You boys like Mex-I-Co?

It was kindof like when two children, seperated at birth, are reunited. There's that initial awkward hug. And then the awkward silence followed by obligatory getting-to-know-you questions that no two siblings should ever have to ask each other. Then it was all pudding after that. The glorious reuniting of two garden gnomes, who, since birth, have never met. Frampton, the younger of the two, has only seen Japan, Good Harbor Bay, the inside of my backpack, and my cluttered desk where he now resides next to Lego robots, nail polish, and grapefruit throat lozenges. Cedric however, is slightly more 'well-traveled' if grammar allows for such phrasing. He's been to many countries in both Europe and South America. He's been dropped off cliffs, and then repaired again. He's also dabbled in acting--as a stunt double for the slightly larger Travelocity gnome. Whom, is apparently a stuck-up "rotten gnome-bastard." Cedric lives in Florida now with my also well-travled sister and husband.

This year's group of lucky j-trains picked to spend a week with me and UF's Japanese program. They're the reason I've been basically awol all week, and will continue to be until sometime late into September. We've been traveling to all the Ohio historical and geographical places Japanese people apparently find endlessly fascinating, and I find mind-numbingly stupid. Mostly because I think Amish people are boorish attention whores, but hey. You didn't hear that from me. I've also eaten in the cafeteria here more times than I would care to in a lifetime--if you see me in the dining hall, avoid eye-contact. I'm not supposed to be there. Speaking of the Amish, I already dislike most of my classes--creative writing in particular. I've never willingly been in such an environment where so many uncreative minds desperately sap the atmosphere around them for any 'creative' inspiration, then furiously hammer a keyboard without any real direction. Because, writing with direction is bullshit like the time I went to Mexico to run with the bulls but got stuck working in the sombrero shop for minimum wage like broken flower vases and fluorescent lights. Anyway, among other things, contrived creative writing annoys me. Enough ranting. The j-trains and I have an appointment.

Oh yeah, and if that's not a wireless Gibson Flying V for thrashing and tearing apart my room in Guitar Hero, then I'm a frilly pantywaist named Destiny.