My city is steeped in madness at the moment.

I sat on my back porch after the game, listening to the sounds of a community unified in the spirit of celebration. I hear fireworks and car horns. I hear people laughing. I here singing. I’d be willing to bet the game had somewhere between a 90-95 Nielsen share here (the NFC Championship game had an 80 share).

Essentially, it is chaos.

I hope we keep our cool and that there isn’t any rioting. I really don’t think we are that kind of community, but you never really know. I can guarantee you that Gasparilla next weekend will be utter and complete chaos.

My reaction is quite sedate in contrast.

I’m not sure what exactly it is that I’m feeling. Part of me doesn’t really believe it’s true. I’ve been a Bucs fan since I was in preschool. My mother and father brainwashed me into becoming an entirely different creature when I watch the Bucs. I scream and holler and swear and my friends think that I’m going to have a coronary.

But here. Tonight. I’m kind of numb to it. I don’t feel the elation that I thought I would. (ahhh…watching the news…fight near the stadium…hope it wasn’t bad)

Maybe winning isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.

Or maybe I’m just tired.

34-3?

And it isn’t over yet?

My god.

Happy news! I get to see Robin this weekend after all, jiltos and I are driving up tomorrow afternoon!

*happy dance*

So, after a hearty dinner at P.J.’s (ahh, those grouper sandwiches) we trekked out to The Castle yet again. Strange vibe in the group tonight, though. Nobody seemed really interested in being there. I danced to two songs, if that. More like one and a half.

I did, however, notice an odd phenomenon in myself.

I didn’t dress up tonight. Hell, I didn’t even shave. Had on jeans, t-shirt and my converse. Trish started giving me shit about it, and my response was “hey, I don’t need to impress anyone tonight. I’m not on the prowl anymore.” Not that I don’t enjoy getting all fancied up for the club, but it wasn’t quite the pressing issue tonight. Anyway, I noticed that when I got on the dance floor in my converse I did a lot more bouncing.

A lot.

Like doing all that jumping around on one leg and flailing the other around shit.

I’m sure I looked like a complete goober when I did it, but I just couldn’t keep my feet on the ground. My chucks are considerably lighter than my boots, and it made a real difference when I was dancing. I’ll have to remember that. If I’m in a mood to really dance hard, I’ll have to wear the chucks.

And I was in a mood to dance hard tonight.

Actually, I was in a mood to do one of two other things…but as neither of them were an option I settled for dancing.

Since the person who I am writing this about likes to make vague and ambiguous entries in his journal, I shall return the favor and do the same for him on mine.

I’m done with you.

I thought you went too far before, but where you went now is beyond unacceptable. Your level of gall is stunning. I was willing to put up with just about anything you could dish out, but the fact that you felt the need to take something that happened between Robin and I and use it to make one of your pathetic points is beyond unacceptable.

I’ve been told by more than one person that my desire to help you was not something that I could or should do, but the silly person that I am actually thought you wanted to be helped, but you don’t. You want to wallow in your own shit. You’ve been given countless opportunities to end this amiably, and you’ve blown it.

Congratulations, you just lost your biggest advocate.

Do NOT contact me. You’ll only make it worse.