Inexcusable

I know that my readers are probably more than adequately annoyed by my lack of posting, and even more vexed and/or pissed by my persistent apologies which could be replaced by more constructive posts, but, once again, I must truly apologize for the delay between this and the last post...much has occurred, much is occurring, and much will also soon come to pass, but not without having occurred, to continue the motif. My status of AWOL since May 10th is, Hauptsächlich, inexcusable, especially as it has continued through the climax and culmination of 13 years of having been in the American School System or ASS (btwfyi, I just made that up without any purposeful premeditated thought). If that last sentence wasn't explicit enough, I graduated from high school on the Eight day of June in the year Twothousand-Seven. I tend to like that archaic way of datum delineation, actually - it's amusing to me, even. The weather on 6-8-07 was crafted in such a fashion that any type of comfort was easily quashed by humidity easily-exceeding (at least, it FELT possible) 100%, saturated in an outside air temperature in excess of 90 degrees, and, with the threat of evening thunderstorms (the ceremonies only beginning at 8pm), we were forced inside, into the ONLY room in the entire senior high school building which is not airconditioned - the gymnasium. Add pure synthetic polyester robes around 216 nervous students, at least 1,000 parents and staff crammed into and onto plastic bleachers (currying a sort of swamp-ass effect for the bulk of them), and poor ventilation...THAT was graduation. Surprisingly, the ceremonies only lasted about an hour and five minutes, although the practice earlier that day had occupied more than three hours of our time, add 40 minutes for me as I live on the edge of the district.

To celebrate my achievement, I hosted an "Ice Cream Social" at my house on the 15th. It was aptly successful, with just the right amount of attendees to harbor several concurrent conversations in several places on my property. The invitations which I had crafted for three hours, singly, into the early morning of my last day of high school were unique, to say the least - designed in Publisher 2007, printed in pure B&W [becuase my printer is a cunt], rolled, then fastened with a gold seal with either an "S" [for Shellenberger] or a graduation cap on top, and tied around the middle with hand-cut hemp. Around forty invitations went out, fifteen was the total count of partiers, and I'm comfortable with that number. The [non-metrosexual] Ice Cream Social was to be located at my "Mountain House" starting at 3pm until whenever the last faithful attendee departed. Food was served at 5pm, dad-pulled pork BBQ with Dinosaur Sauce, mom-patted hamburgers, and Sweet Thai Chili Pringles included. Betwixt the food and ice cream was positioned the harrassment of the flamboyant and candy-stuffed donkey, also known as a pinata. I would estimate fifteen pounds of sugar goodness was wrenched from its cardboard carcas after several American teens were loosed upon it wielding a metal flag pole and (after having been bent) a sturdy curtain rod - it was beautiful. 7pm marked the beginning of the actual Ice Cream Social, which was more like a make-your-own-sundae-fest plus a movie - Will Ferrell's "Old School" to be exact. Ice cream condiments included all the Smucker's products - hot fudge, mint chocolate hot fudge, caramel, marshamallow topping, and crushed pinapple. We also provided marashino cherries, Redi-Whip Whipped Cream, and crushed peanuts and walnuts. To make a delicious story shorter, I loaded my sundae layer atop diabetic-coma-inducing layer with every topping save the crushed walnuts, to which I have a slight allergy. A bonfire, complete with a non-traditional heat-dried Christmas tree, was ignited at 9pm for the pleasure and glow of my cohorts upon the embers of which we were to partake in the American delicacy of s'more and cherry/blueberry mountain pie-making and feasting. It is necessary to mention how dry the Christmas tree really was at its time of explosion, I mean "lighting"...ahem...it was beautiful, an untamable raging flame carried into the sky by the catalyts called newspapers and Macy's flyers. 11pm brought an overworked Natalie Dincher back to the party, only to the avail of an unaccostomed-to-party-hosting Zak after a long day of decorating, eating, serving, and joke-cracking.

It is also necessary to mention the graduation gift accrued by me through the devices of Alex Stopper - a book, rather a photolog compendium of everything one Tucker Shaw ate in the year 2004, organized by date eaten, thing/s consumed, time hoovered, and place enveloped by his [apparently-] large mandible. This book satisfies my exact random personality, characterized by my unorthodox ideosynracy for the craving of that which is also random, eccentric, and even minimalist. For this quenching, I thank her.

More later...