I stay silent as an alternative to the chatter, but the ears remain open.

So Vanilla Ice has once again revamped his image... so Vanilla Ice has once again revamped his musical style... so Vanilla Ice has once again revamped his moniker (ditching "Bi-polar" for the rough-yet-familiar "V-Ice")... he is still the man behind "Ice Ice Baby," the greatest one hit wonder of all time... and I'm still not going to his concert, even if it's a few bucks at the Swamp in Okaloosa County. Is he getting paid in shrimp? I hope they ice that shrimp hahaha!

The cute little girl you watched grow up, astonished by what a strong woman came from that child. She feels, loves, and hurts just like those other strangers walking through the city. How to comfort?

A Gainesville friend once explained to me how he so regularly consumed Mountain Dew that the caffeine hardly stimulated his brain anymore. He could chug liter upon liter of the sugary yellow soda pop and immediately crawl into bed and snooze. Vanilla Coke could very well be my Mountain Dew. Half of a two-liter bottle (that would be one liter) and two cans emptied, but body completely calm and preparing to shut down for respite.

Newly created cd (Effin Tunes 6: Hot Plate) flowing through the speakers of my quaint boombox. Found lost compilation disc from last December (Kilbot Factory XII: Get my Dinner Ready). Compilation Discs reflect mood, emotions and themes surrounding that phase of my life from the mouths of other artists. My December music spreads the illusion of glancing from a window five minutes after the end of a storm; a muted, somber tone undercut by bright moments on the horizon. Sure enough, at that time I had returned from fall semester definitely single, hopes of a Gainesville relationship dashed, only to discover true couplehood and romance back home. Seven months later, that latter relationship having faded into the clouds, my musical journal feels more like the beginning of a road trip. Moving away from my troubles, leaving my past worries and problems behind in exhaust smoke as I merge onto a new highway. Not an unfamiliar highway, but one that has undergone construction since I last traveled it. Recognize the overall atmosphere. Enjoying the stretching trek until I am signaled to use an exit ramp.

Side note: Well aware most of my thoughts are structured in fragments tonight. Just the mood I wish to use.

Since I'm done, does that side note become a foot note? Should I use an asterisk?

The spunk of an innocent child leads him to focus on a task at hand, shutting out the world around him, until a random distraction bursts his bubble of concentration. The old task sits in standby and wonders whether he will be completed, while the boy joyfully struts on with his new activity. Another impetus bursts the fragile bubble of concentration, and the process cycles until the boy gets tuckered out and wants to sleep.

Incomplete thought. Incomplete composition. Incomplete cd. Incomplete story.

Time for bed.

Brought to you in reverse chronological order: The Lost Blooger Entries! See both creations made from the hands of the author while his internet connection was comatosed at the hands of another lightning storm. Counting these words, you get three blooger entries for the price of one! Here's what you missed...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 23, 2002

Two dark brown eyes remain sturdy and active tonight, filled with the rest from a three-hour nap, the caffeine from a vanilla coke, and the adrenaline from a workout. Just like legendary martial arts master Chuck Norris, I use the Total Gym 1000 in an effort to present a healthier, toned body. Unlike that of Mr. Norris, my body could not prompt Joe American to call and order a fitness machine. My packaged Total Gym was at full display on my birthday but remains boxed until I bring it to Country Village Apartments, Gainesville, FL. This recent twenty year old made a sort of birthday resolution to actively use a Total Gym that happens to be in my house. After three days, I already feel better about my body.

This next statement may sound a little erotic, so you might want to get a hand towel to wipe the perspiration beading from your forehead: I’m not wearing a shirt right now, my naked chest fully exposed. Since about third grade I’ve never felt fully comfortable or satisfied with my body. A milestone has been reached by my being able to lie in my bed without covering my stomach and chest. The mere practice of my Total Gym exercising gives me more satisfaction with myself. Even if my body’s appearance is far from my ideal goal, I’m comfortable with myself physically than maybe ever before. Not much has changed in the actual product… just the perception from inside.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

July 21, 2002

July 21, 2002: the day my life officially amounted to twenty years of breathing, living, and experiencing. An approximate chronological recap of the peaceful, intimate, enjoyable day:

8:15 am: Alarm clock wakes me up
8:16 am: See “Happy Birthday” instant messages from Jemma and Anikka under the “Connection Lost” icon
8:18 am: Go downstairs, “Happy Birthday” and kiss from parents, tell them how the storm may have fried our Ethernet line (again)
8:19 am: Parents discover downstairs computer is completely dead; killed by thunderstorm
8:25 am: Shower, get dressed, leave for church through the heavy rain
9:05 am: Arrive at Hilcrest, sit and talk
9:30 am: Service begins
9:55 am: Haley sings a personal favorite, “Only Hope”; touches me inside
10:45 am: Service ends, drive home
11:08 am: Open the front door, see my gifts, open presents and cards
11:30 am: Eat delicious omelet made by dad
11:45 am: Test out new stereo system with new Chili Peppers album
12:00 pm: Turn on new DVD, watch with dad and Camille
1:15 pm: Doze off a bit
2:00 pm: Finally reach Andrew on the phone
2:05 pm: Listen to Chili Peppers album with dad
3:10 pm: Crystal comes over
3:20 pm: The Dubose family comes over
3:21 pm: Get call from Haley, who’s not the best girl at not getting lost
3:30 pm: John comes over
3:45 pm: Haley (finally) makes it
4:00 pm: Family, the Duboses, Crystal, John, Haley, and myself meet Andrew, Aunt Neomi, and John at New Market for dinner
4:05 pm: Begin evening affair of great conversations, belly-aching laughs, and medium-rare prime rib with baked potato (and no salad!)
5:45 pm: Action relocates back to my home
6:05 pm: Discover the problem with my car’s air conditioning with Mr. Dubose
6:15 pm: Light the candles, hear off-key rendition of “Happy Birthday to You”
6:16 pm: Extinguish all 21 candles (one for good luck) with a single puff; begin serving birthday trifle and birthday cupcakes
6:30 pm: Plop onto couch with belly as full as possible, between Camille and Haley
6:35 pm: Open gifts from my other loved ones
6:55 pm: Group hysterics mocking the tip-toeing of my dog, Angel
7:00 pm: Group Simpsons watching fun
8:30 pm: More DVD fun
10:00 pm: Call it a night, walk upstairs
10:10 pm: Write introductory entry to pen-and-paper journal
11:00 pm: Write blooger entry in Microsoft Word; for posting when Dan the Computer Man restores Ethernet
11:50 pm: The current time

All in all, my twentieth birthday carried a very wholesome, loving, and joyous vibe. My mom explained it to me best, showing me how somehow I had perfectly balanced my surrounding company. Immediate family, family friends, relatives, and close friends all interacted together, complementing each other and remaining in perfect balance throughout the evening. I was surrounded by a steady love in the quietly cool atmosphere that provides me so much comfort. I’m entering another decade, my twenties. Being the youngin among 99% of my friends, I finally join the club, though today’s official annoitation is nothing more than a technicality in that aspect. Today people who care about me stayed in my company as sort of a tribute and appreciation of my existence… wow! “Happy Birthday” never felt so special.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Completing my final day as a teenager. Ok. Woopty-freakin-doo. For some reason I'm rather indifferent to this quote-unquote milestone. I'm really turning thirty anyway. Somehow my teen years consisted of wants and actions more like those of guys in their twenties. My mind might be fried from the one-hundred thirty degree weather, as I feel dull, mindless, and unorganized writing. I'll awake Sunday morning twenty years old and share the day with a few people I dearly love: my family and a few close friends. Bring on the "Happy Birthdays!!!," the pampering, the hugs. Oh, and the presents.

Hmm... I may have just completed my first blooger entry which consisted of only one, solid paragraph.

By the way, that blooger entry would be the one below this two-sentence, two-"paragraph" composition.

Back in 1990, Homer Simpson advocated the installation of a stop sign for a dangerous intersection. He saw a problem with the ordinances on a city road and sought to change that error. Perhaps he can come visit Pensacola and petition to lower the speed limit of Chemstrand Road to 35 mph. The current speed limit of 45 mph seems reasonable; Chemstrand holds steady traffic, a straight pathway, and few stoplights. If the speed limit were lowered, however, I might feel less frustrated at only being able to achieve 40 mph driving on that road. An old fogey is always plodding down the two-lane road in both directions and slows all the people behind his slow butt. Why do the Old and Slow Drivers of America have their daily meetings on Chemstrand?!? The only nuisance I loathe more while driving is when the slow person in front of me goes to a complete stop before making a turn (this practice rarely happens up north, occasionally occurs in Pensacola, and is the norm in Mississippi). With a 35 mph speed limit, I'd be more tolerant of the Dodge Stratus going 40 in front of me. Plus, a lot fewer cars would be attacked up the butt by a tailing auto.

Farewell, you stupid stone!

That sucker that has plagued me for days finally jettisoned from my body. After my evening pee, I felt the scratching jagged agony of this solid mass dying to come out. I knew my next pee would release the stone. Vanilla coke after vanilla coke after vanilla coke guzzled and filling up for the explosion. By 9:30 I had to go baaaaaaaadly! Because Haley doesn't so well with pain, I escorted her out the door as soon as our movie ended, said goodnight, went inside, sat on the toilet, and went through about 7 seconds of labor until my baby shot out like a cannonball from a cannon jam-packed with gun (cannon?) powder.

Activities I have missed and can do again:
1) Drive
2) Sit-ups
3) Play Tennis
4) Lie flat on my back
5) Think about things unrelated to my bladder/urine/kidney (I apologize for the excessive bodily function references as of late)

Activities I have missed but still cannot do:
1) Pee without holding any type of container
2) Live outside these living quarters for several hours at a time

You can stop worrying about me know. I know you were scared, but this trooper pulled through!

33 hours and counting since I was informed I should pass my stone within 24 hours...

I stay here a prisoner, feeling perfectly fine (other than the occasional groin sting and kidney ache) but forbidden from driving or staying on the outside for any length of time. See, this stone may come at any moment, whenever he feels like leaving the coziness of my body. Doctors informed me that if I were driving when my little friend moves out, he could cause me immense pain, and I could swerve and injure innocent drivers-by. These are the same doctors that seem very interested in obtaining my urine. First of all, I don't care how much information they want to make my life better, but making me pee in a cup four times in a six-hour hospital stay is a bit much. Since I'm not very attatched to my urine, however, I let them keep it. Until I pass the stone, they want me to pee in a strainer in hopes of catching the stone and sending it for evaluation. They can do whatever they want with that little fella... I've had him long enough! For the three days following my torturous procedure of gravel ejection, I'm instructed to collect my urinations, with one jug for each day. I haven't had a normal, straight-into-the-bowl piss in 5 days, and that streak will continue for at least another three days!

What do I want for my birthday? Well, a normal, straight-into-the-bowl piss sounds lovely now.

Possible titles for this blooger entry include:

"Now we Play the Waiting Game"
"I Never do Things Half-heartedly"
"My Adventures as a Stoner"
"When Two isn't Better than One"
"Delaying the Inevitable Agony"
"Waking up with Red Piss"

Basically, my discomfort this morning required another visit to the hospital. My alarm didn't even get to buzz at 6:45 am because I was awakened at 6:30 from the stinging in my groin. My bladder felt heavy, so I went to pee. You know how urine is yellow? You know how blood is red? Well, I pissed out red. And it stung!

Five hours of doctors, X-rays, shots, and peeing into cups gave me the following knowledge:

1) I have a small kidney stone that should pass in the next 24 hours.
2) Another stone is developing in my other kidney and could come out whenever it feels like leaving.
3) After I pass my stone, doctors are interested in examining my urine for the following three days. Hence, I must pee in a jug for three days after I'm done peeing in a strainer.
4) The worst pain is yet to come. Thankfully, my pain so far has proved to be bearable.
5) Water and two medicines should be my best friends through my labor.
6) The radiologist preferred the pain to giving birth over passing a stone.
7) My diet may be adjusted after experts analyze my stone.
8) Kidney stones are the spawn of Satan, and that is why they are so unceremoniously dumped from our bodies.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to wait for some groin-grabbingly (literally) sharp pains.

A few nights ago, I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom's Nissan Altima, fiddling with the radio dial in desparation of a good tune. My house was resting at the bottom of the hill, so I surrendured my efforts and waited to enter the garage. My mom noticed a note stuck on the front door. Of course, being the courteous and helping son that I always am, 100% of the time, 24 hours a day, I went to the door to see who would take the time to inform us that they had come knocking while we were gone. The UPS man had left a note revealing that he was holding onto my birthday gift.

"Oh mom... it was UPS. They said they have a 'Total Gym 1000' to deliver to us, but we weren't home."

Mom's reaction? "Oh, shit!"

When birthdays and Christmas roll around, I never know what material objects I am deprived of that would make my life happier and fuller. This birthday I actually requested a Total Gym 1000, the exercise machine in those infomercials with Chuck Norris and Christie "I'm still hot in my 40s" Brinkley. I hate the gym but enjoy preventing an expanding gut as long as possible, and this machine really works (statement based on ratings, family use, and personal use). I'd rather work out in privacy, with the music I want to hear, at the pace I want to exert, with no buff dude overlooking my workout. I can bring it to Gainesville, roll it under my bed, and use it whenever I feel in the mood to look in the mirror and see my muscles bulge.

I figured my parents would take advantage of my actually wanting something and buying it for my birthday, but I had confirmation from that UPS big-mouth. Come Sunday, the climax of what I'm getting for surviving another year will be lowered because the conclusion has already been spoiled. I'll be fine with it. Hmm... where was I going with this?

...

... I guess I just wanted to announce what I got for my birthday before I opened it.

I love Haley.

December 27, 2001 will always be a special day in my life. Before that day, Haley had only been a minor background character in my life, a casual friend who I'd known for three years yet had never been inside my house. That night two days after Christmas changed how we saw each other and how important we would become in each other's lives.

Today, I feel blessed for having Haley as a presence in my life, not to mention knowing she wants me in her life. As much as I care about Haley, as strongly as we connected, as good a person she is... she is not the girl with which I am supposed to share a romantic, loving bond. I am not in love with her, I no longer lust for her in the same way (I won't lie and say I'm not attracted to her in that way at all. I mean, I am a guy, and those urges don't terminate at the snap of a finger), and I do not want her as my girlfriend.

Two weeks ago, a moonlit beach created an aura of passion and serene warmth for me and Haley. We exchanged hearts and would explore our honest feelings about our relationship. Because Haley was packing her bags for a church group trip to Panama City, we did some soul-searching individually and independently. Without communicating and seeing Haley, my mind scrambled and boggled over what I felt and wanted with Haley. My indecisiveness allowed me to delay a final verdict because I had previously sworn that as long as I wasn't sure I didn't want Haley as my girlfriend, I would maintain a dedication and effort toward her for the rest of summer.

My attitude changed, however, when I began to feel rejection on a daily basis. When Haley returned from her trip, we had not only lost the momentum from our beach vacation, but we had digressed and lost our vibes of affection. I continually called Haley in attempts to share time together and possibly retain a romantic interest. We never shared these moments because Haley always provided a reason to not see me: some legit, others questionable, a few absurd.

You must understand one thing about me: I despise ambiguity in a relationship. When will I see her again? What will she say tomorrow when I invite her to lunch? Why is she blowing me off? Where do I stand with her? Will this relationship work? None of these questions delivered a clear-cut answer, and every night of this past week, I'd spin the wheel of misfortune, randomly pause on one of the questions, and be plauged with vomiting butterflies in my stomach--- no doubt assisted by my kidney stones--- that kept me restless through the night.

Haley and I had previously reserved the possibility of watching a movie together Saturday night. That evening, the delicate southern accent on the other end of the phone informed me that rather than renting a movie with me, she would go shopping with her mom for all of Saturday night. I tried to hide the hurt and agitation while asking her to call me when she returned from shopping. Haley understood by my tone that this would not be one of our everyday talks, and she would not dare blow me off this time.

By her actions, I knew Haley could not possibly be seeking a romantic relationship with me. Something had happened while she was gone, and we weren't openning our hearts to each other like we should have been. I arrived at the revelation that I had grown weary of our relationship and would rather just be her friend rather than boyfriend. I slowly unwrapped my white towel to throw into the ring. I began preparing the abandonment of my feelings for Haley and surrenduring any further attempts to rekindle what I once had. My submission towel stayed frozen to the palm of my hand. Before I could throw in the towel, I had to force Haley to explain to me why she suddenly rejected my invites and see if I had any good reason to want to be more than friends.

My phone rang around 10:00 pm. We had some heated words. As usual, I subconciously manipulated her words to hear what I wanted to hear. There was a short phrase she had to read to me, a pharse I could not interpret in another way. I thank her for saying it so simply.

"... I just want to be friends."

Following some questioning, arguing, and understanding, I finally complied and shared my own concluding words.

"... You're not who I'm supposed to be with right now."

By the end of the conversation, my nerves had disipated, and a smirk that felt like a mild grin fell upon my face. I'd like to think Haley was satisfied and relieved with the talk as well. This morning, a mere nine hours after the official demise of our romantic era, Haley rang my door bell. I got into her Mustang as we headed for church. We felt so much more comfortable together, joking and rambling just like good friends do. I only needed that drive to church to confirm this is what I want with Haley. She has grown into one of my best friends. I can confide in her my thoughts and feelings. I thoroughly enjoy her company. I wanted to end the ambiguity, develop a definite decision on this relationship, have no regrets about our actions and decisions, and be prepared to move on with my life.

The verdict is newly etched in stone: the romantic, boyfriend-girlfriend phase of my relationship with Haley is over. I hold my head high, knowing we made the best, most healthy decision, shared many warm memories together, and finished peacefully with our friendship maintained. When I return to school, I want to meet new girls and hopefully find a new sweet beauty to date and grow with.

And when it happens, I want to call my dear friend Haley and tell her about that girl.

Thanks for the memories, Haley. I hold them firmly against my heart as we close this chapter and flip to the next page.

Elaboration will probably follow tomorrow...

Tonight, Haley and I officially ended efforts to be anything but friends. Am I sad? Honestly, no (not yet, at least). Am I happy? Of course not. Am I disappointed? Slightly, but not as much as I thought I would be. Am I relieved? Absolutely.

Why am I not elaborating tonight? I'm tired, and for the first time in a while, I can actually go to bed in peace, not worrying about my relationship with Haley or what will happen. I care deeply about Haley, she is a dear friend, and she is now an ex-girlfriend.

And now I can sleep.

The first half of 2002? Well, this should just about sum it up.

An incredbile force exists that overcomes me. I can counter the force only in certain situations, and sadly I have few answers for the force when I sit at the computer. The force would be pain, shear pain. Honestly, my guess at the culpirt of my stomach and kidney pains was gas. I figured my Wednesday night Pizza Hut outing caused my stomach to bubble over and boil and perform a bongo symphony arouns my gut. Two days later, the pain intensified. This evening Dr. Moore discovered the cause of my troubles. I'm carrying a long tradition in my family. The last of my immediate household to achieve such greatness, I will carry on the family legacy.

Eventually, I will pass my kidney stones.

Alas... the internet hath been restored on thy computer!

I saw these two young people in a reflection. This guy was chatting with this girl at lunch. Neither one seemed quite into it, as if they had been tied down and been force-fed to each other. I looked at them and wondered why they were having lunch together. They could have probably had lunch with a hundred other people, yet they arranged to engage in a cold, sterile outing together. Are they dating, normally existing as a loving couple but experiencing rough weather in the relationship? Are they just friends, meaning one of them (read: the guy) likes the other and is hopelessly squeezing out a date? Are they strangers linked together by friends, what the common folk refer to as a "blind date"? Are they always cold to each other? Are they strained from a spat at the luncheon? Are they still lukewarm toward each other?

I hope not. They seemed like cute kids who could be so happy. Then again, don't most young adults seem to display promising signs of happiness? Do they all attain the light?

I will.

Tonight I set my alarm for 6:45 am.

An entire weekend of activities, thoughts, and events have flown through my plodding existence, yet my mind still fails to feel encouragement to write deeply or to even focus. Among the topics I considered writing about tonight:

1) Illustrating the frustration when I just lost everything I wrote about tonight.
2) A narrative on the chaos from a vicious thunderstorm that ultimately obliterated my ethernet connection upstairs (It still doesn't work, so I must type from my parents' bedroom. Yes, they're trying to sleep right now.).
3) A ponder on the necessity girls feel in shaving their legs so often.
4) Rationalizing the new standards of a technologically fit household (Is one computer enough? How handy are cable modem connections? Remember when a person owning a DVD player was revolutionary?).
5) A feel-good story about the surprise phone call with a friend from school.
6) Following up on a topic discuss during that phone call: long-distance relationships.
7) Describing the warmth of having a pet desparately seek your affection, stalking you every possible moment as if he were pleading for you to return to the coziness of your hometown home (My cat, Zorro, would be the pet. I, Anthony, would be the "you.").
8) A meeting concerning what I should do with the rest of my summer.
9) A potpourri of feelings concerning a very popular topic in my blooger: Haley (Missing her while she's been away for nine days, losing the momentum we had before her trip, see Topic #6).
10) Explaining my theory that in two weeks I'll really be turning 30 rather than 20 (My goals, my wants, my quest for stability, my actions, my attitude, my attractions).

I just created a Top 10 list. A nice, even number like ten seems suitable and appropriate. Ten topics I could dwell on. Ten topics I could search and foster my interpersonal emotions and cognitions. Ten topics that, instead, I've delivered more shallowly than Cliff's Notes. Cliff himself would urge me to be more specific. For some reason, though, I struggle to elicit the effort to write any deeper. This is all I can give right now.

Cliff's Notes: Anthony's Blooger.

Had a great time on the Fourth of July: good bbq'ing, good grub, good company, good games of Uno, good ping pong, good fireworks. Somehow, though the calendar read July 4, the aura hardly felt like "Independence Day." The holiday had all the usual enjoyment while missing the aura of patriotism.

Does that make me a bad American?

Oh well... God bless the USA.

Today I began selling my body.

Friends would flaunt the extra money they had. They explained how easy it was. The money would be falling into my lap while I lie on my back. I've been in a vulnerable state, struggling to find a job and in dire need of money. So I did it. And you know what? It felt good. Sure, I get some pleasure from it, but ultimately I do it for the money.

My name is Anthony, and I "donate" plasma.

Today's date: July 1, 2002
The date one year ago today: July 1, 2001
Where I was: The Thomas's house
The mood: Tragic, tears rampant, blank stares, people in shock, bittersweet reunion of old friends
Why I was there: To provide support, sympathy, and strength to the Thomas family
How I acted on the outside: Gentle, soft but firm, no tears, comforting frown
What was held on the inside: Flashbacks of times past, a fight for meaning, tears pushing for secretion

In my early childhood, at the point where I can actually remember vivid things from my life, my family and I lived in a quaint little neighborhood called Fox Run. We had terrific neighbors in the Thomases: Kind and cordial Miss Pat and Mr. Bob. During our carefree youth, Camille and I would skip next door and play with the Thomas children: Laurie, Clair, and Aaron. Laurie only joined in our fun seldomly because she had outgrown our adventures long before; I believe she's eight years older than I am. Clair was always my favorite. Even though she had a few years of age on me, I loved playing games with her, even if sometimes she was just doing it to make me happy. Because Aaron fit between me and my sister in age, he would most often be by our side whenever we had one of our neighborhood endeavors. Miss Pat could ask my mom what we were up to, and we little ones could be playing hide-and-seek in the Thomas's basement; we could be performing cartwheels waiting our turn at the Atari; we could be swinging on the outside bench and seeing how high we could soar; we could roleplay in the backyard, pretending we were the big, tough eighteen-year-olds we hoped we would become one day.

I am nothing like the biker eighteen-year-old I played back in the late 1980s. Camille, at seventeen, still has one year to transform into whomever she pretended to be.

Aaron did not live to be eighteen.

On July 1, 2001 my mom picked up the phone, and soon I could her her voice tighten, shake, and elevate about an octave. She responded to my concerned look, and can recall the words she splattered out verbatim: "They shot Aaron Thomas to death." My mom wasn't quite sure what exactly she was saying. Of course, we didn't know exactly what had happened, but one thing proved definite: for the first time in my life, death had a face. One year ago today I was first impacted by another person's demise. My grandparents died during my early years when I was in the backyard with Aaron, so I had never lost someone close to me when I was truly aware of what exactly death is. I would never see Aaron again. Someone I had grown up with had lost his life before he was fully grown. One year left of high school, never to be completed.

Aaron goofed around in moronic high school ways at his friend's house on the final night of his life. Apparently they decided to have fun with shaving cream, splattering it on the ground, slinging it on the walls, smearing it on their faces. Aaron walked toward the bathroom to wipe his face clean. As a joke, his friend would startle him by flashing his rifle at Aaron while his face turned. A cream-filled hand slipped on the barrel, a finger struck the trigger, and a bullet ran through Aaron's neck. The friend screamed in astonishment, called 911, and called Miss Pat. Miss Pat rushed down the block in time to see her son die in her arms.

Guns terrify me to this day. If I know I'm in an armed house, my heart races and I think of Aaron. His family has forgiven the friend, who must have had an incredibly rough time back at the high school Aaron would have graduated from a month ago. That day when friends and family gathered in the Thomas's home to try to alleviate all the overwhelming tragedy and trauma, a few of us looked around and realized we had not all been together in a few years. We had all moved from Fox Run except for the Thomases, and I was overlooking the old basement, the old swing, the old backyard. One of our former neighbors wiped away a tear and remarked at how warmed she felt seeing all of us back together, all sharing in the present rather than merely remembering the past from afar.

A truly bittersweet reunion. We enjoyed seeing each other again, but while we were able to share in our present lives and keep touch for the future, we knew we were missing someone who would not be able to attend any future reunions.

Aaron Thomas was my childhood buddy. He always will be.

A double packing job surrounds me in my bedroom. All the things I packed from my Gainesville apartment now lay stacked around my bed. My homecoming from Gainesville to Pensacola seemed more like a halftime show rather than a full-fare celebration, as I was only awake in my home for about 2 hours before I once again packed and relocated to Emerald Isle, a studious boy's paradise disguised as a condo. I return home coated in a deep bronze, thankful that the almighty powers of SPF 4 sunscreen made a thick enough shield to prevent a nasty sunburn. Sure, my teeth look brighter than the sun against my blackened coat but a shiny smile is supposed to be attractive, yes? Plus, I have a tan that will hold over through next March.

Eight days in paradise. Every moment soaking up the sun and splashing in the water felt like having a beautiful woman massaging your neck, then when you get tired of it telling her to move down and rub your feet. Some specific moments during the daily routine made the getaway all the more memorable:

5) You can only play a wild card if you have no other options...
Fridays during middle school brough me to PATS for goof-off time with fellow friends who were rewarded for being smart. Pogs, Crystal Pepsi, hair parted in the middle: several fads came and left during our stay. The card game Uno became one of those flashes-in-a-pan. Last week, after my sister bought a deck of Uno cards, the love affair was rekindled. We would escape the sun occasionally and spend time indoors, and to pass the time we'd play the occasional Uno game. One game in particular should have been videorecorded and permanently filed in the archives.

Order: Camille, Adam, Your truly, Adam's brother Brandon, Brittany.
Time of game: Hour-plus
Reshuffles of the deck: Seven-plus
Who won: Well...

Camille called Uno, which I repeated after Adam's turn. Brandon knew there was no stopping me because he remembered what card I had: a "Draw 4, Wild" card. Because a slip-up, we all knew Camille had a green 6, a card that could not be played in the current state of the game. Brittany, tired of my gloating, put down a wild card, called "green," and allowed Camille to put down her final card and shout for victory. Too bad Adam knew she could have played other cards; you can't use a wild card unless you have no other options. The turn was replayed, Camille had to draw, and I won!

4) Uh, I thought it was a family dinner...
Adam's family arrived for a birthday dinner with us. Shortly thereafter, my mom sent Camille and the birthday boy to pick up some grocery items. While they shopped, we snuck 30 of Adam's friends into the condo. All was quiet in the house when we heard the key unlocking the door. Adam walked in, saw a wall of friends, and was engulfed in a sea of screams...

"Surpriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiise!"

If only I could freeze-frame the facial expression on the unsuspecting birthday boy. Mouth drooping, eyes squinting yet bulging. He chuckled, and in a bashful tone responded, "Uh, what's up, guys?"

3) A room with a view...
The aura from waking up at 9:30 am, stepping out from your bedroom, and gazing at stark-white sand and gentle emerald waves: I could try to describe it. I would fail.

2) Better than watching Gellar bending silver spoons...



I effin surfed with the fellas from Incubus! They happened to be staying at Emerald Isle while in town for their concert. Before the teen girls could swarm out, the band running into the bay, right in the very location I was occupying to boogie board. When a decent wave finally arrived, I caught it, as did Brandon Boyd, the lead singer of Incubus.

Brandon: Best wave out here so far.
Me: Yeah, they were a lot stronger yesterday.
Brandon: Really?
Me: Hey Brandon, you mind if my mom takes a picture of you and me.
Brandon: Sure bro, where is she?
Me: She's just over there laying out.
(All pumped up yet embarassed, I get my mom, who snaps the picture)
Me: Thanks, man. Appreciate it!
Brandon: Cheers, bro!

With "Morning View" being one of my favorite albums of last year, I felt honored to see face-to-face the performers behind the songs I had just sunbathed to the day before. I ended up bumping into the band members a few more times during the day. I even struck up the nerve to talk to Brandon again, wishing them luck for their show. After that, I thought to myself, "Wow, I am totally uncool. But who cares? I talked to Incubus!"

1) Ciao bella...
How can a list of my experiences not include one with the girl I always talk about? The girl who constantly runs circles through my brain. The girl who's been a featured player in the saga of my life for the past six months. Ah, Haley Haley Haley...

Before her final night visiting the beachhouse, she told me she had seen a shirt at the mall that could not be resisted, and I would love it. Sure enough, it's now my favorite shirt of hers: an aqua top which in cursive reads, "Ciao Bella." I would say ciao bella, or goodbye beautiful, to Haley to end some of our e-mails and phone calls. We were growing closer ever minute, and our feelings for each other were practically oozing from our pores for everyone to see. Haley suggested we take a walk on the beach, and I gladly escorted her outside.

Some things must be kept private out of respect, so I will not detail the importance of our walk and talk, but the stroll put us in the right direction to leave this summer without regret. I was surprised at how bluntly honest we were with each other because I'm not sure if I've ever been so specifically blunt about my feelings in my life. We better understand each other and why we've done the things we've done so far in our relationship. For the rest of this summer, don't ask me if Haley is my girlfriend, of if we broke up for good, or if we're friends with benefits, or whatever idea you have. Anthony and Haley will be just that this summer: Anthony and Haley, without a label to the connection. We can grow together this summer, search deeply into each other's souls, discover what paths our lives should take, and what role we will play in each other's futures.

And our growth together all started during a wonderful little getaway on Pensacola Beach.