This week is Vacation Bible School (VBS) week at the big Baptist Church down the road from Gretchen. I walk past the VBS on my way to the gym. Now, the very concept of VBS confuses me. Does it mean that you take a vacation from the bible or from school? Or is it a vacation from bible school and if so why is it held in a church? Is it a time were you are vacationing from the virtues? What is the point?

I recall growing up and having a VBS in town. In fact for a couple of weeks in July or was in June there would be these random kids on campus and around town. They would show up, take over the gym, leave cigarette butts everywhere and generally cause trouble (like mathlete trouble). Their parents were nowhere to be found.

The VBS down the road–full of parents. As in I haven't seen that many cars at the church since, well the last time I was awake before 10am on a Sunday. If anyone can shed some light (the holy kind please) on this subject for me I would be much obliged. I know naught of these VBS things as I was raised as a heathen. Quickly to the fire to gavotte around!

I agree with Justin, that while the idea is cool it's also a little creepy. Google Browser Sync is something that I truly thought about downloading for 3 whole minutes. The new machine (yet to be named) at home and this one sharing bookmarks, tabs, cookies…all the good stuff. But something says to me: NO DON'T DO IT. I believe it's my terminator warning system going off. Anything that will ultimately lead to terminator sets it off. Sure this seems innocent enough, but I'm telling you it's one step towards the remains of humanity following John Conner.

In other news I will get getting my new computer tomorrow according to UPS tracking system. This is very exciting. Of course I'll post pictures of its glory along with whatever else is on the digital camera.

World Cup starts tomorrow. I'll be sporting my Germany jersey for the occasion–since they are playing and all. If I seem distant or boring blame football.

The beer cozy is extremely important in certain social circles. If you offer a beer without a cozy you are seen as improper and even worse people may think you have no respect for beer.

I've had people apologize for not being able to locate their beer cozies. I've seen people pull out knives and threaten others if their cozies are not returned. I've also seen people match their beer cozies to their outfits. This includes the sunglass I'm so extreme my sunglasses may fly from my head at any given moment and they must be caught cord.

The beer cozy is only for use with American beer. That foreign devil beer can not and will not know the glory of a beer cozy. That is the proper way. That is the American way.

My own beer cozy is actually imported. Don't tell the beer cozy police. It was shipped from Australia, a magical place where it's almost like America but more extreme. Heck most of the animals there will kill you. This beer cozy is kept in a secret compartment to be used only in the most extreme emergencies; when all other cozies are unavailable.

All hail the beer cozy.

Sometimes you just have to get on the motorcycle and journey far to solve some problems. Last night I ended up over at the Fortress of Solitude (can it still be called that with Live-In Josh there?) with Toby and beer.

We (MF Chris, Live-In Josh, & I) partook of a very tasty beer–amber style. I let MF Chris tool around on Toby for a bit. He was talking about getting his own. I say do it.

The anger from Thursday was resolved over beer while watching the fireflies. Ended up crashing there and seeing part of this film. It was very odd. Woke up tragically early, went to Huddle House for breakfast, the Y for exercise, and then work for money. The tiredness set in about 2pm and has been lingering for a bit. Grumble grumble.

Jason has posed an interesting question: what makes up the Gen Y film literacy? Seeing how I've seen all of his Gen X films and the only one I could come up with is Fight Club–well I don't know. Mortal Kombat? TMNT? But then I'm on the older end of Gen Y–so really.

The other evening someone questioned why I blogged. Isn't it so 2001? My reaction was a little along the lines of whaaa? This particular person then admitted to being a forum troll, which then caused me to think isn't that so 1995–but I was trying to be social and not start a fight so I said, hmmm.

But then, why do I blog? Well, it's to keep peeps updated on me. Though the postcards go out biweekly or so I don't take the time to write down every little thing on those. The postcards are usually either: Rock Fist Up–Life Mother Fucking Rules or Rock Fist Down–Totally got shafted this week. The blog has details. Messy, gory details. It's a place for the peeps to go and see how bad is Kansas this week? How many times did she black out and drive home? Is the pirate flag flying? You know the important things.

Some people are saying that blogs shouldn't last more than a few years. Okay. I've had this a few years. I've gone through some template changes and currently even thinking about getting my own webspace and running wordpress (oooo….a challenge!), but since I don't live anywhere near most of my friends I don't see this dying soon. If somehow magically I found a new job that allowed me to visit my friends on a monthly or bimonthly basis, well then this blog might die. Holy shit, if I visited all my friends on a monthly or bimonthly basis this blog would most certainly die–hell I would never be home and rarely actually working–my kind of job!

Do I care about this blogs popularity? Not really. That's not what it's here for. Back when it was called Cats, Dogs, Tree, Spanish Men I was number one when googling for gay naked Spanish men (don't ask why). Now I am less easily run across and happy about that. Sometimes I wish I had the readership of Justin, but those days are becoming fewer and fewer. I suppose it's growing older and becoming more comfortable about who I am (anger and all) and what I can realistically expect from my life. Today, for example I can expect to go to work where there may or may not be any patrons and get my haircut, which may or may not be stylish. I do not expect to hear from anyone besides possibly my parents and a random friend or too while they are driving to exciting places to do exciting things. That is life.

I've rambled enough. Look for a review of Apocalypse Now Redux on movie thoughts soon. And if you have time Joshy Josh pointed out a great thing in Mel Gibson's new film. Watch the preview: when you see the monkey hit pause and go back frame by frame to the people covered in flower.

I've decided it's mostly Josh's fault.  My anger.  My rage.  My teen angst bullshit.

It gets to be Josh's fault because he's the one who picked at it.  He's the one who poored salt in the fucking wound.  He's the one who purposely did shit to further my anger.  So Fuck You.

I dedicate one of my favorite songs to you:

I knew you wouldn't understand
Just what I'm tryin to do
'Cause you're not fuckin me
And I'm so glad that I am not fuckin you

Why can't anything go my way?
  Hate You-Reel Big Fish

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm an angry person. Why am I angry? Various reasons. I'm a lot better now than I was 10 years ago, but I still get angry. Tonight was one of those nights.

Why was I angry tonight? Well, that's complicated. But it comes down to a couple of simple things:
1. Not being invited out–and having to invite myself
2. Being shunned practically from the get-go and then questioned why I was quiet.
3. Not feeling wanted or important by person who was talking to me.
4. Left for skinny chicks.

Should I post this? No. Will I? Yes.

I have to say there is something therapeutic about driving 100mph.

So in this weeks The Week there is an expert from this article. I saw this and immediately thought of MF Chris and his demand for romance in his life. I took it to him at Sushi Tuesday. He hasn't read the whole article, but initial thoughts were rather negative about the bases of the article. Or at least I interpreted them so.

The conversation worked back around to an earlier one where I had quoted a friend saying to ask to be romanced was very selfish. Chris has shared this with his circle and the response from them is something along the lines of, "my god…the millennials are cold and cynical." Now that's a little harsh. First I didn't say that being selfish is a bad thing. Everyone should be a little selfish, but with most things too much is just ugly. Second, don't judge an entire generation based on this as it was said in relation to purposefully asking to be romanced.

Basically I want it to be known that I don't dislike romance. In fact I like romance. Romance (my personal definition) includes holding hands while watching tv. It includes going for ice cream just because. It includes buying flowers for no reason. Getting something that you know the other person will like. A lot of these traits can be applied to friendship as well-what sets them apart is the physical aspect that will most likely come post romantic gesture. (I'm talking rabid rabbit sex here.)

On the flip side, I would never ask for any of this as that wouldn't be romantic. And that's what selfish about Chris request for more romance. If you ask for it it negates the purpose–kind of like forced volunteering.

Previously noted as Drunk Josh.  Well let's see.  He has officially died in the past.  He got into a car wreck and most of his face is actually metal plates.  You can feel a screw on his forehead.

As we were laying on the couches in the living room bullshitting last night he gave me what I am now marking as third best compliment to date: You've got that great hourglass figure.   Third because first is: When I first met you I thought you were an utter cow, but you are solid gold.  And second: Don't underestimate yourself (Ian said that, and if you know Ian this is an amazing compliment).

I felt bad about leaving this morning, but I was all hivey and hives aren't good for anyone.  Trust me.  

I think this next week will be interesting.

Side note: it turns out that there is a typo on my cards so they are being reprinted. 

So Friday afternoon I saddled up and drove for a bit. I stopped in Gainsville to see one Madam Lauren. She bought me a tasty beverage at a bar and dinner. I had tater sticks. Then I hit the road again and headed down to Palm Beach. I stayed the evening in a Marriot and woke up to my birthday.

My mom woke me up around 8am (even though I had only gotten a couple hours of sleep thanks to some noisy neighbors & police). She gave me a gift. I got a KU flag type thing.

Then we went downstairs for breakfast. It was tasty. Elfin returned from adventures and informed us that we were meeting Brigette and heading to the mall. I got another gift from my mom. I got some pretty fly business cards. If you are lucky you might get one. Then we were off.

The mall was nice. Bloomingdale's & all, but still a mall–if you know what I mean. Mom bought me a really cool t-shirt. Then we were off to the Keys. Stopping briefly for gas on the mainland.

Until we stopped at Alabama Jack's for a drink, some snack food, and a chance for my parents to embarass me enough that I broke out in hives. That was great, really.

Back on the road until World Wide Sportsman to get a gift certificate* for Robert. And then another stop at K-Mart for fishing licenses for Elfin and my dad. Stop again at Publix for last minute food for the house.

8:28 comes and goes as I'm driving to Key West. It was dark. I wished myself a happy birthday.

9:45 we get to the house. We unload. I go to bed, having not eaten I was very tired and very cranky. Basically the day ended the only way it could in tears. Perhaps next year I'll either have a good actual birthday or skip it altogether. I haven't decided yet.

Wrap up of Sunday-Thursday next.