Why do fortune cookies suck so much?

Hello faith readers... I'll quickly get the standard "I haven't written in two weeks" BS out of the way... Sorry haven't written... been busy... not much to say... I'm lame... You know the drill by now. Now onto the good stuff.

I guess I should start out with an Angela update... That's still an on going saga and I sometimes wonder if I'll ever see the end of it. No matter how many times we talk and have things settled or comfortable it seems things are back to square one the next day. (Ok so not nearly as bad as when we first broke up but still...) Anyway I probably shouldn't say much more about it, I shouldn't air out my dirty laundry in public (one of many old expressions I'm learning the meaning of, also on that list is, "Don't shit where you eat" (or some variant thereof) and "Fun crazy's still crazy").

Anyway, this past weekend was pretty awesome. Farrow and I went to all 3 O's/Sox games. And while the O's were swept, like someone smarter then myself once said, "A bad day at the Yard is still better than a good day most anywhere else." Plus the high comedy of Rob getting into a fight and going toe to toe with a 4 year old for the better part of an inning (yes he was drunk, and yes he was play arguing, "Yes he is/No he's not/Yes he is/No he's not") was well worth it. The only time the kid's dad got involved was when the kid proclaimed himself to be a Yankees fan, to which the dad quickly injected, "No you're not, do you dare say that!"

Other highlights of the weekend were missing a foul ball by three rows, watching a drunk O's fan puke in the bottom of the 8th inning in the middle of a (thankfully) empty row of seats gargle the taste out with some more beer and then keep right on drinking, hanging out with the guys at The wharf Rat (or Whale Snatch according to what Farrow swears Drob told him the place was called) during Saturday's rain delay, Rob wearing a woman's sweat shirt for most of Sunday's game, and the phone call I got from Farrow Sunday morning. I believe it went something like this:

Me: Hello?
Rob: Wake up asshole.
Me: Hey boss, how are you?
Rob: I'm still drunk and man do I stink.
Me: ... oh boy... you still wanna go to the game?
Rob: Why wouldn't I? Pick me up in a half hour.
**Click**

Yeah, it was good times, and of course that didn't stop us from knocking back a few more brews at the game (after a stop at 7-Eleven for some coffee and breakfast sandwiches). Hell Rob even got the afore mentioned girls sweatshirt from a beer vendor because, according to him, "see, it pays to be cute." Anyway we really did have a good weekend, and we agreed the only thing that would have made it better would have been to have played a round of golf Saturday morning before the game.

Of course I really didn't have the time to play golf this weekend because pretty much ever minute I didn't spend at The Yard I spent moving. Now don't worry your pretty little heads, I'm not leaving Brandywine, I'm just moving into Mikey's room. Yup after 3 years I'm finally emerging from the basement into the light of the upstairs world. You may ask why I'm giving up my own private bathroom and private entrance for a smaller room and a bathroom I'm sharing with two other people. Well, I admit I'm going to miss those things a great deal, I think that having heat in the winter and AC in the summer will be well worth the trade. That and light. Not the soft glow of three 60-watt lightbulbs, but the honest to goodness warmth of good old fashion sunlight. Something I've come to miss over the last three years and I feel I will appreciate much more once I get put back on the dayshift (yeah they keep telling me that replacing me is the highest priority hire for the front desk, but we'll see when that actually happens).

The biggest hassle with the whole moving thing is the sheer quantity of shit I have. I think there's a reason I've never lived anywhere longer than three and a half years. I feel that if I lived in one place for longer than that, the amount of useless crap I would accumulate would reach a critical mass, collapse in on itself and create a black hole that would destroy the planet. (Ok so that last sentence may have been way too melodramatic, geeky and scifi-y but you get the picture.) My problem has really been that I haven't had a good plan of attack, I've been haphazardly bringing stuff upstairs deciding if I really need/want it or not, throwing out what I can, and then trying to find a place for it in a smaller room with less storage space. My progress has been slow, but luckily Robert (who's taking over my room, a definite upgrade from the closet he's inhabited for the last year and a half) has been very patient (even helpful in moving my furniture).

In other moving news my folks have moved up to Jersey and have (mostly) settled in. I went up to visit them and drop Toby off a week and a half ago. The house is really nice. It's really big, open (the upstairs hall way is really a balcony that overlooks the foyer and the family room) and the property is beautiful (it's only about an acre/acre and a half, but the landscaping is beautiful). But it was so weird being up there.

For the first time where my parents live isn't home. I mean, I've been calling 4313 Brandywine "Home" for the last year and a half but when I really truly thought of home I thought of Meadow Wood Way in Clarksville. The River Hill Giant was my Giant, Freestate was the place to go to get cheap gas, and any given time I was running errands up there or in the Columbia Mall chances were really good that I'd bump into someone I knew or at least see someone I recognized (if nothing else I went to school with like 3-4 people who worked at the Ritz Camera there). I mean I never really had a strong love for or sense of pride in Clarksville, but it really was home and now I miss it and it makes me a little sad to think that that phase of my life is over.

Now I get to look forward to holidays in NJ like this coming Easter. Where I get the joy of picking Nana up in Bel Air and spend the next two and a half hours cooped up in the car with her. If you're watching the Saturday Evening News and see a story about (grand?)patricide please know that it was probably justifiable, take pity on me and maybe start raising money to help me post bail (please). Heh, she's crazy, last Tuesday before Uncle Jim's memorial dinner/wake thing, she gave me some literature she said she thought I could use. Five "Lifestyle Possibilities Manuals" she got in the 80's from the hospital she worked at titled, "Creative Thinking," "Connectedness," "Interpersonal Communications," "Self-Esteem," and my personal favorite, "Managing Change." Now this begs one to ask, does she think I'm depressed? does she know about all the change in my life and think I may need help? does she think I'm a troubled youth who needs direction? I'd bet no. My guess is that she found them while cleaning, wanted to get rid of them but not "waste" them and decided to dump them off on me. Doing this also makes her feel like she's helping out and is a good grandmother... (My suspicions were later given more solid ground to stand on when I talked to my mom and found out that Nana had tried to give them to her, but she said she didn't need them and didn't want to move them to Jersey).

Anyway I've got to run, it's time to go home. The question posed by the title was inspired by the two lamest fortunes I've ever seen. One said, "Have a beautiful day." and the other said,"You're a special person." or something equally as stupid (Jenny be proud of me I refrained from typing the word that initially came to mind). I remember when they would say stuff like, "Encouraging changes are not advertised on t.v," "Never stop at the weigh station on the road of life" and "You will die today." (Ok so that last one was from a Simpsons episode, eat my shorts.) Fortune Cookies used to be so much better, what happened? (Yeah, and I remember when the grass used to be greener, musicians used to write and sing their own songs and I used to be able to buy gas for under a buck.) (Ok I only made up the first one, but you get the point, I'm acting like a crotchety old man.)

Speaking of crotchety old men, I'm exhausted and need to get some sleep, so I'm going home.

Until next time dear readers, I remain,

-B