's the Chateau Laurier behind the little punkins, all glowy like. I will never stay in that hotel because a room costs a thousandty dollars, and I'd rather spend that kind of money on liquor and bon bons.
And then the fireworks began, right on time at 10 p.m., and this is what we saw:
I would just like to point out that the guy that seems to be in a lot of these photos, I do not know. Can you even see him? Try hard, because he's in most of them. Right in the forefront, hanging on to some babe. I have no idea who he is, and why he is there, standing with his back to the fireworks extravaganza. What the hell? Oh, I forgot. He was probably beyond drunk, and trying to talk to his girlfriend, who was holding her hands over her ears because the lights were too bright.
Not that there's anything wrong with being drunk in public, especially if you're a slap happy drunk who does silly things and makes everyone laugh, because that can be construed as a social service of sorts, I would think. Nay, what's wrong with being drunk in public is when you swear at the top of your lungs when children are present, or you bare your buttocks to anyone who will look because, hey, that's damn funny stuff! Or, the piece de resistance, you puke in the middle of the square where everyone obviously walks, and then a nice little Indian family does what? That's right, they walk right into the humongor pile of puke, their shoes now laden with chunks of sub sandwich and beer and all things alcoholic, and probably some pizza too. That is not so funny. Well, I snickered when it happened, because really, I was glad it wasn't me, and it almost was. Thank god Em has such good eyes and screamed at me as I neared the pool of vomit.
Anypuke, after the amazingly splendiforous fireworks, we slowly made our way back to the car, and Dee started whining that he was staaaaaarving, and Em didn't say much, but I knew she probably had a hankering for some munchies as well, so as we passed a fry truck that had been turned into an ice cream truck, and I bought them a Twistee cone, which is a cute name for chocolate and vanilla softserve ice cream twisted together and plopped haphazardly on a cone that contains no flavour, unless you think 'wet cardboard' is a flavour.
It wasn't really that good, and it sounded better than it was, which is almost always the way, even with things like a day at the beach (who wants to be cleaning sand out of their ass crack for the next week?).
But the evening itself was great, and the kids had fun, so that was all that mattered to me. That, and the fact that they went straight to bed once we got home, and I ended up not being able to sleep, so I read skanky magazines, one of my son's Archie comics, and then I dreamt of work all night long. The End.