think about your most annoying co-worker. now imagine having sex with that person.
that's what i did last night in one of the many weird dreams i had. interestingly enough, my most annoying co-worker is a chick. not like a hot chick. but a frumpy, nose-blowing, only eats lentils and wheat germ type chick. a chick who laughs after everything she says even when it's not funny. "my computer's not working. ha ha ha." "hold the elevator! ha ha ha." a took her cousin to the prom chick. an every time she speaks i cringe chick.
not only was i having sex with her, but it was non-reciprocal sex. i was doing all the work! my face was fully in her stash (omg! i can't believe that a) this happened and b) i'm repeating it). it was a full on cunnilingus tutorial, and i was the expert.
i need a moment...
okay, so as i try to forget that i imagined what her hairless vag looks like, i wonder what the f made me even go there in the first place. you probably think that deep down, i want her, well let me just clear that up with a "hell no." obviously, the first order of business is to recall what i was thinking about when i feel asleep. i was lying on my couch, listening to alicia keys and, per yesterday's post, thinking "i'm through with men." now, i just meant through dealing with them and thinking about them not like switching teams. but perhaps my subconscious didn't know the difference. and in an effort to convince me that that was a bad idea, it concocted this dream as if to say "are you sure? you sure that's really what you want? you want to be through with men? oooookay, well this is what you're going to get." okay. okay! i'm sorry. sweet lord. i'm sorry. i apologize for accidentally telling my subconscious that i was about to pull a lohan. i'm sorry! now please erase these images from my mind. and if you'd REALLY like to convince me, you could send me a nice penis attached to a funny, monogamous, ambitious, childless, clean, intelligent male. thanks.
i am afraid to go to sleep tonight in L.A.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
same ol' song and dance
football practice was superb. not because of the fabulous bodies but because I actually worship the sport. the players were quite nice to look at, don’t get me wrong. but college boys are too young for even me (i’ve decided to cap myself at 25. 24 if he’s tall and looks like he could be 25). besides, if i was going to date any man on that field, it would be pete carroll. he is my older gentleman crush.
i attended/participated in my third wedding of the summer this past weekend. it was a creole-vietnamese union, so there was a mix of both cultures in the ceremony, food, etc. in honor of new orleans, there was a drink called the hurricane. in honor of being single, i drank several of them. i’m not a drinker at all, but this was quite the beverage. and after three ceremonies of people pledging undying love and “i don’t know how i lived before you,” a drink named after a natural disaster was fitting. now i am officially on wedding hiatus.
monday, the ex came over to “hang some more stuff.” this was the final chapter in our home depot-style rendezvous. after he’d hung everything imaginable and i’d performed the devinyls’ “i touch myself” (complete with vocals and dancing) and berlin’s “take my breath away” (by request), i was prepared to send him out the door with a carnitas burrito and a smile. i was! but he stuck around and started poking my sides, which led to a round of fisticuffs, which led to him throwing me over his shoulder and tossing me onto the bed, which should have led to us making out but did not. instead, it led to yet another round of fisticuffs, which led to him picking me up and putting me in the bathtub and threatening to turn the water on, which seeing as how there were no lights on in the bathroom, should have led to us making out but did not. then i tried to sock him in his manly bits, which led to him dragging me into the kitchen and putting my head in the sink and again threatening with the water, and again since there were no lights on in the kitchen…you know where i’m going (re-reading this, i realize you might feel compelled to call an abuse hotline. worry not. it’s all in good fun). finally, he hugged me and left. seconds later, there was a knock on the door. i opened it to find him standing there. “wait,” he said. already i’m thinking, “is he going to kiss me? how romantic!” he raced up the stairs toward me, put his head in the doorway and asked, “where’s my hat?” i told him i didn’t know where his stupid hat was, which was a lie; i’d hid it. yes, we’re 5 year olds. i know!
and now i think i need to put an end to this. no more seeing him. really, what will it get me? i will just continue to get sugar highs when i’m with him, then crash and burn afterward, smoldering for days. who knew it would be so unhealthy to have so much fun with someone? so in an effort to temper my masochistic ways, i’ll have to say “so long, sweetness.” but now that everything has been hung, that shouldn’t be a problem…
i desperately need some pinkberry RIGHT NOW in L.A.
i attended/participated in my third wedding of the summer this past weekend. it was a creole-vietnamese union, so there was a mix of both cultures in the ceremony, food, etc. in honor of new orleans, there was a drink called the hurricane. in honor of being single, i drank several of them. i’m not a drinker at all, but this was quite the beverage. and after three ceremonies of people pledging undying love and “i don’t know how i lived before you,” a drink named after a natural disaster was fitting. now i am officially on wedding hiatus.
monday, the ex came over to “hang some more stuff.” this was the final chapter in our home depot-style rendezvous. after he’d hung everything imaginable and i’d performed the devinyls’ “i touch myself” (complete with vocals and dancing) and berlin’s “take my breath away” (by request), i was prepared to send him out the door with a carnitas burrito and a smile. i was! but he stuck around and started poking my sides, which led to a round of fisticuffs, which led to him throwing me over his shoulder and tossing me onto the bed, which should have led to us making out but did not. instead, it led to yet another round of fisticuffs, which led to him picking me up and putting me in the bathtub and threatening to turn the water on, which seeing as how there were no lights on in the bathroom, should have led to us making out but did not. then i tried to sock him in his manly bits, which led to him dragging me into the kitchen and putting my head in the sink and again threatening with the water, and again since there were no lights on in the kitchen…you know where i’m going (re-reading this, i realize you might feel compelled to call an abuse hotline. worry not. it’s all in good fun). finally, he hugged me and left. seconds later, there was a knock on the door. i opened it to find him standing there. “wait,” he said. already i’m thinking, “is he going to kiss me? how romantic!” he raced up the stairs toward me, put his head in the doorway and asked, “where’s my hat?” i told him i didn’t know where his stupid hat was, which was a lie; i’d hid it. yes, we’re 5 year olds. i know!
and now i think i need to put an end to this. no more seeing him. really, what will it get me? i will just continue to get sugar highs when i’m with him, then crash and burn afterward, smoldering for days. who knew it would be so unhealthy to have so much fun with someone? so in an effort to temper my masochistic ways, i’ll have to say “so long, sweetness.” but now that everything has been hung, that shouldn’t be a problem…
i desperately need some pinkberry RIGHT NOW in L.A.
Friday, August 22, 2008
the week from shitsville
it was probably best that i stay away from this thing because anything i had to say was going to be dripping with negativity. i know, i know. that's so not healthy, and i will attract what i put out, yadah yadah. however, i can't help but be a sourpuss right now, and sometimes i think it's necessary for all of us to indulge out inner-sourpusses (or would that be sourpussies?) in order to experience the natural spectrum of human emotion. this week alone has been quite wretched.
first, my fantasy football draft did not go as planned. though i have some strong WRs (reggie wayne, randy moss), a good QB (carson palmer) and an excellent TE (witten), my RBs are questionable. and you always need good RBs! my competitive nature, the fact that i would like to continue to be reigning champion and the $40 i stand to lose all have me concerned about this.
then i learned that some of my personal emails were opened and read by a third party (i believe what happened is i didn't log out of my account, they saw a subject title or two that interested them, and they decided to read the emails). i subsequently spent sunday evening apologizing for what was said in them. then i spent all monday and tuesday growing more upset over the fact that my privacy was breached by people i trusted. dude! how do you just read somebody's email?? privacy, much like chivalry, is dead.
then i was on that terrible celebrity website that i said i was going to stay away from. of course, the one day i go on, surprise! i saw the name of this guy i went out with once or twice...a year and a half ago. i wasn't all that gaga over him at the time because i liked somebody else. so i put all my eggs in that faulty basket. a month later, that basket forgot how to use a phone and my eggs and my heart were left broken, splattered and fried on hot concrete. so i imdb this guy who was mentioned on that celeb site. so he's doing quite well for himself in terms of his career, but i didn't care so much about that as how gotdamn fine he was. like, was he that hot before? he got some facial hair and shit, and now he's all like...woah! so of course, i felt like an ass. my mom didn't make me feel any better when she called me, screaming into my voicemail about how cute he is and how cute her grandchildren could be. so...i emailed him. my email started with "you might not remember me but..." his email started with "you're right. i don't remember you..." awesome. i replied, telling him it was no big deal. it was a while ago. then i went home, stuffed myself with pinkberry and cursed myself for being such a former and current idiot. the next day, i received an enthusiastic email that said he did remember me and asked me how i was doing (so i guess the story has a somewhat pleasant ending). that same night, my mom told me she had a dream about our engagement party and reminded me that she's part psychic. seriously, does she say this stuff to inspire me?
then there's my ex-ex-boyfriend (not the threesome one, another one...but they have the same name. in fact, so does Hottie McHot pants from the website. all the guys i've mentioned in this entry have the same name. i should stay away from them.) who called and told me how much he misses me and wants to see me like he always does then casually informed me that he lives with his girlfriend (in a tone that suggested i should already know that tidbit). are you kidding me, you selfish bastard? granted, i don't want him, and i'd rather eat this computer screen than see him naked again, but he has some nerve. some nerve!
amidst all of this, i had to go to the gyno and get my cervix swabbed; listen to my neighbor, who i've christened Rotunda, continue to make her rounds upstairs; come to work everyday; come to work AND listen to husband tales and baby stories; come to work AND perform a SKIT about COMMUNITY; come to work AND actually do work, all the while pretending to give a shit.
i'm bitching. i should be more grateful. after all, i got free ribs today at work. i'll do better next week. promise. and the weekend looks promising. my boss is taking me to USC's football practice tomorrow morning, so i "can meet someone." you know you must be pretty pitiful if your BOSS is using her weekend time to find you a man.
i am really glad no one actually reads my blog in L.A. (or beyond)
first, my fantasy football draft did not go as planned. though i have some strong WRs (reggie wayne, randy moss), a good QB (carson palmer) and an excellent TE (witten), my RBs are questionable. and you always need good RBs! my competitive nature, the fact that i would like to continue to be reigning champion and the $40 i stand to lose all have me concerned about this.
then i learned that some of my personal emails were opened and read by a third party (i believe what happened is i didn't log out of my account, they saw a subject title or two that interested them, and they decided to read the emails). i subsequently spent sunday evening apologizing for what was said in them. then i spent all monday and tuesday growing more upset over the fact that my privacy was breached by people i trusted. dude! how do you just read somebody's email?? privacy, much like chivalry, is dead.
then i was on that terrible celebrity website that i said i was going to stay away from. of course, the one day i go on, surprise! i saw the name of this guy i went out with once or twice...a year and a half ago. i wasn't all that gaga over him at the time because i liked somebody else. so i put all my eggs in that faulty basket. a month later, that basket forgot how to use a phone and my eggs and my heart were left broken, splattered and fried on hot concrete. so i imdb this guy who was mentioned on that celeb site. so he's doing quite well for himself in terms of his career, but i didn't care so much about that as how gotdamn fine he was. like, was he that hot before? he got some facial hair and shit, and now he's all like...woah! so of course, i felt like an ass. my mom didn't make me feel any better when she called me, screaming into my voicemail about how cute he is and how cute her grandchildren could be. so...i emailed him. my email started with "you might not remember me but..." his email started with "you're right. i don't remember you..." awesome. i replied, telling him it was no big deal. it was a while ago. then i went home, stuffed myself with pinkberry and cursed myself for being such a former and current idiot. the next day, i received an enthusiastic email that said he did remember me and asked me how i was doing (so i guess the story has a somewhat pleasant ending). that same night, my mom told me she had a dream about our engagement party and reminded me that she's part psychic. seriously, does she say this stuff to inspire me?
then there's my ex-ex-boyfriend (not the threesome one, another one...but they have the same name. in fact, so does Hottie McHot pants from the website. all the guys i've mentioned in this entry have the same name. i should stay away from them.) who called and told me how much he misses me and wants to see me like he always does then casually informed me that he lives with his girlfriend (in a tone that suggested i should already know that tidbit). are you kidding me, you selfish bastard? granted, i don't want him, and i'd rather eat this computer screen than see him naked again, but he has some nerve. some nerve!
amidst all of this, i had to go to the gyno and get my cervix swabbed; listen to my neighbor, who i've christened Rotunda, continue to make her rounds upstairs; come to work everyday; come to work AND listen to husband tales and baby stories; come to work AND perform a SKIT about COMMUNITY; come to work AND actually do work, all the while pretending to give a shit.
i'm bitching. i should be more grateful. after all, i got free ribs today at work. i'll do better next week. promise. and the weekend looks promising. my boss is taking me to USC's football practice tomorrow morning, so i "can meet someone." you know you must be pretty pitiful if your BOSS is using her weekend time to find you a man.
i am really glad no one actually reads my blog in L.A. (or beyond)
Monday, July 28, 2008
one, two, three, ACTION!
so last night, my ex and i were talking about what movie we are going to see for his birthday, yadah yadah, long story short he said he would sleep with me, but only in a threesome situation.
wtf?
i had to explain why i was offended by that comment.
i came up with what i now realize was a lame analogy.
"so basically, it's like if i make an apple pie, and you're like hell no. i'm not eating your pie. f*ck that. but then you see this naked girl eating my pie, and you're like, okay, i'll have some of your pie, but only because this naked girl is having some." his response was something to the effect of...he couldn't sleep with me one-on-one because there would be emotions involved. whereas in a threesome situation it's purely physical. so it's not that he hasn't wanted to "eat my pie" it's just that he thought it would make things too hard and we wouldn't be as close as we are today.
"fine....but that's still f*cked up, you know that, right?"
yes, he said.
when are trios a good idea? if it involves people that you have no emotional baggage for, then i guess they're a fine pasttime (if you're the adventurous, non-jealous type). however, i can't even remotely imagine doing that with someone i care about. seriously?? and who is the third party supposed to be? certainly not someone he knows because he's probably already messed around with her or has been wanting to, and i refuse to be a party to that. and it can't be one of my friends because i don't want to know the terrain, texture, hills and valleys of my friends' snatches (or any girl's for that matter). and i don't want him to either. and it can't be a stranger because that's kinda gross. and what do you do? put an ad on craigslist?
wanted: female to be third leg in FMF love triangle. must be clean. hot enough to get the guy excited but not so hot that she makes the girl feel insecure. must be good in bed but not so good that she outshines the other girl. must be willing to leave immediately afterward and never try to make contact again.
plus, i'd have to use a fake name because i wouldn't want her going to the enquirer when i'm all trying to win my emmy. and what on earth am i supposed to do while they are having their "time?" do the soundtrack? applaud? stretch?
i know this is a common occurrence, so i'm not knocking it or dissing it. i'm just curious.
i hate to break his heart. he was so excited by the mere prospect, like a pup who smells sausage on your breath.
but i can't.
i'm not going down like that.
i'm not going down at all actually.
i didn't know it took three people to get one person laid in L.A.
wtf?
i had to explain why i was offended by that comment.
i came up with what i now realize was a lame analogy.
"so basically, it's like if i make an apple pie, and you're like hell no. i'm not eating your pie. f*ck that. but then you see this naked girl eating my pie, and you're like, okay, i'll have some of your pie, but only because this naked girl is having some." his response was something to the effect of...he couldn't sleep with me one-on-one because there would be emotions involved. whereas in a threesome situation it's purely physical. so it's not that he hasn't wanted to "eat my pie" it's just that he thought it would make things too hard and we wouldn't be as close as we are today.
"fine....but that's still f*cked up, you know that, right?"
yes, he said.
when are trios a good idea? if it involves people that you have no emotional baggage for, then i guess they're a fine pasttime (if you're the adventurous, non-jealous type). however, i can't even remotely imagine doing that with someone i care about. seriously?? and who is the third party supposed to be? certainly not someone he knows because he's probably already messed around with her or has been wanting to, and i refuse to be a party to that. and it can't be one of my friends because i don't want to know the terrain, texture, hills and valleys of my friends' snatches (or any girl's for that matter). and i don't want him to either. and it can't be a stranger because that's kinda gross. and what do you do? put an ad on craigslist?
wanted: female to be third leg in FMF love triangle. must be clean. hot enough to get the guy excited but not so hot that she makes the girl feel insecure. must be good in bed but not so good that she outshines the other girl. must be willing to leave immediately afterward and never try to make contact again.
plus, i'd have to use a fake name because i wouldn't want her going to the enquirer when i'm all trying to win my emmy. and what on earth am i supposed to do while they are having their "time?" do the soundtrack? applaud? stretch?
i know this is a common occurrence, so i'm not knocking it or dissing it. i'm just curious.
i hate to break his heart. he was so excited by the mere prospect, like a pup who smells sausage on your breath.
but i can't.
i'm not going down like that.
i'm not going down at all actually.
i didn't know it took three people to get one person laid in L.A.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
meeting the masturbator
i finally met her.
well, first i met her ass.
she was bent over in a pair of spandex tights. the fabric had thinned (or escaped to freedom), so i could clearly see her moon-pale ass rising and rolling out of that fabric like dough that had cracked-out on yeast.
the rest of her followed suit. if the michelin man had a sister--michelina, no doubt--she would pretty much look like this. pale, marshmellowey, with rolls and muffin tops and loaves coming at you from so many angles you'd swear you were at a pillsbury convention.
her voice was thick too and had the bitter, hardened edge of a woman whose pussy has seen more batteries and plastic than a mattel factory. she was standing on the steps leading up to her apartment when i asked her if she was my upstairs neighbor. yes, she said. i introduced myself, and then we stared at each other. her probably thinking, "i wonder if she's going to have thugs over here and play rap music." me thinking, "i can totally hear you fucking yourself." the moment ended with me simply walking away, feeling oddly satisfied. the chronic masturbation suddenly made sense, AND my theory that it was in fact a one person act i had repeatedly been awakened by seemed completely plausible. i mean, no one's tapping that. and NOT because she's a big girl. big girls need and receive plenty of love (more power to them), but when you tack on 5-6 decades, a stank attitude, anti-social tendencies and spandex, it's a recipe for not getting laid. now her exuberant self-gratification is justifiable, and i am somewhat comforted. that doesn't mean i excuse it, enjoy it or am not freaked out by it, but i feel better than i did when i thought she was merely some sex-addicted, big time exec who just didn't have time for a man. selfish and ridiculous, yes. but so is humping a fake dick so hard you wake up your neighbor.
i have since invested in ear plug balls and a radio on which i sometimes play rap music in L.A.
well, first i met her ass.
she was bent over in a pair of spandex tights. the fabric had thinned (or escaped to freedom), so i could clearly see her moon-pale ass rising and rolling out of that fabric like dough that had cracked-out on yeast.
the rest of her followed suit. if the michelin man had a sister--michelina, no doubt--she would pretty much look like this. pale, marshmellowey, with rolls and muffin tops and loaves coming at you from so many angles you'd swear you were at a pillsbury convention.
her voice was thick too and had the bitter, hardened edge of a woman whose pussy has seen more batteries and plastic than a mattel factory. she was standing on the steps leading up to her apartment when i asked her if she was my upstairs neighbor. yes, she said. i introduced myself, and then we stared at each other. her probably thinking, "i wonder if she's going to have thugs over here and play rap music." me thinking, "i can totally hear you fucking yourself." the moment ended with me simply walking away, feeling oddly satisfied. the chronic masturbation suddenly made sense, AND my theory that it was in fact a one person act i had repeatedly been awakened by seemed completely plausible. i mean, no one's tapping that. and NOT because she's a big girl. big girls need and receive plenty of love (more power to them), but when you tack on 5-6 decades, a stank attitude, anti-social tendencies and spandex, it's a recipe for not getting laid. now her exuberant self-gratification is justifiable, and i am somewhat comforted. that doesn't mean i excuse it, enjoy it or am not freaked out by it, but i feel better than i did when i thought she was merely some sex-addicted, big time exec who just didn't have time for a man. selfish and ridiculous, yes. but so is humping a fake dick so hard you wake up your neighbor.
i have since invested in ear plug balls and a radio on which i sometimes play rap music in L.A.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
coldplay poem
i went to see coldplay last night. by the looks of things, you would have thought it was an al green "for lovers only" concert in the park. it was still pretty great though.
while i was waiting forever for them to go on, i had to make up some nonsense to keep myself occupied. below is my coldplay poem
couples couples everywhere
why does that boy keep sniffing her hair?
watch him lick her lobe so sweet
want to kick him in the back of his head with my feet
only because i wish to stretch!
not 'cause i'm a jealous bitch
who wants her own licker and sniffer
a man to take her to see coldplay and then stick her
between the legs
and why does he keep scratching her back like that?
simple affection giving me heart attacks
oh shit, ken and barbie just walked in sucking face
please don't sit next to me, find another place
'cause this is the singles row
well maybe the other end is lesbian
but i can't deal with you tonguing her down
while i'm trying to watch chris mar-tin
22 bucks to park
and all i've gotten is this hermosa beach style porn
dear god, please bring coldplay on. bring them on!
while i was waiting forever for them to go on, i had to make up some nonsense to keep myself occupied. below is my coldplay poem
couples couples everywhere
why does that boy keep sniffing her hair?
watch him lick her lobe so sweet
want to kick him in the back of his head with my feet
only because i wish to stretch!
not 'cause i'm a jealous bitch
who wants her own licker and sniffer
a man to take her to see coldplay and then stick her
between the legs
and why does he keep scratching her back like that?
simple affection giving me heart attacks
oh shit, ken and barbie just walked in sucking face
please don't sit next to me, find another place
'cause this is the singles row
well maybe the other end is lesbian
but i can't deal with you tonguing her down
while i'm trying to watch chris mar-tin
22 bucks to park
and all i've gotten is this hermosa beach style porn
dear god, please bring coldplay on. bring them on!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
swedish store love
this dude named luis came up to me at ikea.
ACT I
studying the vases, i am startled by a voice near my ear.
luis (O.S.): you are amazing.
i turn. nothing at eye level. i look down a couple of inches. there he is. aaaannnndddd no.
me: thank you.
luis: i just had to tell you that.
me: thank you.
luis: i hope i didn't scare you.
me: i was in my own world.
(more shit i don't remember)
luis: what do you do?
me: i write, and i work at a school.
luis: i KNEW you were a teacher.
me: i'm not a teacher.
luis: oh, well you should be. you have a nice voice.
me: thank you.
luis: what is your name?
me: poppy.
luis: luis.
me: lewis?
luis: luis.
me: lewis.
(shake)
me: nice to meet you.
luis: okay, well take care.
me: thank you. you too.
ACT II
i am trying to get the hell out of that damn maze of a place. a voice calls out from behind...
luis (O.S.): poppy.
i remember that i told someone that was my name so i figure i should turn around.
luis: i just don't want to have any regrets.
luis holds out a piece of paper with his name and number on it.
me: okay.
luis: i hope you call me.
me: okay.
luis: so can i have yours?
me: if i call you, you WILL have mine.
luis: well, i guess that's all i can hope for. i will just pray about it.
me: that's all you can do.
luis: (laughs) yeah.
silence as he continues to walk with me.
me: but prayer is a very powerful thing. i'm all for prayer.
luis: good. well, i guess i better go get my bed now.
me: yes, get your bed.
luis: bye.
ACT III
i am putting my stuff in the trunk of my car. luis rolls by, smiling. privately, i roll my eyes.
me: get me the hell out of here.
the end.
ACT I
studying the vases, i am startled by a voice near my ear.
luis (O.S.): you are amazing.
i turn. nothing at eye level. i look down a couple of inches. there he is. aaaannnndddd no.
me: thank you.
luis: i just had to tell you that.
me: thank you.
luis: i hope i didn't scare you.
me: i was in my own world.
(more shit i don't remember)
luis: what do you do?
me: i write, and i work at a school.
luis: i KNEW you were a teacher.
me: i'm not a teacher.
luis: oh, well you should be. you have a nice voice.
me: thank you.
luis: what is your name?
me: poppy.
luis: luis.
me: lewis?
luis: luis.
me: lewis.
(shake)
me: nice to meet you.
luis: okay, well take care.
me: thank you. you too.
ACT II
i am trying to get the hell out of that damn maze of a place. a voice calls out from behind...
luis (O.S.): poppy.
i remember that i told someone that was my name so i figure i should turn around.
luis: i just don't want to have any regrets.
luis holds out a piece of paper with his name and number on it.
me: okay.
luis: i hope you call me.
me: okay.
luis: so can i have yours?
me: if i call you, you WILL have mine.
luis: well, i guess that's all i can hope for. i will just pray about it.
me: that's all you can do.
luis: (laughs) yeah.
silence as he continues to walk with me.
me: but prayer is a very powerful thing. i'm all for prayer.
luis: good. well, i guess i better go get my bed now.
me: yes, get your bed.
luis: bye.
ACT III
i am putting my stuff in the trunk of my car. luis rolls by, smiling. privately, i roll my eyes.
me: get me the hell out of here.
the end.
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