So I've Decided I'm a Pyro

So I took my weekly trip out to my parents' house on Monday night to visit, have dinner, and do some laundry. They live pretty much out in the middle of nowhere in a suburb of Milwaukee, which is about a 30 minute drive from where I live. I don't know if it's like this anywhere else, but all summer in Wisconsin, you can't drive anywhere outside of the grand metropolis that is Milwaukee without seeing a fireworks tent every ten feet of your drive. So suffice it to say, my parents' house is surrounded by explosives- and my father and I (and the little boys next door) have a field day every summer parousing all the fireworks tents stockpiling for random events throughout the summer.
Seriously. My parents got married on the fourth of July. So, every year since, fireworks. Memorial day? Fireworks. Labor day? FIREWORKS! (Okay, I may be eggagerating JUST a bit. But really- any reason to light off fireworks. We're on it.)
So, I get to my parents' on Monday night, and my dad calls me out into the garage. He needs me to help him in with some stuff he bought at the store. I open the door, and there it is. Beauty before my eyes. Big. Massive. Fireworks. That come up to my knees... all for my BIRTHDAY!!! A couple friends and I are heading out there on Saturday (because I turn the big 2 5 on Sunday) and we're going to party like it's 1999 with - you guessed it- a fireworks display! (Seriously, any excuse). I'm so excited I can't contain myself. Which is why I really think I'm a pyro. I'm the one that lights the sparklers for the 85 kids in the neighborhood and pray to God that none of them start thier hair on fire. I have problems.

***Update!*** So Mr. Perfect, aka Hottest Guy Ever! aka Matt Dillon (after careful analysis, it has been concluded that he closely resembles Matt. mmm!) didn't show last night. It was decided that we were going to meet back up at my friend's karaoke show this week and "kick it" one last time before he "moved to Florida" (thanks Thomas for instilling the suspicion in me!). I actually would have liked to have seen him before then, but he made it very clear to me that that would make no sense. Here's his rationale: "I'm leaving in two weeks. Now I know you know this, but I'm going to remind you so we're both on the same page. I have absolutely no chance in hell of getting in your pants between now and the time I leave. So really, Stephanie, what's the point of our spending time together outside of here. You'll just get attatched, I'll just get extremely frustrated, and we both lose. Bad deal. I'll just see you here next week." Well, next week came and went. No Mr. Perfect. Boo. Having morals really thins out the options. But I suppose that's kind of the point: weed out the creeps before they even get a chance to strike. Good for the moral standing, but it still leaves me... say it with me everyone... DATELESS. Grrr. Ben & Jerry's, here I come.