Emancipation of A Drama Queen

I have some questions for everyone today regarding comments, readers and feeds, how you find me, etc.

I am an avid stat checker. I know a lot of bloggers are. It’s fun to see where people come from and who’s reading your blog. I find a lot of good blogs by checking my stats. Along with good blogs I also find plenty of disgusting and lame Google searches that somehow bring people to my blog.

Lately I have seen a lot of new people/bloggers that have found me. I can only assume that some of them don’t like what they see, don’t agree with things they have read or just find that I’m not a good match for them so it’s a one time visit. We all do that; we find blogs, read a post and move on. That’s fine. Everyone doesn’t have to love me and I don’t have to love everyone.

Bloggers can also be very cliquey. Such as life. We usually try to find people like us, don’t we? We do this so we can relate and share common ground. I suppose there really isn’t anything wrong with that, but to me, there is so much more to discover out there. Blogging has become such a great way to reach far corners of this world that we normally would not have had a chance discover without the internet and blogging. So, it’s nice to open your mind and find people that are NOT like you.

Now, for the questions:

How did you find this blog?

Do you read blogs of others that are different from you on various levels?

When you leave comments, do you subscribe to updates so you can see what others are saying or do you just leave a comment and move on?

Do you expect the blogger to respond to you via the comments or email?

Do you only read bloggers who read your blog? Do you stop coming back if they don’t leave comments on your blog?

Why do you read what you read?

Consider these questions as something like a study of bloggers. Of course, the ulterior motive is to improve my blog and my connections with bloggers, but I truly am curious about how others operate.

Even if you have never commented before, this would be a good time to speak up. I don’t really care about the number of comments I get because I do see that a lot more people read than comment so, no, this is not a ploy to get comments. I have pretty much given up on getting 30+ comments a post. The way I see it is if my posts were that interesting or thought provoking then I would probably get those 30 or more comments. Obviously, what I write isn’t that great and that is ok! I’m happy regardless and the comments I do get are just that much more special to me. I read every single one (when they are actually delivered to my email box) and truly enjoy that other people take the time to say something to me. I just need to return that favor more, and I am trying.

So, please, tell me your thoughts. What makes you comment or not comment? What keeps you returning to the blogs you read? How do you want the author to respond to your comments?

If you don’t take the time to answer this post with comments about your thoughts on blogging then I will be forced to put a post up tomorrow that deals with children and poop, and I know ya’ll don’t want that.

I just need to know, ok? Humor me.

Yesterday my sister and I were talking on the phone and at some point we began talking about our cars. I excitedly mentioned that my car will be paid off next month and how this will be the first time I have ever paid off a car. Then our conversation migrated into talking about how she wants a Camry Hybrid and will begin shopping for one soon. Of course, the mention of gas prices came up and how the cost of fuel and fuel mileage was a large reason for going with a hybrid. She then mentioned that her next car, no matter what it was, had to have a 5-star crash rating because her current car, a Kia Sorento, has a 5-star rating. She said she feels very safe in her car and wants to make sure her next car keeps her and her family safe too.

A few hours later I received this picture from my sister on my phone, with no explanation….

…it was self explanatory.

Needless to say, I sort of freaked out even though I knew that if she was well enough to take this picture with her phone and then send it to me, she had to be fine. Still, I immediately called her because I was incredibly worried.

She was still at the scene of the accident and couldn’t really talk. She assured me she was fine and would call me soon, then we both started crying.

Neither one of us could have ever known how foretelling our conversation earlier that day was.

She is fine, just very, very sore of course. Her kids were not with her, thank goodness, because she was just leaving work. I’m sure she tied up traffic on the busy I-10 freeway in Phoenix for a while. I guess she was sandwiched when she was hit; she was hit from behind and then forced into the car in front of her, so she took the brunt of the crash.

This is obviously the back of her car where she was hit, and you can see the remnents of the bumper from the van who hit her.

The guy who hit her (I would love to pummel him for hurting my sister, but, accidents do happen. Now, if he was talking on his phone or screwing around and not paying attention, then I will still gladly pummel the fuck).

She is ok and that is all that truly matters but I’m just upset because I wasn’t there for her, and how, ironically, we had a conversation on the same day about she feels safe in her Kia. While I don’t know exactly what a 5-star crash rating encompasses, it’s obvious that this car protected my sister, but would other cars have protected her too? Would other cars similar to hers have been in this same crash and NOT been totaled? What really gave Kia this 5-star rating? I mean, her airbag didn’t deploy and there is extensive damage to her dashboard INSIDE the car? In the end, because she is ok, this stuff seems pretty trivial, but it still makes me wonder.

A week ago, my dear friend was hurt in a car accident. Now, my sister. Things happen in threes so who is next? Thankfully my friend and my sister were both fine considering the extents of their crashes.

I could spend this post bitching about the weather that has gone horribly wrong, considering last week I was wearing capris and t-shirts. Fucking spring in Chicago.

I could write about the antics of my children and how much Mondays suck. Little shits.

I could tell you all about the neck pain I have had for 3 months. Son of a bitch.

I could bitch about the mysterious charge to my bank account that I found this morning which I researched and used the internet to find that I was duped into it by ordering flowers from a company and inadvertently signed up for some membership savings program. Fuckers.

I could express my intense fear of the state of the world right now. Armageddon much?

I could tell you how incredibly bad at math I am and how taking math at an online college is NOT the way to go if you suck at math. I can’t even complete the assignments anymore. Stoopid math.

I could apologize for being an incredibly lame ass blogger as of late. I’m a tard.

But then I thought, why? Why on earth would I want to contribute more misery to the blogosphere on a crappy Monday in which other bloggers might be feeling down? Maybe I should swim against the current and post pictures of kittens and spring flowers and fluffy teddy bears? Except I don’t really have any pictures of those things and the batteries in my camera are dead.

So where does that leave this post?

I. Have. No. Idea.

I guess I will leave you with a knock knock joke. An original knock knock joke straight from hubs…

Hubs - “Knock knock!”

You - “Who’s there?”

Hubs - “Orange.”

You - “Orange who?”

Hubs - <farts loudly as you ask “orange who?”>

Hubs and the punchline - “Orange you glad you don’t have to smell that?!”

Yes, folks, my husband can practically fart on cue. His timing is impeccable and his made up jokes are sometimes even hilarious.

Happy crappy Monday.

P.S. I enjoy changing my header picture because it’s fun. It’s not me being indecisive, as usual. And the tag line is courtesy of me, but inspired from my new UK BFF MrsFancypants. She made me what I am today, in the UK. Which is actually a little more than nothing, but it’s bloody fun to say. I LOVE THE ENGLISH! They gave us words like “tossers” and “bloody” and “wanker”. I will forever be greatful for that.

Well, I never did claim to be a genius.

Your Blog is at an Elementary School Reading Level

I guess this proves it. So, have no fear people, you don’t need to be a genius either, to read this crap.

Also, I finally updated my blogroll and created a separate page for it. So, that is where you’ll find much better reading. If you want to be added, tell me. Saying things like, “add me to the list beeyotch” are perfectly acceptable. I also accept cash and gifts.

Happy Friday.

This was taken with my phone so forgive the poor quality.

I drive by this every day when I take DramaBoy to school. This is an empty lot where a house once stood. The house was demolished a couple of years ago. In case you don’t understand yet, that little sign in the picture, right/center, well, it says NO DUMPING.

NO DUMPING. Is that too hard to understand? Should it be more clear like, “Hey, you fucknut! Don’t be driving by this empty lot thinking that just because no one lives here you can dump your shit off so it’s out of your hair and now someone else’s problem. It’s fucking littering and you are messin’ up the place! I bet you are the same fucknut who throws trash out of their car window too. Yeah, I saw you. I fucking see you do it every day. Fuckstick”

Is that more clear?

I would also take a picture of the stoopid fucking lawn deer that are in the front yard of a house nearby this empty lot, but I don’t want the residents thinking that I’m going to completely make fun of their poor taste and then put a picture of their house and stoopid lawn deer on my blog for all the world to see. I would wait till their on vacation to do that. But, besides, we have all seen stoopid-ass plastic lawn deer before. Which, by the way, I might add seems to be the biggest search engine term that brings people to this blog! I see “plastic yard ornaments” or the like come up in my stats all the time.

If I seem a bit random and out there today, it’s ok. I’m just in one of those moods, and it doesn’t involve crying, screaming, hiding or over analyzing the fact that I feel like I’m being made fun of on another blog because the blogger linked me in their sidebar but it goes to my “Behind the Drama” page and my blog is kind of like “which blog doesn’t belong on this page” kind of thing.

I digress.

DraMa out.

(heh, kickin’ it old school… I haven’t signed off with that hip closer in ages…I’m so wit’ it.)

That is really the only thing I have to say at the moment. This is a good thing!

For some reason hubs went with a generic brand recently, instead of getting our usual Jif™. Now, I’m stuck with a huge jar of fully hydrogenated peanut butter that barely has any taste, let alone real peanuts.

Dammit. I’m a choosy mom who would have chosen Jif™.

Oh, and the dog is soooooo grounded, til he is like, 18. Bastard.

I was awoken out of a dead sleep around 4:40am to the sounds of my roof and house creaking louder than normal and my bed was shaking. This isn’t really that abnormal because we are very close to two major railways. When the freight trains go by you can feel them if you are upstairs in our bed. The floor will bounce a tiny bit and it feels similar to standing on a bridge as cars drive over. This makes our bed shake a tad as well so we feel it mostly when we are laying in bed. We can’t feel the trains when we are downstairs for some reason though. Our house will also creak if the wind is strong. It is actually a very comforting and homey sound when we lay in bed upstairs and listen to the house pop and creak as the wind gusts by. It always makes me wonder how our house has stood through 114 years of wind, storms, rain, snow and so much more.

Are you wondering, “why the hell do I care about the antics of your house and what you do when you lay in bed?!” yet? Well, I do have a point. I’ll get to it soon.

Last night, as my house was creaking and my bed was shaking I quickly noticed the absence of a train, and wind. My house was apparently shaking for no reason. Weird. Hub’s was sleeping downstairs because Monster had literally kicked him out of bed. I just laid there next to a snoring Monster whose feet were firmly planted in my side and I just continued thinking, “Hm, my bed is shaking, a lot. Dammit, I was sound  asleep and having a great dream! I cannot believe we are having a stupid earthquake. I live outside of Chicago and a stupid-ass earthquake is disturbing my sleep! This is pretty cool.”

“Ssssnnnnnzzzzzzzzzz….”

Sunrise came and I was yet again woken out of a dead sleep only this time it was by DramaBoy staring at me from the side of my bed. I get up and follow him downstairs and run straight to pee (a 114-year old house equipped with one tiny bathroom downstairs… I do not get up in the middle of the night unless I’m about to explode and can’t sleep). As I walk back into the livingroom I am startled by the fact that my husband is still in his pajamas sitting in the chair. It is Friday, not Saturday.

Sidebar: Apparently I was up all night throwing up because I had food poisoning so he had to stay home from work to help me today. Cool. What a guy. Thankfully I woke up feeling a lot better.

Anyway, I asked, “Um, babes? Can I ask you a really stoopid question?”

“Sure.”

“Um, did we have an earthquake last night?”

“Yes! We really did!” he said straight-faced and matter of factly.

“SHUT UP! I knew it!” I screeched and immediately turned on the t.v.

“….. the Midwest experienced a 5.2 magnitude earthquake in the early morning hours….”

“Babe! You just had your earthquake cherry popped! You are now ready to live in Phoenix.” I said proudly.

This wasn’t my first. I have been through a fairly good quake that was centered pretty close to where I lived when I was a kid. Then I just felt the small shocks from another major quake centered in the California desert in the middle of the night while I was at work. I was on the fourth floor of my building in Tempe and felt things bounce around for a few seconds.

Since I did a science project in 7th grade on earthquakes, tectonic plates and fault zones I feel that I am incredibly well versed in the seismic geology. I also happen to be a complete seismic geek with a sick obsession with earthquakes. Because of my incredibly profound background knowledge I knew that a quake in the Midwest was not unusual. I also knew that one of the largest quakes to hit the continental United States was in Missouri in the 1800’s. Blah blah blah… I told you, I’m a geek.

So we had an earthquake. Cool. I say that as calm and cool as I can but I’m secretly doing back flips and screeching like a school-girl because we totally had an earthquake! WHOO!

At least I am not writing about yet another personal meltdown or something funny my kids did or about poop. My lame earthquake story should be a blessing today.

For a little less than 4 years I have been without a job, a job that pays money. I have not had to wake up to an alarm. I have not had to ask for vacation time. I have not needed to call in sick. I have been my own boss and have had freedom from rigorous schedules. I have been the woman that my kids puke on, crawl into bed with, laugh with, learn to walk with and who supplied all the hugs and kisses they could ever possibly need.

For a little less than 4 years we have struggled financially. We decided that this struggle was worth the sacrifice because I was home with our kids day in and day out. We have been stressed about money and managed it poorly, but we did it and still managed to put food on the table and keep the roof over our heads.

For a little less than 4 years I have secretly wondered if being an at-home-mom is what is truly best for me and my kids. I have secretly wondered that maybe not working contributes to my laziness and maybe I’m not the best influence on my kids. I have wondered if I’m actually one of those moms that is better off working and would have more well-rounded kids. I have stifled those thoughts because I thought that I was doing my dream job, even though it felt like I couldn’t handle it on many days. I stifled those thoughts because I didn’t want a real job, outside of the house, because I’m lazy. I like being carefree with my schedule. I like not waking up to an alarm.

Yes, I am my own worst critic. I seem to have absolutely zero faith in myself or my abilities. So, being faced with going back to work after 4 years is scary. I don’t want us to become that family who can’t breathe let alone sit down because there just aren’t enough hours in a day to get everything done. I like our somewhat relaxed lifestyle right now. I am wondering how I am going to get up to an alarm (it has NEVER been easy for me… I’m that person who hits snooze 11 times) and get myself and my children ready in the morning. I am wondering how I am going to come home from a long day of work and clean the house, take care of the kids, clean up after dinner and do homework, all before bed. I do need sleep.

However, as I write this out, as these thoughts are purged from my head, one thing scrolls through my brain like an LED sign… This is what I need… This is what I need… This is what I need…

I think I need to be busy. I think I need less sleep in order to function better. I think my kids and I will appreciate each other more. I think I can do this because other mom’s do it every day. I think having structure in my day will be exactly what I need. It will keep my diet in check. I might even lose weight! It will keep my thoughts from wondering all over the place day in and day out. I think that we will have more money.

We. Will. Have. More. Money. That is not the main reason I’m going back to work though but it sure will be nice!

This morning I started out completely terrified. I told myself that it couldn’t be done. I told myself that I was insane to think I could be a working mother. How am I supposed to uproot my kids and myself and go live with my mother in a crowded house and manage a life, in someone else’s home, without my husband. I can’t do that!

The more I write and the more I chat with hub’s about all of this, the more excited I get, the more I realize that this is what I need to do. This will be good for my family in the end, once we are settled in our home and both have a good routine down. I look forward to having something occupy my time that is all mine. I look forward to dressing up in work clothes again. I look forward to paying our bills without worry. I look forward to this new venture.

Even though I’m scared, nervous, apprehensive and sad, I truly am excited to start getting things underway.

In case it is not clear yet, I spoke with the recruiter at UOP (University of Phoenix) yesterday. I told her May 5th was way too soon and asked if a later start date was possible. She said, and this is a direct quote, “Absolutely yes!”

Now before you all get too excited and think, oh they want you bad! It isn’t like that. She just said that they had filled up the spots in the May 5th training class so a later start date would work out for both of us. She said the next training starts in June sometime but she wasn’t sure of the exact date. She will be calling me in the next couple of weeks to let me know. Then, if I can commit to that new date and the 6 weeks of training then she can extend the offer officially.

Now, June is still too soon. And, if it’s early June I won’t be able to accept the offer and I would HOPE she could push me back to yet another start date, without burning up my chances at this job. I could always reapply, but I would rather just get it all over with now and commit to a later start date. So, at this point, we are just waiting for a start date and then, hubs and I have decided that I should take it and move out there with the boys while he finishes things up here. He knows this will make me happy and that is what he wants for me right now.

I worry about him though. This type of move is not easy for him, he is the one giving up a lot now. He feels a lot of pressure and rightly so. He doesn’t even have a job yet. And, he will be the one back here trying to sell or rent this house. He will be the one who won’t see his kids for a few months, or longer, God forbid. Right now, he is the one making the biggest sacrifices, for me. So, I guess we both have a lot of pressure on our shoulders.

Then, there are the boys. We will be taking them away from all they know. They will have a working mother soon. My little velcro-boy, Monster, won’t have me all day long like he does now. He doesn’t even like being away from me for a couple of hours, let alone all day, every day.

Oh the changes that are on our horizon. Oh the fear I feel. Oh the guilt I feel. Oh the excitement I feel. There is a such a gynormous range of emotions here and I can’t really deal with all of them. They circle round as if they were on a lazy susan. One minute it’s guilt that comes up, the next minute it’s excitement. Just grab and spin and see what comes up next.

So, that is where things are. I still have a lot of things to deal with but right now, I feel good. I feel a little like a pouty child who just got her way, though. I didn’t mean for that to be the case. I just know that I was homesick, depressed and overwhelmed and things are starting to come into focus a bit more. I still have to get in touch with a therapist and work on some other things, and I will, today.

Ok, that’s it. Now it’s time to go play with Monster, OUTSIDE!

The other day I was dropping DramaBoy off at preschool and walked into the front office to sign him in. Another mother was behind the desk and I found out she was covering for the receptionist who was on leave. She said something, or asked me something, I don’t recall, and I answered with “I’m exhausted, like completely exhausted.”

She said that with two boys, she can imagine how tiring it must be.

Then my mouth jumped in front of my brain again and I said “No, like I get winded just going up my stairs. I am convinced I have a disease or something.”

At this point I’m secretly looking for that invisible porthole that will transport me back home as if nothing had ever happened. The look on her face was one of slight shock and then, because she is so sweet, she just brushed that aside and accepted what I had said as if it was normal.

I heard these words coming out of my mouth and I was screaming at myself to shut up, but I didn’t. I don’t know her, I have never talked to her before. I just see her and smile while we drop our boys off at school. Why on earth would I open up like that to her?

I do that a lot. When I struggle, I turn inward. But, as soon as the first person shows me any concern then the dam starts to break and water begins to trickle through, even at the most inopportune times.

Yesterday’s post was an example, on the dam fully broke. Now, I’m drenched in embarrassment. But, what’s done is done. I won’t delete it, like I wanted to. I won’t take a break and run away like I wanted to. I’ll just swallow my pride and deal with the fact that I’m weird. And crazy.

The funny thing is, I read the comments this morning, just a bit ago, and found a common theme. “You are being too hard on yourself.” My husband said the same thing to me last night. He also said something that I didn’t really expect to hear and something I sort of saw in your comments too… I was breaking his heart.

I thought I was the one with the problems, with the sadness, with the confusion. What I didn’t realize is that it affected my husband and sisters in a way that makes them hurt for me. I know I have people that love me, but I guess I didn’t expect to affect people in that way. I figured these were just my issues, my problems, all up to me to fix.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You don’t know me and maybe you are just saying the only thing you can think of but, you said it. So, thank you.

Last night, my husband really showed me how much he cares. He talked to me, asked me questions, told me how much he hurts seeing me like this and insisted, no matter the cost, that I need to talk to someone. I cried, talked, cried some more, listened and answered difficult questions. I went to bed feeling better and woke up this morning feeling even better.

He asked me one very important question that really stands out, above the others…

“Would you still feel this way if you were in Arizona?”

Good question. I am hesitant to answer that because I don’t want Arizona to be like some utopia or holy land that washes away my demons. I know it’s not. But, the answer to that question is, yes. Right now, yes, I would be happier in Arizona. But, it could be temporary because eventually I will get into a rut there as well. I will get tired of the heat.

However, the benefits outweigh the negatives. I would be working. We would be making more money and paying down debt. We wouldn’t be so stressed over money. I would have my own time. I would have my sister and my mom (still won’t have my other sister, but that’s because she is a lifer… she’ll never leave MN.) and I would see more beauty around me and have places to go that truly make me happy when I need some alone time. No, life won’t be perfect or even come close to perfect, but I feel like maybe there is just a better chance at being happier down there, where my heart is.

I’m just really scared about putting all my hopes and wishes into one place, as if it is our salvation. Because nothing will ever live up to those expectations. My issues will still follow me, where ever I go. I have to heal those and myself as well as make some life changes. If I don’t fix me, then I can move anywhere in the world and still feel the same way.

Remember everything I said yesterday? Well, forget it. All of it. Especially the part about promising that the next post would be funny.

Today I feel like if we had disposable income or incredibly wonderful insurance that I would check myself into a facility where functional crazy people trapped inside of their bodies can go to get help, replenish and get healthy again. Like a mental spa for the rich and exhausted.

I have always joked about needing someone to commit me, but I have never, never felt like I really and truly needed it. Not until now.

My boys are watching cartoons. They are so innocent. They giggle at the funny parts, repeat the Spanish words they hear, tell each other in excited voices to “look!” and they laugh together.

I am 15 feet away in the other room, crying. Crying so hard that I can’t see straight. Crying so many tears that my face is streaked and blotchy.

Do you know what I’m thinking right now? I’m thinking that I’m a mess. An unfixable mess. I’m thinking that my husband could easily leave me, take my children and then tell a judge that I’m an unfit and mentally unstable mother and I would lose my boys. I’m thinking that I desperately need something but I have no idea what that something is. I’m thinking that maybe going back to Arizona for that long month was the worst possible thing I could have ever done. I’m thinking that my boys deserve a real mother, not the one they were given. I’m thinking that I have officially become that crazy mother. You know, the one where her kids grow up in her shadow and she makes them sad. The one whose kids grow up remembering their mother’s really high highs and really low lows and never feeling secure because they weren’t sure what their mother would be like from one day to the next. Then, I think, wait, that was my father! That was me as a kid! Then I wonder if I can blame him for all of this.

Why does life seem to be too difficult for me to function in? Why am I so weak? There are plenty of working mothers and at-home mothers out there with so much more to deal with than me. They have two jobs, or more than two kids or children with special needs or they are single mothers… they are such special people. So why do I feel so overwhelmed and so incapable of managing, my family, my children, my duties, my schoolwork? Why do I feel so sad? So lost? So inept at being a mother and a wife and a student and a sister and a friend?

Today it’s over 60 degrees with a bright Spring sun hanging in the sky and I don’t care. If warm Spring air and sunshine doesn’t even make me feel better and I AM taking my meds, then what is wrong with me? You know how I have always been open about my life and that I take Prozac and that I am a bit crazy? Well, that was because deep down I knew I was in the company of many other functional-crazy people just like me and that I was ok. But, now, now I feel totally different. Now I feel like I’m really losing my mind and cannot get out of my head. Now, when I mention the phrase “taking my meds” I’m immediately transported to a scene out of the news where the reporters say “she stopped taking her medication”. Not because I’m dangerous to others or myself, but because I feel like I’m just that crazy and my meds are the only thing keeping me sane… even though right now the meds seem to be moot.

I told my husband that I feel like a zombie. I told him I feel like I’m in a fog (no, not the pre-Claratin clear fog either…). I feel like I’m waking up, going through my daily motions because I have to and just doing the bare minimum to satiate my boys needs, my husbands needs and my own needs. It’s like I’m a robot with zero personality or emotional capabilities. Except for that corrosive crying emotion. I feel vacant.

My head is full of a lot of junk buy my soul and my spirit are vacant and dark. And, get this, I am embarrassed to be sharing this and I’m not really sure why I am. It certainly isn’t for attention because I don’t want a slew of people to read this and think, oh my gawd, what a nutjob! I just sat here crying so hard and as I laid my head in my hands the only thing I could think of to do was to start typing.

So, why didn’t I just save this instead of publishing it? Good question. Maybe it’s because this is me. This blog is me. I’m a real person with real problems and things are not perfect in the land of DraMa. And because I am all about drama, right? I share because I care. Heh. No, honestly it’s because I have come to realize that I’m an introvert. Sure, I’m outgoing and make friends and love being around people. But, when I have problems, I turn inward. I don’t run to others for help. I look inside of myself. So, writing, like this is my way of turning inward without being completely alone in my battle.

I’m not sure where to go from here. I’m not sure what to say or how to end this. I’m not sure what I’m doing or even how I’m going take those 3-steps out of this room to start going on with the rest of the day. It’s like I am taking life minute by minute these days. Minute, by minute, by minute….

About a week ago I told hubs that I felt like something big was lingering on the horizon. I wasn’t sure if it was about his job or about our life or what… it was just big. I wasn’t even sure it was good or bad, it was just an intuition telling me that something big was out there, waiting, like a time bomb to go off.

I had no idea that I was talking about myself.

One more thing…

When I told my husband that I was in a fog he asked me if I saw little pink bunnies. Punk ass.