Something about anxiety makes me feal queasy. I'm sure this happens to you too. I'm sure this happens to him. I don't enjoy anxiety. I don't enjoy blisters. It's quite possible that this Green belongs to a Gang, but I'm not too certain at this point. There's no money in the bank and I have no plastic with my smiling face pasted on it. There's one that says California and 21 in 2009, but that currently does me no good. There's a volcano politely placed on my left cheek by, I'm sure, some force other than God. He's sweet, but I'm sure he doesn't care that much. I'm off. -Amanda