The Newly Blue-Haired Crew Has a Big 4th

I must admit, I have been angry at the Bloggie Blog for the last couple of days. I had alot to say, but I held back for fear of getting burned again. You see, on Friday morning, I wrote a brilliant little excerpt about my July 4th expectations and *POOF!* it didn't save. So, I just want to let you all know, you missed out because of Blogspot's inattention to detail.

Anyway, I'm back at work today after the week-long, thought-provoking furlough. I am in pain in more ways than one. My thighs, biceps, stomach, and neck ache like I ran (and won) the Boston Marathon this morning. For those of you who were lucky enough to attend the rained-out shindig on Saturday, you might be guessing correctly -- that the giant slip n' slide did me in.

It all started a week or so ago when Muscles was out having a bite with some friends, reminiscing about 4th's past. They always have to try to top the best. One of the bunch suggests a slip n' slide. Ooooh's & Aaaah's ensue. Everyone thinks that's a fab idea until they realize the inevitable -- that slip n' slides are built for children and thus, will not work for this group. The plan is eventually modified to include a homemade, grown-man-size, big slide going down a hill. Sounds like fun, huh? I thought so, too.

I woke up on Saturday morning to eat the annual Yones Familia breakfast at 7:30. Yuck. We felt violated for having to wake up that early in the first place... not to mention that breakfast was nearly gone and cold by the time we actually made it there. Whatever. I planned to mosey back to my bed and nap for awhile, as we had been up late the night before.


Muscles had other plans. He said he must get to work on the water slide. Crap. Our house guest, Casio the Rappin' Calculator, got out of bed in a flurry of excitement to help. Even though I tried diligently to go back to sleep, butterflies of anticipation were keeping me awake. I eventually gave in to the pressure and went outside to see their progress.

There, in the field beside my house, was 300 feet of thick plastic arranged end-to-end down a hill. I was impressed. The boys went to round up 8 or so water hoses (Yeah, I'm guessing we'll hear about that later.) to get this show rollin'. I obediently went inside to find the veggie oil. After all, we wanted this thing to go fast.

I get back out there, only to find my Cuzzo and her boyfriend, Robert Roberts, watering the plastic.
"Where's Muscles?" I ask.
"He and the Calculator went to find MORE hoses," RobRob replies.
I was antsy. I'll admit it. I tricked Roberts into giving it a go. I would've done so myself, but there were safety concerns, and, frankly, he was more expendable. Oops.

Robby-O positions himself atop a boogie board and asks that we push him. We give him the ol' heave-ho and he's off. Uh oh. Robby-O is not sliding in a straight line. He's favoring his left side. Did he have a stroke on the way down? Nope. The slide was malfunctioning and leading poor Robby-O off into the grass and slightly down the hill. No harm, no foul, right?

Robby-O attempts to stand, but struggles instead with the copious amounts of vegetable oil previously mentioned. After a couple of tries, he makes it back up the hill. Being the considerate guest that I am, I convince him to give it another try.

Robby-O is back on his perch, awaiting a push in no time.

Go, Robby-O, go!

I wish I could report that Robby-O got the hang of it, but that's not quite the case. Essentially, it was the same result with less bumbling to stand up this time. That's okay, Robby-O. Perhaps you're just not cut out for slippin' and slidin'.

At this point, I decide to give it a go myself. I have seen the damage (or so I thought) and it was minimal. I mounted the same boogie board (equipped with handles) and strategized in my mind that I would steer myself away from harm's way.

Ready...
Set...
MAN! This thing feels alot faster than it looks! I'm an excellent steer-er, really showing Robby-O up, I think. Then, like you may have guessed, I too rolled off of the plastic and into the coarse hay. YUCK.

In the meantime, Muscles and his Calculator come back. We put our five young minds together and try to come up with a way to fix the slide. Apparently, all that thinking was difficult for dear Muscles because he suddenly broke free from the group, ran to the slide, and plopped down head-first. What.A.Bad.Idea.

Let's just say Muscles hit every bump, stick, and rock on the way down to the same patch of hay Robby-O and myself had landed in. Only when he stood up, he was covered in tiny cuts. Ouch.

Robby-O chose this moment to air his own previously unmentioned concerns. He raised the back of his own shirt up to reveal multiple wounds. Why did he let me slide down, knowing the risks? Good question. Either way, I ended up feeling perfectly fine.

Muscles, on the other hand, was not so happy. He was in the middle of a full scale rant.
"This is never going to work! It's not going to work! Too bad! I hate that we did allll this work for nothing. Guess everybody can just be disappointed. Blah Blah Blah."

Geez, Louise, Muscles. Calm down. I hate it when he does that over-reacting thing. And, to boot, I enjoyed my short-lived, uninjured ride [halfway] down the hill. I think we could've tried harder, but Muscles wasn't having it. GAME OVER.

I went inside to pout and take a shower. What a let down. Or so I thought.

When I got out of the shower and looked out the window, one third of our deconstructed slide (100 feet of slippery goodness) was lying in our front yard. The water hoses had been adjusted for optimal water delivery. Wow.

This was a more traditional slip n' slide. You actually had to run and jump on it, just like the days when we were all wee tots. This was a nice consolation prize.

We spent the afternoon running, jumping, and diving onto our adult-size slip n' slide. It was a blasty-blast, even when the rain started.

What I did not expect, however, was to wake up the next morning feeling like I had wrestled an angry giant. Muscles and I were both in considerable pain. After checking in with our co-slippers n' sliders, everyone was, in fact, in pain.

Later that evening, we went over to the in-laws house to watch the previously rained-out fireworks. I announced how very sore I was to whoever would listen, as it hurt each and every time I moved.

My mother-in-law then says to me,
"Well, you all ARE 25 years old, throwing your bodies on the ground! You should be sore."

Buuuuuurn. Good point, though I hate to admit it. Perhaps this is the beginning of what getting old feels like. Next time I fancy a slip n' slide, I'll be sure to load up on BenGay cream and IcyHot patches first.