It’s  7/7/10  —  The bulls are running in Pamplona and I’m sitting in the airport bumping 36 chambers on my ipod waiting to get on the plane (fuck you I’m getting in the plane – let evil kinevil get on the fuckin plane – shoutout george carlin).

I’m thinking exactly what you all assume I’m thinking.  Where the fuck is LeBron gonna play?  Just happy the saga will be done tomorrow night and I can start my normal brain hiatus from sports that happens around this time of year.  I can go on and on about this LeBron garbage, but I’m getting on a plane to Spain in a few minutes.

To Spain.  Barcelona.  When I land, I live there.  Live.  Don’t know where yet.  I have a keychain in my bag.  Guess what’s on it?  NOTHING.  If you want to send me a package or letter tomorrow, guess what?  You CAN’T.   I have NO residence.

Seriously though, right now I feel fine.  I had a few ‘weird’ moments earlier today while getting ready to leave for the airport, staring at my 3 monster bags of packed luggage, and thinking how annoying its gonna be dragging those things around until I find a place to live.  Luckily, my homegirl Pam and her friend Marlee are in Barcelona right now so I’m staying with them for three nights until they leave.

Spain just won their semi-final World Cup match while I was on the way to the airport.  What a way to enter the country.  I can’t even fathom what its gonna be like.  There’s no equivalent I can think of.  We all saw how hyped up people were in the US when we made the quarters.  At a minimum this will be 10x crazier.  Ill.

Getting ‘in’ the plane kids.  Speak to you from Spain.  Where I live now.

Adios.