the Scrilla is Vanilla

No one seems to be digging the fiction scene, so I return to telling you what happened to me and doing my damnest to make it sound interesting. In the interest of fairness, let me warn you this might take a while. So here I go.

Dedicated to Amber, the Woman with the Naked Girl Tattoo.

Let's start in the middle.

2:30am. Liz Reeds.

I'd just bought two rounds of shots -- one something green, the other of my choosing, Jack. They hadn't kicked in but I was feeling the love. The artist famously known as Riddle (now Skull-Cap Do-Rag) -- upon request -- played the Humpty Dance on the Hi-Fi for one and all. Without hesitation, I launched into my dead-on impersonation of Humpty Hump. SCDR was on it, too and a large bald man was also catching the beat running... much like Randy Moss.

So Skull-Cap demonstrates the middle of the Humpty Dance and I was down. But I waited until I was appropriately prompted by the Hump himself to do the whole thing. Or at least the beginning.

If you don't remember, I'll refresh.

"Now that I've told you a little bit about myself, let me tell you about my dance. It's real easy to do. First you limp to the side like your leg was broken, shakin' and twitchin' kinda like you was smokin'. Crazy, wack funky. People say, 'You look like MC Hammer on crack, Humpty.'"

Accordingly, I limped to the side like my leg was broken... both shaking AND twitching in manner similiar to if I was smoking. It was indeed, crazy wack funky. Unfortunately, it was less of MC Hammer on crack and more of Vanilla Ice on Jack.

Insert uproarious laughter and you get the picture.

Once it died down and I had the chance to explain that my favorite part of the song was one of the ending lines -- "And to all the ladies, peace and humptiness forever." -- I settled down with a mere JD and Coke.

Tangle My Nangle, who'd been among the witnesses to the aforementioned spectacle, looked deeply into my eyes and said with no uncertain sincerity, "Chris, you may be the coolest guy I know."

Naturally, I agree. I'm always the coolest guy anyone knows. That's just how I roll. But another part of my rolling is how I humbly I approach this. With nothing more than faux conceit, I accepted the honor and moved along.

Until later when I became curious, wondering on what set of standards -- what criteria -- was I the coolest guy Tangle knows. I know why I am, but I wonder what helped her realize it. Never mincing words, I asked.

Her reply makes me laugh and cry.

"Because you don't give a fuck."

It'd be nice if that were true. No, I didn't really want to confess and I didn't want to interupt the illusion, but someone must and it should be me.

True, I don't give a fuck when the people around me are of no consequence to me. That isn't to say that the name coded friends mentioned here are of no consequence. No, I'm talking about all the others around them. For my friends, I love acting out. It's a pleasure... because I care. My view of self is shaped in largest part by the view others have of me. If I'm making them laugh, I'm funny and I love it. If I'm making them think, I'm smart and I love it. If I'm making them sweat and scream, I'm an outrageous lover and I love it.

I shared this story with Juliet and she agreed that initially, it very definitely seems as if I don't give a fuck and that I do my best to promote this. At the local white kid booty shakin' club, I went and upon dare, performed my signature dance: the Lawnmower.

That story would never strike me as something unusual. Of course I couldn't care less what those folks thought... not compared to the fame and glory I rightly receive in the eyes of my pals upon completion of the lawnmower.

It was a wedding early on Saturday morning in Athens, GA -- birthplace of REM -- that started the day for me. It is, in part, what led me to Liz Reed's later.

Let me make commentary on something here. I'm not the biggest fan of marriage these days. It doesn't affect how I feel about people getting married -- they are my friends and for them, I'm pleased. However, the magic has disappeared just a little more with every subsequent union.

I'm now at the point where I'm looking for three things: free food, free alcohol and the opportunity to hit on pretty ladies.

Unfortunately, this wedding afforded me little of these.

It took place at 9:30am, outside. In Georgia, in July. What this meant for me was no drinking but plenty of sweating. The lack of social lubrication and the increased presence of sweatiness meant a decreased chance at successfully hitting on bridesmaids or their ilk.

But there was free food and I did cheer up so there was fun had.

Ooo, and one thing I'm definitely taking away from this particular reception is that it is fun to trick your guests. If I'm ever wed, I will -- as the Motorcycle Happy Couple did -- have little cinnamon bun looking things that are actually sausage rolls. What a divine gag!

The spider bite was my foe. After the grand excursion into the land of joyous couples, I was pooped. So I napped selfishly on Reborn Cousin's couch while she, my sister and a couple of friends sat chatting.

Eventually, it was time for dinner. My sister was gone and only the cuz remained. She invited me for a dinner of sushi.

The waitress was adorable. I was so proud of me for not hitting on her. And more than that, I'm glad I was able to see her for her insights and abilities rather than her sweet smile.

Come order taking time, I waxed sarcastic. Noting an item called "Sushi Pizza", I cringed and remarked that it seemed to be two very different methods of food preparation. One known for it's rolled shape and rawness of ingredients. The other for being flat and baked. I was suspicious of this apparent scam.

But the waitress convinced me, saying it was her favorite. Later as I raved about it, the bartender confessed it was her dish of preference too. Given the time and my general desire to leave some things to the imagination, I will not explain this sushi pizza in order that its mystery remain in tact.

Man, there are so many more insights and stories but I've got to meet Rza for coffee before she jets off to the land of Alabama. So check back for the update.

I'm going go get my bud nipper and I'm gonna nip some bud.