Drugs aren't going to just take themselves!

I’m writing a criminal defense page. What do you even say about that? Well, you obviously did it. Or, I understand. I mean, your car isn’t going to drive itself home after you’ve been drinking all night.

I know I’ve been neglecting the blog lately, and it’s not out of hatred for the blog or disrespect for the blog, and it’s not even because I don’t feel like writing, because I like to write about useless things for everyone to look at, and it’s not because nothing happened, because things have happened. It’s just because.

Chad and Liz visited from Mankato for the fourth, and we went to the beach, and we went to see Transformers, and we went to see fireworks by the smelly river. At the beach, Chad burned awkwardly and a little boy named Lee got lost and all of the adults had to form a human chain and walk toward the center of the manmade lake to possibly run into his drowned yellow-trunk-suited carcass. Liz, Chad, and I sat on the shore and built sandcastles. Well, Liz built a sand stone hedge, Chad built a “wizard castle,” and I built a sand conservatory complete with telescope to see if any meteors were about to come and destroy the stones/wizard castle. Oh, and we had a guest house, too.

Then I decided to cover myself in mud and run around for awhile and again question why, exactly, it is that I don’t have a boyfriend. And some young child’s frog toy washed ashore by our castle and we all screamed and said The frog is attacking! Get your defense forces ready! Ahhhh! And the boy’s father heard us and started laughing at us. And then he started yelling at the boy to go get his damn frog—1, 2, 3… and the boy was too scared to come by us. So I threw the frog toward the boy in the water. I was a little upset that my conservatory hadn’t seen the frog coming in, but then I remembered that it was a regular attack frog and not a space attack frog.

After beach time was Gap time, then movie time. Chad creamed himself during Transformers, I was mostly scared because those robot aliens are huge and their voices are low and they kill anything they want to. All hail Megatron. I’ve decided that I want my car to be a transformer, but instead of turning into a robot that fights for my personal safety, all my car turns into is a shittier version of itself that has no concern whatsoever about my well-being. I bet insurance rates for Transformer cars are ridiculous anyway. I suppose you could just get liability.

Fireworks were, uh, American. Actually, what I love about the fourth of July is just the sense of Americana that surrounds it. Just like all of those summertime movies—kids running around, swimming, then sitting by a fire, then watching the fireworks and wondering where they’ll be at the next fourth of July, when they’re not stupid kids anymore. We were at St. Anthony. One man hollered, ah—there’s the willow! When the weeping willow firework was (finally) launched. I, then, announced every other weeping willow and asked the band to crank up the fucking Sousa. That’s what you do on the fourth.