The holidays are bright, florescent reminders of how many friends we really have and how clouded our social calendar really is. Lots of us had barbecues and rooftop firework watching parties to go to this July 4th, romantic rendezvous with a special someone under the stars, or giant, patriotic family celebrations where we engaged in our own eating contests (the only prize being a giant stomach and instant regret).

But what if you were one of the many who didn’t do anything special? One of the many who stayed home with nowhere to go, or anyone you really felt like hanging out with?

Then you’d be me.

You see, this 4th of July I was sick. Real sick. A narcoleptic coughing, sneezing, melty-eyed kind of sick. Who knows how I got it. Germs are everywhere in this city. I probably caught it from the pharmacist who handed me my hand sanitizer.

In any case, the plans I had made to grill chicken and watch the fireworks by the water with friends were down the toilet. At least for me.

So what did I do? Well, I watched TV for a while. And then I made some hot dogs because I wanted to try and stay in the spirit of 4th of July grilling. And then I got caught in the middle of a huge fight.

I mean, basically.

You see, my neighbors (the loud, popped collars I’ve told you about) were having a huge outdoor holiday bash. Even though I couldn’t really see what was going on, I could hear it. Pretty much your typical rich kid frat party stuff (screams, yells, cell phones going off, blackberries being shouted into) until someone threw a bottle.

Right into the apartment below us.

Quicker than Paris Hilton’s recent personality change, the downstairs neighbors came out and started screaming at the frat boy party. Apparently, someone had been hit with the bottle. While she was taking out the trash.

Sure, I was sick and half blind from fatigue, but I know a good fight when I hear one. Mustering up all my available strength, I hoisted myself (and the mojito I was nursing all night) onto the fire escape to watch the action.

The irate, bottle struck neighbors were screaming about lawyers and cops and blood and court loud enough to make the entire frat party settle into a frightened, “Help-Me-Mommy!” silence.

“Shit” some girl whispered to her friend on the frat boy party fire escape, “I don’t wanna go to jail. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

The girls tried to leave, but were stopped dead in their tracks when the downstairs neighbors loudly signaled them out.

“Did you bitches throw that bottle?” A man screamed. “Did you drunk bitches throw that bottle!?”

And then all hell broke loose. A few wasted frat boys found their chivalry bone and started yelling back, telling my downstairs neighbors not to call their friends bitches. Some racial slurs were thrown in, as well as some threats to “cut people up”.

I wonder if these people are really going to lose it, I thought, sipping my watery mojito and trying not to sniff too loud, I wonder if there’s really going to be a throw down in the trash area of my apartment complex.

“Hey you, girl!”

My thoughts were immediately interrupted. The downstairs neighbors had noticed me in all of my pajama-ed glory.

“Girl, did you see who threw that bottle?”

Everyone was suddenly staring at me. Frat boys and party girls and the downstairs neighbors and even a few other people who had opened their windows at the noise. I was frozen. I needed to sneeze. I was in my pj’s.

Somewhere, far away, fireworks were going off.

“No…” I managed to cough out. “I…I just stepped out for air. I’m…I’m sick. I’ve been inside all night…drinking out of this jelly jar.”

I’m not sure what prompted me to include the part about my extracurricular jar drinking activities. It could have been the NyQuil.

“You sure, girl? Haven’t you been out here all this time?”

“Whatever” the woman who was supposedly hit with the bottle sighed, waving me away with her hand. “She didn’t see nothin. Who cares. Fuck it. It’s the 4th of July. Everyone’s throwing goddamn bottles.”

And with that, she went inside, turned up some crazy techno beat, and the argument was dropped.

Shortly after I managed to quietly stuff myself back inside my window and lie down on my bed, where I immediately promised myself I would never again go out onto the fire escape in a giant T-shirt with tree frogs all over it.

Just as I was drifting into a medically induced daze, six quick explosions rocked the apartment.

Apparently, someone had set off fireworks in the hallway.