If the phone doesn’t ring…

Riiiiing…

Good morning, this is NoGoodDaddy

Hi, NoGoodDaddy, this is J from PlacementCompany, how are you?

I’m OK. How can I help you?

I’m calling about Wombat. I am working to place him in a job and he listed you as a professional reference from your time at HealthCareRelatedCompany. Do you have a few minutes?

Sure, no problem. What can I tell you about Wombat?

Well, how long did you work together?

We worked from late last year until about June of this year when I moved to North Carolina. He was the 2nd shift supervisor of our print and mail facility.

OK. His resume says that in his time with HealthCareRelatedCompany that he cured the common cold, set a world record for longest time with an erection, maintained a safe work environment, met OSHA standards and was generally the greatest person on Earth.

Oh, yes, that’s 100% correct. Wombat is a gem of a human. I’d be wiling to abolish democracy in order to have him rule the planet. He’s made for it.

Interesting. That’s very good to know. The position we’re considering him for calls for a lot of those qualities. The last person in his position was so lax that he got someone killed.

Oh, Wombat is very safety oriented. In fact, he instituted a safety policy at HealthCareRelatedCompany that I hear has been implemented at the corporate level.

Oh, can you tell me about it?

Sure. I’m a little unsure of all the details, but I believe that what he did was get all of his staff members to fellate him on a nightly basis. After a period of conditioning, they were all very docile and, as a result, very safe. J, do you think that the fact that most of Wombat’s employees were men makes him gay? You know…with the blowjobs and all?

I don’t think so. Not at all. Why do you ask?

No reason. I was just curious.

OK, moving on. Would you say there would be any constructive criticism that we could pass on about Wombat to a potential employer?

Oh, you bet your ass there is. See, he’s got an incredible flatulence problem. The guy can’t seem to stop farting. Remember Pig Pen from Charlie Brown? Imagine that; but it’s a shit smell. It’s quite offensive.

Interesting. I’ll pass that along. Have you ever seen Wombat’s genitals?

Indeed I have. They are exquisite. For a man of his girth, I’d have expected more, but his use of color and faux finishes really makes up for the small size. I think that shows that he would be an excellent employee for the company…did you say it manufactured butt plugs?

I did.

See, that’s what I mean. Anyone who can dress up such a small penis is perfect for the butt plug industry. Did I mention that Wombat can lick his own asshole?

He can?

It’s amazing. I watch a lot of porn and I’ve never seen it done. He’s very impressive.

I’ll note that in his file. Well, NoGoodDaddy, I thank you for your time. I really think that Wombat is a good fit to be Chief Rim Wiper at Butt Plug USA. The information you provided will help a great deal.

Well, it’s really no problem. Wombat’s a good guy. I mean, after you look past the head that’s growing from his abdomen. I hope it works out well for him.

Click

I hope Wombat gets the job. He sounds like he needs a break. We spoke yesterday and he sounded like he needs a break. So, big hugs to Wombat.

***************************************

Another day in the pool today. I won’t go so far as to say that there’s any noticeable difference yet, but I’m feeling more at home in the water. It’s coming back. I can feel it. It feels good.

Some people say that there’s a woman to blame

I can only imagine the relief He felt when He stopped typing. Although, relief probably wasn’t it. He’s an odd one, don’t you think?

I know that when I closed the book last night, I felt as if I’d accomplished something. Untold thousands of pages…how many hours spent reading? Who knows? I was done.

I met Roland Deschain back in 1992. JewelrySlut gave me a bunch of books to read after I was at school. I always had a paperback or 2 in my back pack as I traipsed around the RU campi (plural for campus). At that time, I was introduced to The Dark Tower. Finally, 13 years later, I finished the tale. It would have helped if The Writer had moved along a little bit, but these things take time. I followed Roland here and there, shooting one bad guy after another. I saw him pop up in several other books. I became, and I believe this is a real term, a “Tower Junkie”. Last night, I finished the saga. Anyone else here a Tower Junkie? If so, we need to talk? I would not advise starting the series unless you have like 1 year or 2 on your hands. It’s more than just the 7 books. There’s got to be at least hat many more that need to be read as background and gap fillers. But, if you’d like to be a Tower Junkie, let me know and I’ll prescribe a reading list.

That ends my attempt at something other than stream of conscience babble.

On with the opera.

So, I’m kinda cranky lately. Almost in a funk. And, not the good kind of funk where I get to walk around in a mink coat and platform shoes. More of a blah funk. Not good.

Work is boring the shit out of me again. Like I should be shocked by this revelation. But, HealthCareRelatedCompany is not deciding on the vendor and the calendar keeps marching towards Jan 1. And, as long as they don’t decide, the potential for my suffering increases. Also, when things get slow, I usually have to go back to NJ in a week or so. I so do not want to go to NJ in a week or so. Shitter. Plus, people keep calling me into useless meetings during lunchtime. So, I haven’t been in the pool since Thursday. I plan to go today, come hell or high water.

Then, there’s Shmuppie. I may kill her. I know she’s cute, but I think her time on Earth is drawing to a close. To start, she has a cold. So, she’s cranky. She’s also in that phase where she’s testing us to see what our limits are. Everything is answered with a “No” or a tantrum. She’s gotten into kicking us. Really, it’s quite fun. In the sense that it’s not. So, I’m already not in the mood for her shit, and she’s doing her best to pile more shit on. We’ve broken down and whacked her a few times. We didn’t want to, but sometimes when your kid is freaking the fuck out, a slap on the ass is the only way to stop it. It works. Now, don’t go calling Child Services or anything, we always hit her in a spot covered by clothes. Plus, if you don’t use a closed fist, there are no bruises. She’s just gotten out of control lately. I think part of it is from being cooped up. The weather has cooled off. Combo that with her cold and the lack of basement access and we’re all getting a little stir crazy. I hope she gets over this soon. Otherwise, she’s a gonner.

Then, there’s last weekend. Or as I call it “The Visit”. Ugh… So, she got in on Friday night and things were OK. And if OK includes having your mother show up at your house looking anorexic and looking for tequila, then we were just fine. I think my mother weighs 100lbs soaking wet. She really looks like shit. We could tell right away that she did not like the house. Now, it is in a little bit of a state lately. As I describe it, take away 1/3 of your living space and see how you fare. It’s not fun. We’re in Week 3 of this experiment.

So, she got right to work on Saturday morning. She had made us all these curtains and drapes and shit. Some are OK, others seem to have been designed and sewn by a deranged clown. So, there I was, hanging all this nonsense in the wall. Then, she wanted to paint. But, we also had our little nephew at the house for the afternoon. The 2 of us had to go to Home Depot to buy more paint, and all Crazy Thin Lady wanted to do was work work work. We painted all afternoon. I was finally able to get us all to stop and bathe so we could get dinner…at which she drank more tequila.

Sunday dawned with more of the same…work work work. At 1:00, I called a cessation of festivities and piled us all into the car for a tour of North Raleigh. We had fun looking at houses and giving her the lay of the land.

After we got home, the trouble really started. My father had left her something like 4 cell phone messages, had called the house, and had called JewelrySlut’s cell. Seems he needed to talk to his wife about something. Well, they ended up fighting and she started crying. Again, as mentioned countless times before, why they stay married is Waaaaay beyond me. So, now she’s depressed and headed for the Merlot. I decided to cut her off after 3 glasses or so.

I have some problems here. Her drinking is not good. Until recently (like the past 5 years or so), my mother NEVER drank. Like not even a sip of wine at the holidays. Now, she’s drinking to get away from the mess that is her marriage. I’m not looking forward to having to confront her on it. But, the time is coming. We also got to hear about their recent 9-day cruise. That’s right…a 9-day cruise. Apparently, if they had not met up with some other people on the trip, it would have been a full-on disaster. So, what are they doing next? They’re going to Hawaii in January. Not only are they staying in their Maui-based condo, but they’re also staying in a 1-room cottage on the beach on Molokai. Why? I don’t know. Maybe they like hating themselves.

So, on Monday, she was up at 7:00 and was painting while the 3 of us slept. She then decided to rip down the wallpaper in our ½ bathroom. Thankfully, 3:30 came and we were able to shuttle her to the airport.

What a whirlwind. We are exhausted from her visit. For all the whining she’d done about missing Shmuppie, she saw very little of her. No…there were drapes to hang and shit to paint and it all needed to be done NOW!!! On the bright side, we did get 2 new bathroom vanities. I guess she told my father of the horror that is our home and he told her to start buying stuff for us.

THE HOUSE IS NOT THAT BAD!

Whatever. $500 less for me to spend.

This is good because now we’re working on getting heat to the basement. We have a wood burning stove, but we’d like some other source of heat. There was a baseboard heater in place, but the flood washed it out. So, we have heating and electrical guys coming in to assess what’s going on down there. I think we found someone this morning who will be able to help us. It’s going to cost some money, but we need to get the place warm and up to code if we ever plan to sell it. Hey…it’s just money…

But, as good news, ChurchBomber is coming this weekend. She can’t get in until Saturday evening, so that kinda sucks. MerlotMan’s mother is sick and they had to wait to buy the tickets. So, she’ll be in for a few days. That’s good because JewelrySlut needs the rest and the wine.

The basement’s almost painted and all we really need now is carpeting. The stupid carpet lady won’t call me back. I grow inpatient by the day…

I honestly believe I have rambled on for long enough with out really saying much. I need to go get something to eat before I head to the pool in a little while. Plus, my feet are cold. I don’t know how that matters, but I figured I’d share with the group.

I got a schoolboy heart

I think I may have brain damage. It could be the booze, it could be old age. It’s something. I know I was supposed to write about something, but what?

So, I’m still in pain. Back to the pool yesterday and I upped my distance a little bit. I thought I was going to die when I got home. It’s not like I’m doing much, it’s more the very act of doing that has me all messed. My arms seem to have enjoyed their 13 year sabbatical. I didn’t know one’s triceps could hurt.

Pimp (he of the evil template) summed it up well in a comment to my last entry when he said “Getting old fucking sucks. It never used to be this tiring to simply get through a day.”

Amen. I didn’t understand what that meant until recently.

Getting old is not fun and this week has shown me why. I know I’m not old, but I guess I’m heading down that road. I hate to think that people see me as an adult. I mean, just thinking that little kids will look at me and see a grown up has me upset. I don’t want to grow up. I’m more than willing to take on the responsibility and stuff, but I don’t want to be an adult. I don’t think as myself as one. Is that OK?

The whole exercise thing really has me thinking about days or yore. I guess my brain had been primed because of the flood. See, my old varsity jacket has been looking at me for 2 weeks now. It wasn’t in a box before the flood; it was just sitting on top of all the boxes. So, it landed on the fireplace in the basement. I keep seeing it and having moments of ponderment (look! A new word!) about high school. Throw in the swimming; the pain, the smell, the taste of the water, and I’m in a full-on flashback to the early 90′s. I’m not enjoying thinking back that far. It seems like a really long time ago. Has it been 13 years since I finished school? Shit…it has. I emailed my old coaches the other day (having had zero contact with them since graduation) to let them know that I hate swimming and it hit me; I’ve known them for nearly 20 years now. That’s 2/3 of my life. I shudder at the thought.

I’m not depressed about this; it’s just all hitting me at once. It’s funny. I get into the water and it comes at me like a flood (pardon the pun). People, places, names…all come pouring back. It’s a funny connection I guess. If I weren’t suffering so much while I was doing it, I could only imagine what would be going on in my head. But, I can see all these little things I did back in the day. So much of my schooling was spent in the water that I guess it’s been some sort of trigger.

(I know this is just a rambling mess, but that’s what’s going through my head these days. I won’t be offended it you bailed out now or before this point)

I heard back from one of my coaches and I owe him a reply. The swim team has changed a lot since my days. We used to call ourselves the best high school swim team in the state. We were. What do I mean? Well, normally at the high school level, teams are made up of a bunch of kids who do NOT train at the school. They all swim for their respective clubs or Y’s or something. We were fully based at the school. None of us swam year-round. So, when we’d be nearly winning the county meet and finishing in the top 3 in the Prep State meet, we were proud. Now they recruit and don’t have much of a high school team. It kinda makes me sad. They started doing this 2 years after I graduated. Our group was the last of the non-recruited swimmers. I’m a little sad about the changes. I liked what we were doing. Plus, I need to thank the coach. When I came out of high school, I was so warped by my environment that I needed to do a lot of growing up. I met JewelrySlut right in time. She did 99% of the work in grounding. I think my coach planted the seed for the other 1%. I didn’t like him at the time because of it. I can appreciate it now.

Jesus…this entry is going nowhere and it’s taking a while to get there.

No pool today. I’m cutting out of work at noon to paint. We didn’t do any painting last night. We were both wiped out and just wanted to sit around, watch TV and drink. Which we did.

Then, it’s off to the airport to pick up Mommy Dearest.

Ugh. I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

PS: I need addresses if any of you ingrates want 80′s CDs.

All about da water, da H2O

Update on the flooding:

Seems I may need to clarify…

We could have gone after the HOA (Home Owners Assoc) for the damages because the blockage was in the sewer line that they “own and control”. However, likely to keep dues down, our members got what is probably the cheapest insurance plan on Earth. Hence the $5000 deductible. Turns out we could have filed with them and gotten like $50 back.

So, Allstate covered us under our normal policy because it was a line blockage, not a backup. There, apparently is a difference and that difference means we got checks written to us.

What we have in our house is a drain in the floor of the basement storage room. I guess when the main line clogged; it was the only open line for the water to flow through. My father in law sent me information on a 1-way valve that you can get for a floor drain. Looks like we’ll get one.

And today, the HOA sent us all letters advising not to flush pons, pads and the like because they cause flooding. Nicey nice. Next week, we get a letter imploring us to share at snack time.

If you want an 80′s music bonanza, email me your address and be prepared to send me swag. I do nothing because I’m nice. Everything has a price. Used Hawaiian shirts, hard to find Buffett CDs and porn are always good gifts.

So…I’m just back from the pool. I tried to get up at 6:30 this morning, but couldn’t move my arms. We painted last night and I was working up near the ceiling. The extra arm raising was enough to do the trick I guess. Holy Hell was I in pain. So, by around noon, I felt better so I actually took a lunch hour and went for a dip,

Ouchies.

I don’t remember it being this bad ever. Then again, I never went 13 years between real swims. My arms are so tired and out of shape that I can’t even properly pull through on my stroke (heh heh heh…stroke). But, this is but the first 2 steps on a looong journey so I expect serious pain to come before it gets better. I did a little more distance today but plan to take it easy. It sucks when you finally start realizing that you’re not young anymore. You may think you are, but you’re not. There’s a lot of road between 17 and 31.

The painting last night went well. The playroom needs 5 minutes of touchup and it’s done. Tonight we’re priming the back wall of the office. The cement I had to patch it up with is finally dry. We also have to prime the shelves for the family room bookcases. That’s going to be a bitch because there are 22 shelves and each side needs 2 coats of primer. That’s 4 days of work. Shit. We’ll also probably paint one of the walls of the office blue and maybe get the family room cabinets painted in the same blue. I’d love to be done painting this weekend. I think we can do it. I’m taking Friday off so we’ll have 3 full days to paint.

So, I’ve been thinking…

It’s OK to cringe at that.

Please let me reach down and get out my Big Paintbrush of Generalizations.

Ugh…fucker’s heavy

Let’s talk.

Rednecks vs. White Trash

Since arriving down here, I’ve been doing me some observin’. Back in NJ, I was raised in Honky McHonkyville. Everyone looked the same, dressed the same, and behaved the same. Not a lot of diversity. Then, we lived in Warren County, a not quite as nice as Honky McHonkyville, but still in the same spirit. We had some yokels, but not too many.

Now we’re here.

Here’s my thought on Rednecks and White Trash. This may come as a “Duh, NoGoodDaddy” moment to some, but I’m learning to embrace, or at least notice, diversity:

Redneck: This may not be a bad thing to be. I’d bet that if you called a Redneck a Redneck, he’s look at you, spit and say “Yup”. We have a bunch living down the row from us. There may be 37 people living in this 3BR unit. I have no fucking clue because they’re always coming and going, in and out of their beat to shit Ford F250. They talk funny, sit outside and drink beer from a can, spit, and are constantly toting around lumber and building materials. I have NO CLUE where all this shit comes from. They don’t have a basement; we looked at a comparable model, and there’s not a lot of storage. But, nevertheless, they produce building material in there. However, they’re quiet and keep to themselves. We stopped trying to say hi to them a while back because they categorically ignore us. Yankee scum that we are; we probably deserve it. But, they have Buffett stickers on the truck, so I can’t complain. They, in my opinion, are Rednecks. I don’t want to know them or talk to them, but harmless nonetheless.

White Trash: I think this is a bad thing to be. If you call someone White Trash to their face, you should be prepared to duck because bullets are coming. They represent the unit at the other end of our cluster. These people are just filth. They also drive beat up vehicles, but they also dress like God knows what, are loud and vulgar, and don’t seem to have any manners at all. We have Winnie and her 2 kids living down the way. Winnie, originally from NYC, is a mess and a half. She’s always strutting about in short shorts and a cropped top. The problem is that she has the body of an overstuffed sausage that spent the 80′s fucking guys along the East River. Rolls of skin abound. She likes to wash her shitcar and pose suggestively. When she does, I go sterile for a little while. She’s got a son who may or may not be a retard. She has a daughter who may or may not be a whore. It’s hard to tell with either. They’re just awful people. Her retard son has taken up with some new kids in the complex. These are the kids I had to throw out of the pool back in August. If it weren’t for the fact that the neighborhood is definitely less safe with them all around, I’d find it funny. The older kids use retard to perform their mischief and he’s fucking dumb enough to do it. They smashed up a little girl’s bike recently because she left it outside. They fuck around in the pool and generally cause mayhem. I’m waiting to have to run out of the house, bat in hand, threatening to kill them all. I can’t wait. It had better not be on a day when I’m sore from swimming. But, Winnie the fatwhore watches this all and belches and yells. I can only imagine what their house smells like. These people are at the bottom rung of society. I think if we’d seen them in action when we were looking here, we may not have bought this place. Maybe we can get the evicted. We know their landlord. That would be sweet. In fact, their landlord also rents to the Red Necks. Double sweet.

Now, did any of that make sense? I never really knew there was a difference between the 2 groups. There apparently is. I’d guess that you can fall into both groups, but one does not want to be White Trash. They’re just that.

I guess I should say something funny before I go in case I offended anyone. Then again, if I offended you in that last paragraph, I don’t even know what you’re still doing here. I should have offended you months ago.

This isn’t funny, but points to my mother’s increasingly slim grip on reality. Monday, she tells JewelrySlut that she wants to take her and Shmuppie to Disney after Thanksgiving to see the Christmas decorations. OK… I was charged with planning the trip. Well, first thing I had to do was make it a trip for 4, not 3. There is NO WAY in hell that my kid’s going to WDW for the first time without me. We may have cooled off our WDW obsession, but not that much. So, I ran the numbers and it came to $2300-$2500 before we even ate anything. That was airfare, hotel, rental car and admission. My mother apparently didn’t think it would cost that much. I think she had about $1000 in mind. Well, let’s see. If we all walk to FLA and sleep on the street and promise not to eat, then we are so there. I like it when she forgets how much things cost. It must be nice to be rich and never have to worry about money. Despite that, she’s not forking up that much cashola and we’re in no mood to spring for a trip that we could take or leave. We’d rather re-do the kitchen.

Well, she arrives in 2 days. I can’t hardly wait.

Though my mind is quite flexible…

Can we put out an APB? That’s what they call them, right? Like when you’re looking for someone or something that was stolen??? Right?

I was robbed.

I found out at about 6:50 this morning that I’d been robbed. Not good.

It seems that in the time since February 1992, someone stole my arms, most of my legs and my lungs. I would like them kindly returned to me.

Wha?

Let me explain.

No, there is no time.

Let me sum up.

I mentioned that we’d joined our local YMCA, right? So, I hadn’t been yet. I was either back up in NJ or recovering from blowing my back out again in FloodGate2005. I was going to start yesterday, but it was cold and BED was warm. JewelrySlut and Shmuppie are trying to get on a schedule to go, so I was mad at myself.

This morning, I got up at the un-godly hour of 6:30 (Before you all stone me, you’d never wake up any time before 8 if you worked at home too) and drove to the Y.

I was going to hit the pool and try to un-flab myself. I won’t even get on a scale, because I’m afraid to see what it would tell me. I’ll know when I’ve lost some weight. I’ll be able to feel it in how my clothes fit. I chose swimming because, back in the day, I was a swimmer. I swam in high school, and was quite good. I know how good of exercise swimming can be, so in I went.

Oh Boy.

After my first 100, felt OK (for the uninitiated, a 100 is 4 laps (or lengths)). After the 5th, I thought I was going to die. Now, I used to race the 500 and could do it in a little over 5 minutes. I was pulling just under 2 minutes per 100. I used to be able to do 2 of them in that time. It was not good. I grabbed a kickboard and did another 3 100′s. That was a little better. I then did another 2 100′s and promptly had a heart attack and a stroke. Then I came home. Is it lame to say that my arms hurt from just having to hold them up to keyboard level? If it is, call me lame. I’m in pain. And, I’m going back tomorrow.

I learned a few things:

15 years of inactivity is bad for your body
In those 15 years, I discovered alcohol. That also is not good for your body.
I am no longer 17.
I am old.
You apparently need “gear” for swimming. This one blew me away. I showed up with the same ratty towel I’ve used since I was 15 and a pair of goggles. That’s all I had. The other people had bags of shit. Apparently, you need your own kickboard, your own flippers, your own hand paddle things, a pull buoy (a contoured hunk of Styrofoam to put between your thighs for when your only pulling…not kicking), a mesh bag, 2 towels and a water bottle. Oh, and if you’re a guy, you also need to have on a cap and wear those new bicycle short-style swim trunks.

What?

Even back in the day, all I had were flippers. I never donned the Speedo except for meets. You wanted all the drag you could have while practicing. That; and my coach always ordered them 2 sizes too small for maximum discomfort. There was me, whatever remains of my hair flopping around, a regular bathing suit and a pair of goggles. No gear. I love how people feel the need to accessorize everything they do. It’s swimming, folks. It’s not rocket science.

This will be quite an adventure for me. I’d really like to be in better shape and now that I’m paying to belong to the Y, I’m compelled to not waste money.

I haven’t been in a locker room in quite some time. Jesus…do men really need to do that much naked walking? There was old man ballsack everywhere. I wasn’t looking, but it was everywhere. Walk in…BAM…ballsack. Go to your locker…BAM…ballsack. Go to the showers (the thruway to the pool)…BAM…ballsack.

On with the fun.

We painted this past weekend. 3 walls in the office are all primed and ready. The 4th needed some patching of the cement. I did that yesterday. The wall that fell down in the playroom is back up and just needs painting (today and tonight). The ceilings in the office and playroom are painted. The family room is partly primed. We’re doing well. It’s very easy to paint when the floor underneath is just the concrete slab. No mess…no problem. Tonight, we’re touching up the playroom and wrapping it up. The office will get the last priming tomorrow and maybe we’ll paint one of the walls. I bought Oops paint at Home Depot. Ever see that stuff? When they fuck up a color mix, they sell the stuff for $5/gallon. I got a cool shade of blue that’s bound to work somewhere down there. And, no, it’s not AndyFeygBlue or anything. This weekend, we’ll hopefully be able to finish all the painting. The carpet lady comes tonight to let us pick the replacement stuff. We’re almost there.

Unless…we flood again. Which we did on Saturday. It was not bad, but the sight of water in the basement nearly gave me a coronary. They came back and re-snaked the sewer main and, lo and behold, there were pons and pads and shit clogging the works up. Come on…even I know that you’re not supposed to slush that shit. I told the property manager to get it fixed because if this happens after our new carpet is in, I’ll go bonkers. So, yesterday, a huge sewer cleaner truck came in and (pardon the pun) flushed the whole works out in the whole complex.

Cue the Darth Vader music

My mother is coming down on Friday. The cheapo fare was not available again, so she’s paying almost $500 to come down. I told her 3 weeks ago that it would not be available this weekend (there are several homecomings in the area this weekend) and that she should spend the $210 to come down. Did she listen? Nooooooooo. She spent the morning wailing at me about it and I told her “I told you so. But you didn’t listen”. JewelrySlut had told her the same, but she wanted to gamble with the fares. Sorry. You lose. This will not be fun. She’s coming to hang all the draperies and shit she’s been making for us. And to play with Shmuppie. We have to paint, so we barely care. This will be a mess. I can see it now “Boy…the house sure is cute.” “Boy, what an interesting place to live.” JewelrySlut wants to get her drunk so she’ll spill her guts about all their marital woes. I’m going to need lots of alcohol to get through this.

I think I need to go lie down now. I’m so freakin tired and sore that it’s no longer funny. I think I just had another stroke.

Ooh…one more thing: the Minty Rubber Contest is still on.

Or, I could always burn you 10+ hours of 80′s music. Meany and
DK like their copies. Ask them.

And, assuming you care and or have read all of this, I went 2-1 in my 3 fantasy football leagues. I’m in 2nd place out of 14 people in one, 5th of 8 in another (ask JewelrySlut who’s tied for first) and 6th out of 12 in the other. Not good enough.