This was my phone conversation with Josh this morning:

Josh: Hello?
Byron: I have a mouse in my house!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Josh: A mouse in your house?
Byron: A mouse in my house!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Josh: Are you sure?
Byron: It's a mouse!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Josh: In your house.
Byron: IN! MY! HOUSE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Josh: What is this? A nursery rhyme?

Now, I'm not the type of guy to freak out about these sorts of things. Hey, show me an emergency medical technician's workbook with people missing body parts and I'll probably say something like: "COOOOOOOOOL." Or have baby poop smudged on my arm. I'll probably say: "GROOOOSS" but I wouldn't freak.

But a mouse. In my house? No. No no no no no no nope. No way, man. NO!

I mean I'm a clean guy! Clothes, yes, clothes are all over the place and sometimes all my shoes and some books but I'm not dirty! And it's not because it's a mouse and I'm all not about those. Actually, I think mice are adorable. They remind me of hamsters and I've always wanted a hamster. Well, not now. I did when I was kid, but my mom was all "No." and I was all: "Why?" and she was all: "Because they look like mice." And I was all: "Exactly!"

But they have cages and they are welcomed as pets. They don't just show up in the cabinet under the sink without at least an Evite squeaking it's shitty little squeak at nine in the morning while I'm just waking up!

Plus, I have to figure out what to do with him. You know, I'm not a killer. I mean, come on. He's probably really sweet and plus he looks like a hamster and you know that drill. I can't even think about seeing the cute mouse that doesn't belong in my house in a sad little trap or starving on sticky paper. It's just... it's just so sad... and so un-Buddhist of me. And if I was a Buddhist this would be even more true.

Byron: SO WHAT DO I DO?!!?!?!??
Josh: Well, see if it keeps coming back and if so you're gonna have to get rid of it.
Byron: How?
Josh: You know.
Byron: Josh Eisenberg, I swear to God if that mouse shows up in my bed with me... I will freak my shit out.
Josh: Well maybe he's a good spooner. You know how you love your spooning.
Byron: No. I've already had my fair share of varmints in my bed.
Josh: Mice?
Byron: Boys.

So the other day I was watching Caddy Shack with a friend on channel nine Sunday afternoon movie. Yes. There were two things wrong with that sentence: Caddy Shack and the fact that I was actually watching one of those "Sunday afternoon movies". But, in my defense, we weren't so much as watching it as we were talking and just needed that background sound and, really, there is something so comforting to having Bill Murray's low drone voice talking about golf balls and a fake furry golfer trying to sabotages a golf game.

Anyway, during one of the commercials they start playing this local pet shelter/human society deal. Basically the synopsis is they show cute cats and dogs with sad lonely "I need a home" eyes and play this music that will quite literally stab you in the gut then pull out that same knife and stab yourself in each eye and then in the heart and turn the blade aggressively to the left so that you gush all your insides out.

Yeah. Like that.

Everytime, though, I see this commercial. I. SOB. I literally will drench my arm with snot because I'm crying so much .

"What's your DEAL!??!" My friend says to me trying to find the remote to make a quick channel change.

I wipe my eyes with the top of my shoulder. Turning me head and laughing trying not to show my red eyes.

"Dude, everytime I see this commercial... and that music..." I start to choke again and cry some more. At this point a sad puppy dog is panting and the voice over is saying we need to do something fast before we lose this puppy and others.

"You're so lame." He says turning the channel to some cheesy MTV reality show.

And the deal is, I'm kinda lame. I'm a sensitive dude. Can I get a universal "DUH" here from you all? I'm sure that's pretty obvious. But it's funny how the simplest things can make me lose my cool. We all have it. It's that one scene in a movie or part in a favorite song or that place in a book that just shakes you to the core. You literally lose your shit and it never gets old. You can hear or see it a million times and it's all the same: Waterworks.

Because I am a good guy who likes to entertain you all... I have compiled those things, no matter when, that make me sob. Even after the sixty-ish time of seeing it, you will see me wiping my eyes are whimpering much like an old woman that just lost one of her millions of cats... oh my God.... that's so sad too!

Maybe it's because I am a hopeless romantic. Maybe it's because it's because I'm just weak. Or maybe it's because I am the softest guy in the world.

On a scale of "Byron loses his shit" scale, this one is a 5 out of 5:

This one is a 4 out of 5:

This is a 3 out of 5(The song, not the video. Mostly because I imagine it being my wedding song... good GOD I'm giving away all my cards aren't I?).

A 7 out of 5 (Seriously, if you haven't seen this movie you won't even know... but Crash blows my mind everytime I watch it... especially this one scene):

One of my favorite customers came in to my bar the other night... with his tarot cards.

Pause.
Mixed feelings. That's what so many people have about this sort of thing. Right? I have one friend, who while was taking a sip of his red wine at a bar we were drinking at a couple months ago, whipped the glass away from his lips shook his head and choked out: "No. NEVER. I never have those done."

"Why?" I ask taking a sip of my drink and waiting to hear some sort of long winded answer.

"Because it changes the way you see things." He says while shaking his head and placing a cigarette to his thin lips to smoke outside.

I have another good friend who, when she was younger, was told by a card reader she was never going to be able to have kids. Now that she's got a cute baby and knows she can, it's funny. Another friend LIVES by them. Her aunt, a self-proclaimed tarot-card-ologist, reads her cards every birthday and half birthday. This friend will tell me things like: " I don't think I should do that because it would be veering away from my path." Yes, she will say things like that while we are in line to get coffee or if we are trying to pick out a type of bread to eat.

I, well, I'm still up in the air.

"So, shuffle the deck as much as you'd like." My customer says to me in between making drinks and wiping up condensation rings off the bar counter. "Think of questions you may want to ask." He takes a swig of his beer and concentrates on my hand movements with the cards.

I've always been the type to ask questions. I'm a writer. It's what we do. But how much of the certain questions we ask, do we want to know the answers too?

My customer begins to slowly pull each card one by one building a pile of the cards that are supposed to be defining me in certain periods of my life. They are illustrated with details images of men holding swords and woman raising their hands to their foreheads as if they are about to pass out.

"This card signifies who you are as a whole..."

Especially lately, I've had a lot of questions I would like answers to. We all do. What kind of person would we be if we didn't ask why we're here or what we should be doing with our lives. Which, at twenty-five, is something that seems to be popping in to my head more and more. With recent things like having my aunt diagnosed with a disease and going through a break-up and trying to figure out exactly what place I belong in when it comes to what I want to accomplish in my life. These questions seem to always stay the same and the answers always seem to change.

"This card will tell you how you should deal with your creativity..."

And it seems to always come back to the break-up. Doesn't it always. Where do you go now? When will it be easier to think about? When you thought you had all the answers something changes: Dates in a calendar, seasons, what makes you happy and what makes you sad. Maybe having someone tell you exactly what to expect will take one worry away. Maybe it's easier just to have all the answers handed to you while you are pouring someone a vodka and soda... instead of having to think of your own ways.

"This card tells you about your future love life..."

Or maybe it's more fun to just let it be. Sometimes knowing all the answers to everything ruins the mystery. Remember finding out about Santa or the Tooth Fairy? Remember when you first realized you weren't a kid anymore? Remember when that one person that you felt every part of you belonged with finally told you that they didn't feel the same?

Sometimes answers, like our future, are just things we should learn on our own... and not cheat to get.

It's funny how we act differently around certain people.

Ok, so, say when I'm with my mom I'm all her son so I'm not going to go around and drop the "F" bomb left and right when I'm telling her story about how wasted I got and bumped in to some jackass that was all "F" bomb this and "F" bomb that. Actually I would never tell my mom that story and if she reads this then this is a joke and I don't ever drink and I don't even know what the "F" in "F" bomb means.

Or when I'm with my friend Josh. I'm usually the peppy/excitable/gets-really-chatty-and-won't-let-Josh-get-his-work-done-able. With my friend Michele I like to talk about weird stuff and laugh insanely at the stupid stuff. With my brother, it's been known that we have our own language and sometimes all I have to do is sigh and he knows exactly what I am feeling or how I am going to react. With my mailman we nod and he says "howdy" with my dry cleaner they just ask for my money and smile with their hands out.

So it's no surprise that when you are hanging with a cool little baby you are going to act differently than you would act with someone else.

Now, I'm not going to give out all my secrets since, um, Caleb and I do have secret handshake and tend to gossip about half the people that might be reading this blog. But I have found that there is one thing that he totally digs me doing... which you may not think he would.

I sing.

I know. I know. I'm feeling your look right now. Most likely you are laughing or rolling your eyes. But, I'm going to tell you a secret. My singing makes this kid smile. It also chills him out. It also puts him to sleep. What's the secret? The song I sing. See, when he wants to giggle I sing him Justin Timberlake "Rock Your Body". He loves when I do the beat at the end: "Punce PUNCE punce. Punce punce punce."

When he's eating I sing him some dining music. I'm too embarrassed to admit what this song is, so use your imagination.

When he's just about to fall asleep I sing him Feist's "1, 2, 3, 4" acoustic version, of course.

Here's also a secret. He doesn't speak English yet. He still speaks baby. So when I don't know the words I change it to whatever I want. Which I think is pretty cute and sneaky and when he's half asleep he thinks that in Feist's song that she sings about diapers, but she doesn't really sing about diapers. We all know that.

Mark your calendars, yo. You've got a busy Byron. Here are my summer shows:

Sunday JUNE 22nd @ 645pm PRIDE READING at ATMOSPHERE BAR.
Everything goes to charity. Why wouldn't you want to be there?
5355 N. Clark St.

Wednesday/Thursday JULY 23 &24 SOLOHOMO
It's true. I've got a "one man" show. Which I use loosely seeing that there are two guys.
(More info to come)

Tuesday JULY 29th 2nd Story at RED KIVA @645pm
It's live music. My parents will be there. Who doesn't want to meet my parents?!?!
1008 W. Randolph Ave.

Thursday AUGUST 7th 2nd STORY at THE SPOT @645pm
Dirty birds will love this story. Trust me.
4437 N. Broadway Ave.

VISIT WWW.STORIESANDWINE.COM for more info!

I still do not have internet.

I am at a coffee place. Not because I'm busy. Not because I need caffeine. Because I have no air conditioning and waking up with your white sheets stuck to your face is like one of the best feelings in the world... if you are a masochist.

Let's get this straight. I'm not complaining. It is summer. And every single time I think of how hot and sticky and dumb it is in my apartment, I think about the frostbite I got this year. Yeah. On the tip of my ear. And then I think about all the times I shivered while walking to get to the same place I am sitting in right now, only this very second I am with shorts and a t-shirt and sunglasses and a smile that I don't have to worry about frostbite.

But air conditioning, like so many things in the city, is a commodity you have to take care of yourself. My friends back in Wisconsin or who live in suburbs don't really get this: "Wait, you don't have central air?" And when you shake your head and mention that you still have to have ceiling fans and little unsightly window air conditioner those people who do have central air give you a look much like the look people give you when they hear you lost a toe or your got an infected paper cut or that you had to watch Oprah twice in one day(kidding Oprah, KIDDING!)-- you know, that look of grief that also says: "I'm so glad that isn't me."

But here's the thing. I do have an air conditioner.

This is how that works. So I'm not a, well, mechanical guy. I can put batteries inside things to make them work. I can screw a screw in something that already has hole to put to the screw in to. But I'll complain about it. I'm just not good with my hands. I don't have the "building" brain. If you don't believe this, ask Josh. The guy has been my faux husband in the sense that he has put together half of my apartment. Shelves, check. Curtain rods, check. A shelf in the bathroom that I adore, check. Helping me through the "sans-boyfriend for a long time and needs to learn how to do put an air conditioner in to his own window that needs to be sized to his window because the window is too big for his air conditioner" situation, check.

He's been busy and good God I need to give the guy a break because he also deals with half of my emotional shit. Poor guy. Really. Medal for him. Gold all the way.

So there my air conditioner sits.

I'm still getting used to this. The heat, yes. The new apartment that warms up faster than any place I ever lived in. Having to ask friends to help me when I used to have someone else that I lived with to help me-- to put curtain rods up and use power tools or to do things that help keep me calm, comfortable, to keep me happy. To help me keep my cool.

Because it's so much cooler when you figure out how to keep your cool on your own.

So blogging is hard when, um, you don't have internet. Which is exactly what happens when you, um, borrow someones internet in the neighborhood and they most likely discover that it's being borrowed and then suddenly block it while you are enjoying a streaming episode of Brothers and Sisters on ABC.com. And then, just when they gay couple is going to kiss at their wedding on the streaming video and you are giggling and hugging a pillow and excited to see it happen, it goes "Putt" "Putt" and poof... your free ride is gone.

This now involves me waiting for my new service to start... in a week. A WEEK!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!
!!!
!

That's a long time.
But here's the thing. It's actually fun. See, for me, the internet is like filling up on salsa and chips before your giant burrito comes... then you can't even eat the burrito. Basically, it distracts me and I get nothing else done that I've been meaning to get done for months. Like, OK, get this. I folded all my socks in the same way so they are really pretty on my shelf in the closet. I hung my collared shirts all facing in the same direction. My t-shirts currently look like they should be folded for display at Barney's. I took a toothpick to my bathroom counter. I've read magazines that have been sitting in perfect piles because I've now got time to make perfect piles of things. My dishes are all washed. My fridge has been cleaned out and I know now all the words to Duffy's "Warwick Avenue" because, well, I haven't been able to download any new music and pretty much sing my woes of no internet to the tune of "Warwick Avenue". Which, if you're ever bored, I can send you those lyrics.

But most importantly, due to not having internet and having to work at coffee places more often, I met a man that insisted I looked like, and I quote: "That new kid. That kid on that new Indiana Jones... what's that kids name? SHOW BUFF or something?"

"Um, Shia LeBouf?"
"Yeah. That guy. Anyone ever tell you you look like him?"
"No."
"Never?"
"No. But someone once said I acted like Ryan Seacrest."
"SHIT! I hate that guy."
"Yeah. Most do."
"Well, once I got told I looked like John Ritter."
"Really? Huh."

The man did not look anything close to John Ritter... ever. He actually looked closer to Mr. Furley. But he went on to tell me his story about how this woman insisted he was better looking than John Ritter and how this woman was the love of his life and how this woman doesn't talk to him and more...

I miss my internet.

Ask me where I will be tonight at 12:01 a.m.

I hear some of you saying: "BED!" Wait, back there in the cheap seats: "At the bar!"

Nope. Nope.

I. Will. Be. Here.

I'm in a magazine. So are a lot of other cool people. Did I mentioned I designed the magazine too? Yeah. You should come to the launch party of this magazine. It's tonight.You should be there. You should find out where and here.

I needed to sit on this. I really needed to sit on this. And then, last night, I had a dream that I told Ellen Degeneres "Congrats on nailing the hot wife." In which Ellen winked back at me and said:"Thanks, I KNOW!" Which finally made me get to this:

A few weeks ago, we all found out that homosexuals could be married... in California. This is awesome.

"Isn't it great! You can go to California and get married!" My optimistic friend says to me as I bite in my salad at lunch.
"Uh huh." I say swallowing a mouth full.
"You don't seem excited... how come?"

Hold it.

I am excited. I'm happy. Dude. I was all about this issue, California passing the legalization of gay marriage, months ago when my friend Megan and Lott introduced me to this website. You can even find something that I wrote for it posted. The idea that a state was lobbying so hard to get this to happen made me giggle in absolute pride. Woah, people are working to make this happen! And when it happened and I caught the first headlines on CNN.com and then on BBC.com... I actually teared up a bit. A state so big with so many people working to make it happen did it... they got what they worked for. Seriously we have an African American and woman president running and we pass legal marriage in 2008.

Un-hold it.

Then, the last thing, "We have an African American and woman president running and we pass legal marriage in 2008!" YIPEEEE!!! This bothered me.

Why is it taking so long? Why is it 2008 and we are FINALLY getting here.

Hold it, again.

I'm not interested in the whole political conversation. I have had them. I know them. I understand them. I'm talking about why this is taking so long to process. It's sort of like downloads. You know how when you have a bad connection to the internet, it takes forever to get a giant file to download on your computer? Usually it's just because we have old versions of programs trying to process new information. Sometimes it's just too much information to process and you need to turn off the computer and restart so there is a fresh approach to the issue.

Do we need to reboot?

Unhold it... again.

I explain to my friend, the one I'm eating a salad with, why I am not "so" excited about all this.

"I still have to leave my city to get married. I still have to go to another state in my country to do something that everyone else gets to do at a court house or in the backyard of their parent's farm. I have to get on a plane and go somewhere else..."

She nods. Because she gets it. Lots of people get it. Many people get it.
And then there are many others people that just. don't. get it.

I am happy and proud and appreciate the work that went in to making this happen. Please, understand that. But, it just blows my mind that it is 2008 and we are just now getting excited about these things, you know, black or women presidents or two same sex people can have legal rights like anyone else. Shouldn't we have gotten excited about those things a long time ago? Why is all this taking so long to process?

Shouldn't we be getting excited about other great things like the possibility of flying cars and iphones that don't freeze and chips in our fingers that let us not have to carry bulky house keys in our pockets and robots that fold our laundry. You know, cool technology making our lives easier or faster so we can enjoy the important things in life... like being with the people we love.

But it seems like unlike technology, are brains aren't evolving fast enough. Versions of our own programs aren't developing as quickly... some people just aren't upgrading.

So people have been asking me: "What do you do that makes you so busy?"

I tell about things like 2nd Story or designing a clients new logo or writing my new piece for UR Chicago or watching, obsessively, Sex and the City previews. But one of the best things I get to do with my time is be a faux parent or a "manny" if you will.

Caleb is Megan's and Christopher's new baby. Once a week I get to come over for a bit and hang out while Megan has to go teach. We talk and philosophize and we even watch America's Next Top Model(in which Caleb totally agrees that Tyra's poses are tired).

In an effort to be more like Josh, I created a video blog of an average time with Caleb. Now, I'm no Michel Gondry when it comes to editing, but dude, I at least tried. No one can be like Josh. No one.

Untitled from Byron Flitsch on Vimeo.

See, I'm the type of guy that shakes presents to see what's inside. I'm the type of guy that peeks when people say "don't peek!" and I'm the type of guy that would post clips of the Sex and the City movie he found on the internet for those who are the type of guy or girl or gay like me.

Don't watch this if you don't want to see anything.

Dude. We just saw Johnny Depp. He was wearing a robe.

Still jealous much?

As we speak there is a movie being shot right across from me.

Kiddy corner from the building I'm in, people are walking in to a store front looking all 2008 and then coming out looking all 1920. Teenage girls are waiting around a chain linked fence flipping their hair as if they are getting ready for first dates. Cops are pushing people away from the fence looking like they are starting fights. People are on cell phones and pacing. Trailers doors are opening and closing and with ever slam of their doors the teenage hair flipping girls squeal: "Is it HIM!?"

The "him" is Johnny Depp.

Jealous much?