Must...escape...the...Dungeon Cave.

WARNING: This post has a butt load of run-on sentences, misuse of punctuation, the Roman Asterisk footnoting method (patent pending), and other assaults on the English language. English teachers, librarians, scholars, and those who think they might be a scholar probably should not read this. Side effects may include, headaches, irritability, depression, mania, a desire to stab me with a red marking pen, and/or unmitigated insanity. 

Ever rented an apartment or house with little time to shop around, so you pick the one that meets the majority of your basic requirements thinking, "Okay, it's dated & not that nice looking, but it's in my budget, a decent location, and it will do for a year until I can find something better."

THEN, within a couple of months of moving in, when the landlord has completely ignored a simple request to fix the two faucets that are dribbling water (one was leaking 2 1/2 gallons a day), all the faucets leak at the handles when you turn them on (except for temporarily stopping when the water pressure randomly drops to nothing again, which happens 90% of the time), and the garbage that the landlord's handyman threw in a pile in the parking lot when he was prepping the place next door has been sitting there for a month, etc., etc., etc., you start to think..."Hmm, so they're really throwing down the gauntlet to see if I'll stay here the whole year."

HOWEVER, you're traveling a lot, so you tell yourself it's really only like six months that you have to live there. No big deal.

THEN, you have an ice storm that leaves you without power for four or five days, and you can't even go to McDonalds to get some "food" and warm up, because you're parked at the far end of your parking lot and then there's the driveway that is only slightly less than a 90 degree slope* all covered in ice with a layer of snow that is just thick enough to get your tires spinning on the road to nowhere and completely solidify all snow underneath it into a marble ice slab.

HOWEVER, you remember by the second day that you actually own a snow shovel** and decide to start shoveling & see if you can make a path to get out. Turns out you can when you're a kick-ass snow/ice shoveler (I expect my invitation to be on the next US Winter Olympics Snow Shoveling team any day now.), and you have a couple of people to relieve you every once in a while.  So, three hours later, two-thirds of the parking lot is shoveled, as well as the entire Evel Knievel driveway and you finally make it to the in-laws house who already have power on.***

THEN, you eventually make it back home once the power is on, thinking about how nice it'll be to be in your own place again, only to remember the refrigerator FULL of food that has to be cleaned out. BONUS, the 35 year old stove*^, which came with three whole functional burners and an oven that likes to sit there randomly with its door open a little, like a mouth breather during allergy season, has initiated what one can only guess is its final death wail for itself.

HOWEVER, you decide to ignore it for awhile, because A) given the landlord only fixed the leak on 1 1/2 faucets (The second one still drips, just not as much. All other water issues are untouched.) B) the trash heap is still sitting in the parking lot C) landlord's answer to pointing out some mold on the living room ceiling, was to assure us it was a continuing problem with the bathtub upstairs (Oh, that wasn't disclosed to you before you signed the lease?), and that he would fix it by redoing the entire bathroom, kicking you out of the place for at least a week to do it, and charging you more rent (Didn't happen, of course.), it seemed rather unlikely that generous landlord would do anything about a depressed, old, but somewhat functional stove. Plus, it kind of feels like you're kicking Grandma to the curb just because her broken hip and emphysema were slowing her down to much.

THEN, two months later the heater unit decides your electric bill has been way too low. So it decides that sometimes when it kicks on, it will only run the blower, and not the heating element too that actually heats the air it's blowing, so instead of heating the rental unit, it actually cools it until you notice that your teeth are chattering and go and reset the whole unit again. So, after dealing with this somewhat random problem for a couple of weeks you call the landlord about the heater and the stove that still hasn't stopped moaning. Amazingly, he actually sends someone out to fix the heater the next morning. [Insert SHOCK FACE!!!]

HOWEVER, you're amused because the fix is a $3 can of cleaner and a pocket knife to clean the sensor, and the whole time they're musing over the ancientness of the whole system^, along with the fact that there are giant unfilled holes in the furnace closet where piping used to be, and give you a stern warning to get a carbon monoxide detector (A quick look around reveals that there isn't any in the house. Doh! You expected there to be one along with the smoke alarms, or at least a mention that their not included? Ha ha ha ha. Silly you.) No one ever comes to check on the stove, because she's obviously unloved at this point, but you do buy carbon monoxide detector and install it the next day, because you would hate to have survived this long only to be killed by some gas coming from an obviously vengeful heating system.

THEN, you happen to look up in your dining room one day...big mistake, NEVER, look up...to see that the portion of the ceiling just on the other side of the beam from the living room mold...that was reported 3 months ago...has a significant patch of green & black grossness. BONUS, the living room side of the beam now has two visible wet spots, not dripping, but wet, and all of this seems to be under the toilet area upstairs. Landlord, without looking at it, insists it's still the bad bathtub plumbing, which he's more than happy to replace (with the same previous conditions attached) or he can have his guy just fix the problem, and notifies you that his guy will be out there the next morning to diagnose. Landlord's "guy" shows up a little after 6....PM! the next day, and agrees that it is probably just the toilet, and will be out the next afternoon to fix it. Two days later, the wax ring is replaced, the moldy portion of the ceiling is bleached and then covered with a couple of coats of spray-on Kilz. BONUS, he decides to re-caulk around the outside of the tub in case the one drop of water that escapes the shower per day was the real culprit of the mold farm growing below. UN-BONUS, he didn't realized he purchased black caulk, until he'd laid about 20" of it, then since he only uses silicone caulk (Because "It's the only way to get a real good seal.") he just squirted some white over it the next day, except he didn't cover all the black, so it just looks like our caulk is all moldy there. [Insert IRONIC FACE!]

HOWEVER, you're happy content for now, because the leaky/moldy spots don't seem to be reappearing, so it would seem that the toilet was the issue, and total cost for supplies to fix it was about $15 including the bonus caulk job, an hour in labor cost, and three months waiting on the landlord to finally send someone to look at it. You get a small bit of satisfaction from knowing you were right, but you're annoyed that it took the landlord so long to address it because he's too busy trying to up-sale you. You make a mental note, to research if said landlord was ever a used car dealer or some other shyster salesman.

THEN, you look at the parts of the ceiling that were Kilzed (What is the past tense of Kilz?) and are reminded for the 264th time that the walls in this place are the color of dirt and the trim and ceiling are the color of off-white with a little extra dirt thrown in to coordinate with the walls, except for the kitchen and bathrooms that  break up the dirt motif with the occasional 70s gold marble counter top or 80s blue wallpaper with floral pattern to add a bit of pizzazz, and the flooring, which consists of 95% carpet, is an ancient Berber the color of dirt mixed with some gravel and pebbles.^*

THEN, your mind briefly awakens from the fog you've been in for say the last eight months, to realize that the reason you haven't wanted to do anything, including writing quirky, humorous, [insert other positive adjectives here] blog posts is that you actually rented a dungeon cave loosely disguised as a two-story townhouse.

That my friends,^** is what happened to me and Lawyer Jim, exactly eight months ago. I swear it really is a dungeon cave. Think about it. It has "dirt" walls and a floor with the occasional rare flora that can grow in a cave and fools gold vein running through it, water is always dripping, it gets colder and darker as you go to the lower levels, there's a weird ghostly moaning that pervades the place, it's sucking the life out of us and we've been sentenced to live here for one year. That is the very definition of a dungeon cave.

Now that we realize what it's doing to us, we are rapidly planning our escape. Unfortunately, money always seems to get in the way. So, rapidly means four more months, as of today. Let the countdown begin. In the meantime, I'll try to score some black market anti-depressants or something so I can keep writing while serving out my remaining time.

*I SWEAR I'm only exaggerating a little. There should be a run-a-way ramp installed on this driveway.
**Turns out that snow shovels are a valuable tool to own even when living in the south, where you get snow on average once a year, because they're also great for shoveling giant loads of mulch & fertilizer around all of those lovely trees and flower beds one must have when one owns a yard.
***They are famous for 7 to 10 day outages after any significant storm, summer or winter. So, it really was a Festivus miracle that they got their power back 24 hours after it went out.
*^Not making up the age at all. Google knows all and dated this stove back to 1977. In 1977, I'm sure all the other housewives were jealous, because this thing had all the bells and whistles. Now it just has all the moans & aches.
^You're less amused the next month, when your electric bill has increased by 50% due to your heater playing freeze out on your dime.
^*Landlord obviously believes one can't have too much carpeting in a rental unit, including the bathrooms. There must have been some concern about the kitchen, so landlord covered it in a laminate that is obviously meant to look like a floor made from dirt tiles.
^**You are obviously my friend, if you've read all of this insanity. Thank you. Please message me if you know where I packed my lasso and I'll try to reign it in a little next time.

An important safety message...

More excuses...but mitigating the insanity in many little world has been about as futile as trying to keep the pollen washed off your car in the springtime. You can clean up the mess, but turn away for a moment & it's already back. Sometimes it's just better to hunker down & wait it out. I'll do a catch up soon.

In the meantime, an important safety message from our trash can:

"Don't forget to leave a little room at the tip."

The tragic tale of the magical card that almost died, but was saved, only to realize it wasn't so special after all.

The story you are about to read is true. Especially the magical parts. The names have not been changed to protect the innocent, because that would just turn it into gossip. Some details have been omitted by He/She Who Must Not Be Named, because I don't want you nut jobs knowing where someone used to live. We're all about privacy here. Mostly. Frankly, if you can fill in the details from what's revealed here, then you obviously have super powers and would have gotten it out of me eventually anyway. This is my story. Dunh, dunh! (Also know as the doink doink or the chung chung.) 

So, this card was delivered to our house in January. It was postmarked 12/27/12 from MD and addressed to Ms. Linda [CLASSIFIED]. I was pretty sure it was a better late than never Holiday card. We're used to getting previous tenants' mail, so I was just going to return it to the post office on my next trip. However, I noticed that the house number on it was not ours. So, being in a giving spirit and wanting to support my fellow procrastinator, I decided to just hand deliver it to the correct address. 

I went driving down my street, and it turns out there is no such street number. So, I took it by the local post office and explained that:

A) This was delivered to my house, but I'm not Ms. Linda. Ms. Linda does not live at our house, but admitted that I hadn't checked the Harry Potter closet lately for squatters.

B) It was supposed to be delivered to 2204.

C) I checked our neighborhood and there is no 2204. I admitted that I had not tried to reach in between 2202 & 2206 to see if there was a magical mailbox slot for 2204.

D) There is a Methodist church where 2204 should be & perhaps the 2204 #2 is to indicate Linda's aisle and seat in the church.

The kind postman, who's used to dealing with crazy, rich ladies (I'm obviously not any of those, but he hasn't seen my certifications proving otherwise.), smiled and said he would take care of it. I immediately forgot about it.

Fast forward. No, too far. Back up about four days. Okay. Now hit play.

Among our Tuesday sale ads, there was a card in the mail. As usual, addressed to not anyone who currently lives here. I throw it in the stack to drop off at the post office the next time I go. The next day, when I'm gathering the stack to take to the post office, I look at the envelope a little more carefully.

Postmarked MD, on 12/27/12, addressed to Ms. Linda. Mr. Postman obviously changed the second 2 to a 0 and redelivered it. Poor Ms. Linda still didn't have her card! I was prepared to take it back to the post office again, and explain that Linda still hadn't moved to my house, so it could at least be returned to the sender. Then I noticed that there was no return address anywhere on the envelope. Therefore, if I took it back to the post office, it would just end up in the dead letter file. Which we all know is like a paupers grave site for undeliverable mail. Poor Ms. Linda would never know her forgetful friend tried to contact her via a slow & tree killing form of message.

I couldn't let the card die! After all, a thoughful note from a friend can make a world of difference in someone's otherwise dreary life. Plus, there might be money or gift cards in there for Poor Ms. Linda--which could really lift Poor Ms. Linda's spirits too. While I was debating what to do...magically, the envelope fell out of my hand, opened, and the card inside fell out of the envelope, then rested open on the counter! It's Kismet! There wasn't anything of monetary value in it (I felt it my duty to check), but inside was this message:

Obviously, Madalene put a lot of time and thought into this note to Poor Linda.

Poor Linda! The message was too late. Not only did Madalene mail this TWO full days after the celebration of Christmas****, but over a month later, due to Madalene's substandard addressing skills, Poor Linda still had not gotten the message. Without this message, Poor Linda has surely forgotten Jesus by now. Plus, Poor Linda probably has forgotten her friend Madalene too, because Madalene doesn't call, she doesn't write, she doesn't send smoke signals.

****In Madalene's defense, on the back of the card she was sending National Geographic told her "That for a long time, the celebration of Jesus' birth was observed along with the celebration of his baptism, on January 6." I'm sure Madalene thought she was still in the grace period, when she mailed it on December 27th. After all, who knows more about Jesus and Christmas than National Geographic?****

Now, Madalene probably thinks her friend Poor Linda doesn't like her anymore, because she was wrong about the grace period thing and so Linda completely forgot about the birthday party for Jesus! Additionally, Poor Jesus is sad because Ms. Linda ditched his birthday party. Probably to go eat Chinese food and see a movie.

It's a sad story all around.

Maybe something good can come of it, though.

One, if you know, Linda & Madalene, tell them to pick up a phone, email, tweet, or instant message each other every once in a while, so they know where to send the invites.

Two, don't waste time killing trees to send your "friends" pointed reminders about what you think their religious views should be, if you can't be bothered to keep up with their address or put your own return address on the card.

P.S. If you insist on sending mail to a person's address that you are 99% certain is no longer correct just to alieve your own guilt trip, it's only polite to slip at least a twenty in there as a Christmas bonus for processing & handling.

In ultimate procrastinator style...My last two months of 2012.

I guess if I was really the ultimate procrastinator, I would write this next year. However, waiting 14 months to write a post just to prove how big a procrastinator I am is a little more than I was willing to commit too. Since you had to wait so long, I'm not leaving out any of the details. So, here it goes:

11/1/12 - Day of the dead, All Saints Day, - Either you all are saints for dragging your butts out of bed after your candy induced diabetic coma from the night before, even though you won't admit that you ate more candy than your kids...OR you call you boss to inform him you need to take a sick day, which literally translates to I need to deal with my sugar addiction by sleeping like the dead today. I personally, did not fit into either holiday, because I sat in the dark the night before with no candy. I did waste a lot of the day thinking about buying a bunch of half-price Halloween candy to binge on. So, I guess that puts me closer to the Day of the Dead side.

11/2/12 - All Souls Day, Deviled Egg Day - I kept my poor soul hidden behind locked doors worrying constantly about the evil souls trying to trick me into eating their deviled eggs.

11/3/12 - Sandwich Day - Peanut butter & honey with pear slices on 12 grain wheat bread. I'm assuming that's what I ate, since it's my favorite sandwich and why would I not eat a sandwich on Sandwich Day? Can we all just pretend we knew it was Sandwich Day and agree that we ate some kind of concoction of food stuffed between bread? I'm willing to count a calzone or even an ice cream sandwich here people.

11/4/12 - King Tut Day, Peanut Butter Lover's Day - Walked like an Egyptian while eating another peanut butter & honey with pear slices on 12 grain wheat bread sandwich. Made a mental note to petition for the combining of Sandwich Day & Peanut Butter Lover's Day into one day.

11/5/12 - National Donut Day, Guy Fawkes/Gunpowder Day - Ate a dozen chocolate iced donuts while contemplating whether the British know what the heck they are celebrating on Guy Fawkes Day or is it just a giant excuse to dance naked around bonfires and set off fireworks. Made a mental note to remind people that any instance of oppression can most likely be overcome with enough donuts instead of gun powder. That's probably why these to holidays are celebrated together.

11/6/12  - Election Day - Otherwise known as the day Mitt Romney called his career counselor.

11/7/12 - 12/31/12 - Became extremely unsuccessful in mitigating the insanity in my life and decided to ignore the stupid calendar because it kept lying about what was supposed to happen on any given day.

In summary, we spent the rest of that week mourning the death & celebrating the life of Jim's grandfather who died on Election Day. As is often the case, we spent a lot of time with family and friends. Some we hadn't seen in years, others I had the pleasure of meeting for the first time while hearing wonderful stories and learning new details about a man that I thought I already knew so well. I'm grateful for the time spent with all those wonderful people.

After that, a rather laid back Thanksgiving. Followed by a somewhat depressing, but not unexpected, final Razorback game of the season. However, there was at least some borderline orgasmic steak, cooked by Chef Jim, and consumed by all while watching the game.

December was a blur of Christmas preparations, work, work, trivia nigh, work, work, work, last minute wrapping of gifts, work, last minute baking because some douche kept buying every single pecan pie in town, non-stop family holiday parties, giant snow storm that left us without power and heat for four days, work, work, then nice relaxing New Year's eve spent with two of our best friends and their awesome kids.

So, two weeks late...Happy New Year!

The story of Crackers & her "Special Friend"

WARNING: This is a long one. Please go empty your bladder and finish eating and drinking. I am not responsible for any accidents, choking, or snorting of things out the nose.

My dad is probably one of the most sentimental people out there. He's also a big dog lover. My brother  & I are much the same way...well cut out the sentimental part for me. My mom, though, grew up the youngest of six on a farm where they had no extra money to feed and take care of pets. In her family, animals were either a food or a tool. So, she's never been crazy about us having pets.

She has softened over the years though,. Consequently, the last dog they had, Crackers, was more spoiled than any we ever had as kids. Crackers was scared of her own shadow. She was also a genius, because she figured out how to brain wash my Mom.

At first it was just, "I got these treats for Crackers, because they were on sale."

Then, even though no dog had ever been allowed to be inside the house when I was a kid, suddenly Crackers was allowed to come inside in the mornings & evenings when somebody was home. Only in the kitchen though, where it was easy to clean the floor.

The the next time I was there, Mom was showing me how she trained Crackers to beg at the dinner table for the half plate of food Mom would feed her every night.

Then, everyone realized Crackers true calling. She was born to be an emergency storm alert dog. She could smell/hear/sense a storm coming a minimum of 2 hours in advance and would start barking at the back door. It was better than the tornado sirens they have hear. When let in, Crackers would pace the kitchen floor until she saw her chance and dart into the hallway bathroom where she would hunker down until the storm passed.

My Mom thought this was so pitiful and cute, that she started letting Crackers stay inside over night whenever there was a storm coming. After all, they live in tornado country & everyone, including the dog, knows that potential high winds is a reason to run and hide in the most central room in the house.  So, Crackers was really saving their life by warning them to take cover as she was doing. As Crackers got older, Mom gave in more often & let her stay in for no reason at all.

My dad--the softy, who was an only child, so his dogs were his siblings--always referred to Crackers as "Baby Girl." Although he made sure to clarify around me that I was his first baby girl, so I wouldn't feel left out. He also referred to himself as Cracker's "Pops", and made mention that she was mine & my brother's sister. Something that we went along with because A) we're both dog lovers too, so we get the silly family relationship references & B) it's just not that big of a deal to us. However, Mom took great offense when Dad would call her Mom. or anything else motherly, in relationship to the dog. It always embarrassed her, especially if  Dad said it in public, so she discouraged it 100% (i.e. Threatened with divorce or bodily harm, if he didn't quit.)

So, this past fall poor Crackers was diagnosed with a bladder tumor. The news was not good and my Dad was heart broken. However, they vowed to seek out a second opinions & alternate treatments to see if there was anything that could be done. In the mean time, they planed to enjoy as much time with Crackers as possible. This led to an extra sentimental Christmas for them. Lots of presents for Crackers & suddenly Crackers was giving out presents to everyone else.

So, on Christmas day we're exchanging presents and there's a very special one for my Mom. Not because of what it was (I really have no clue what the gift was.), but because of the little "To" & "From" sticker on the gift.

Apparently Dad was behind all the gift giving from Crackers to "Bro", "Sis," "Pops," etc. However, he knew better than to write any form of Mother for my mom's gift. Since I was closest to the tree, I was the one handing out the gifts and reading out loud the tags while handing out gifts. I silently read this one while waiting for whoever to finish opening the previous present handed out.

I must have looked like I was convulsing, when really I was shaking from trying to hold in the biggest laugh ever. Anyway, it catches Jim's & Mom's attention who seem a little concerned.. I lean over and show the present to Jim who guffaws and then decides to read it out loud while I continue to try to hold in my laughter.

To: Lady Buddy

From: Crackers

Mom gets this horrified look on her face and screeches at Dad, "Why would you call me that???" My Dad sheepishly explains that he thought this was an appropriate name, since in his mind Mom is a lady AND she and the dog are at least friends now.

Jim, my brother, and I are dying laughing, because we have so many other scenarios running through our head of when someone would be referred to as "Lady Buddy." Mom has obviously thought of at least one too and that's why she's so horrified. My dad who is a little naive (Read as: Still doesn't realize that Kitty from Gunsmoke was a prostitute.) really didn't get the joke, but knew he was in big trouble and has never used the term since.

Jim, who doesn't have to live there, decided this was too good to let die out so easily. He immediately told another family member, who's one of the jokesters in our family. Together, with encouragement from me, they have ensured that Mom will forever be known as "Lady Buddy." I've already ordered the tombstone.

Unfortunately, we had to say goodbye to Crackers last week. My dad misses her greatly. Even though, she won't come out and say it...deep down, I know Lady Buddy does too.

The cure for my procrastination...

So a certain person, let's call him/her G, has been calling my phone every day since she/he harassed another person who had my number into giving it to him/her. Now I have a particular relationship with G that on the surface sounds like the same kind of relationship that most everyone else in the world has. The difference is most of the rest of humanity cherishes that same relationship, because it functions in a manner that would lend itself to mostly happy, pleasant memories of good times spent together.

Instead, I'm pretty sure that G's parents performed an experiment where they decided to teach him/her different meanings for random words. For example, they might have said that the sweet, frozen, milk-based treat was called poison. Hint: they didn't...G loves ice cream.

However, I think they might have taught G that the act of only caring about oneself was called "being selfless"; and that animals are your friends and that humans are only servants/intermediaries created to care for all your friends; and titles like mother, father, sister, brother, grandmother, grandfather, wife, husband, etc., are strictly for the sole purpose of documenting the passage of DNA from one servant to the next. Okay, that's not really fair. I never really knew G's parents. Maybe G mis-learned all of this on his/her own.

Anyway, to make a long story that much longer...G's last message was: "Just wanted to see how you, Jax, & Gabby were settling into your new place. Call me when you have nothing better to do."

Now, to the casual observer this would seem like a perfectly sweet message inquiring about my family and wanting to talk when it was convenient (no hurry). As I said before, G has picked up some curious meanings of words along the way. Therefore, you have to translate everything G says.

This phone message was actually: "Michelle--" (G has finally noticed that servants respond better if you use their name sometimes) "--call me ASAP and let me know how my friends Jax & Gabby are settling in to their new home. I would call them myself, but have been unable to train my friends to use the phone. Also, I'm going to want a report as to why you abandoned my cat friends Niles & Max.* Be prepared to answer or else. That is all."

* - They were relocated to live with family members where they would not be harassed by the dogs anymore. That equals abandoned in G's mind...or at least breaking protocol, because I didn't obtain G's permission to do something to MY pets.

Notice also that there was no inquiry into how Lawyer Jim is doing. That's because in G's eyes he is superfluous since it was not his phone G was calling; therefore, not worthy of acknowledging. Also, some of you may be doubting the translation about the cats, but believe me it's there. You have to read between the lines.

So, to sum up. I now have a list of about a hundred things that I've been procrastinating doing that I suddenly need to work into my regular hectic schedule. Sorry, G. It's going to be quite a while before I have nothing to do but call and report to you.

Less spiteful post to follow. I promise.

Life, moving, and more excuses for not writing.

I know my whole 2-3 readers have been sitting on pins and needles waiting for my next post. Okay, we all know that's not true. Who would sit on pins & needles waiting for anything? I guess...if I were forced into a tiny waiting room where my choice was sit on pins & needles OR sit on steak knives that had been used to cut up raw pork three days ago...I would probably get the hell out of that doctor's office.

Anyway, I apparently took a sabbatical from writing for the past few months. Well, that's not exactly true. A sabbatical indicates taking a break from one's normal job to rest and/or acquire new skills or training. Perhaps, too tired to write after working twelve hours a day seven days a week, moving my crew across two states, while consolidating an office and two houses into two townhouses in two different states would be a more accurate summary of the situation.

I know, I know. Quit whining. There are people who have it worse off than me--Big Bird, Cookie Monster, Elmo, and Bert & Ernie; the Arkansas Razorbacks football team; and Mitt Romney, every time he opens his mouth. Although...maybe not ol' Mitt. After all, even though I'm sure he's hit his insurance limit for the year (maybe the lifetime limit) for having foot-from-mouth extractions, I'm pretty sure he can afford to just pay out of pocket and write it off as a business expense.

Perhaps the difference is that the three above mentioned groups are all so ridiculously sad that people voluntarily write about them as if they were tragic comedies. Okay, that and they are all a part of pop culture. So, until I can get my own entourage/stalkers to follow me around and report my every ridiculous move, I guess I'll start writing again.

Stay tuned.