doahleigh - Holy Waste of Teabags!

Everyone wrote about Mother’s Day yesterday…I guess I’m a little behind. Brad says that he’s not a big fan of Mother’s Day because he thinks mothers should be treated special all year. I agree, they should, but I also think moms deserve a day all to themselves. To be recognized and honored and spoiled.

I don’t have a big essay to write about my mom, however. I could, but instead, consider this: when my mom was my age (27), she had five children ranging in age from 8 years to a few months old. She was soon to become a divorced single mother, getting by on child support checks and part-time jobs. She had less than a year of college education. She struggled to heat the house, she accepted meals and clothes from the church, she occasionally cried silently behind closed doors.

And we never knew any of it.

If my mom can do all that at my age and still be sane today, she’s amazing. If she can do all that and still be as strong as she is, as loving and supportive of her five children as she is, and as happy about life as she is today…she’s the best mom in the world.

Yesterday the card from her five kids said, “Mom to the rescue” because yeah, that pretty much sums it up. Love you Mom!

I’ve always kind of thought of myself as unmemorable. Not distinct enough to lodge in anyone’s memory without having a significant interaction first. I almost always remember when I’ve met someone before, even if it was only for a second, and even if I can’t come up with their name. I always remember having met them. But I often pretend like I don’t remember to avoid seeming too eager. Because frankly, they usually don’t remember that they ever laid eyes on me. Unmemorable.

One time when I was about 11, I was at a friend of my mom’s house for some reason. Mom was visiting and I was tagging along I guess, and while they were chatting and I was getting bored, in walked this girl a couple years older than me (who turned out to be the friend’s niece). I recognized her immediately from the halls of school. I braced myself for the awkwardness that would come when the adults introduced us and asked if we knew each other. I’d remember her, she wouldn’t remember ever having seen me. I admitted that yes, I had seen her around school, and when the adults looked at her to see if she too recognized me, the girl smiled politely and nodded her head. I knew she was lying, she didn’t remember me. Unmemorable.

So it came as no surprise last night in class that the professor went around the room and recited everyone’s name from memory. Except mine. He had just met most of us two nights before in our first class, so I was impressed as he flew through the class with no mistakes. But somehow I knew, I could just tell that he wasn’t going to remember me. On Tuesday we had even had a conversation about my last name because he pronounced it right on the first try (nobody does!) and he wondered if I was related to a Ron he knew with the same last name (I’m not). But on Thursday, before he even got to me, I started to feel ashamed. I knew he’d slip up on me, and I knew that people would notice that I’m the only forgettable one.

Sure enough, he rattled off name after name without a problem, then he looked at me and paused. He scowled a little, pensively. Gosh I can’t remember your name, he said. Were you here on Tuesday? Am I really that forgettable? I teased, embarrassed. Is it Laurie? He wasn’t even close. I don’t even look like a Laurie. Shannon [Blank], I said, not related to Ron [Blank], remember? Oh that’s right, for some reason I didn’t remember you.

Unmemorable.

I don’t want a career or a baby. Is that so wrong?

Okay that’s not entirely true. I will probably want a baby someday, and I’ll probably always have a career. But I’m not really passionate about either, and that truth doesn’t seem to fit anywhere in our society’s ideas of women. You choose a career or you choose motherhood; you give up having a family so you can become a CEO or you give up the pursuit of the top so you can you have a family. There doesn’t seem to be anything in between.

And yet, I’m somewhere in between. So I wonder… what does that make me?

If you’ve already seen it, you may have guessed that I watched “Baby Mama” over the weekend. A movie in which a thirty-something woman decides that after years of climbing the corporate ladder, she’s ready to be a mommy. This isn’t just a woman was going along in life and forgot to have a child—she intentionally did not pursue motherhood because she wanted to be a rockstar at her job. And she is! At the time of her maternal realization, she is also promoted to vice president of something or other (details allude me). But this is clearly a woman who made a choice between kids and career.

Which is the dichotomy that is almost always set up for women in the media. Movies, television, the news, even blogs. You always see something about “More women giving up careers to stay home with kids” or “Family and work: can you have it all?”

Why does it have to be one or the other? What if I don’t want either? Or what if I just don’t want either that badly?

I have a career, and I’m even working on a master’s degree so I can continue that career. But I can’t say that I have ambitions to be a big fancy anything. I don’t work because I love working, I work because I have to. And since I have to, I make sure I do a damn good job—I’m good at what I do, and I’ve excelled at every job I’ve had. Since I have to keep working for, well, ever really, I’ll continue to make sure I’m good at what I do. But don’t expect me to make sacrifices in my life for my job. Ever. No I will not give up my allotted vacation days so I can demonstrate my dedication!

Likewise, I suppose I’ll have a baby someday too. Am I dying to be a mother? Does my uterus cry out every time I see a newborn? No and no. As a matter of fact, I keep assuming the maternal urge will hit me eventually, but so far, nothing. Motherhood is in my plans, but I have no idea when and I’m certainly in no hurry. So having babies is not my ultimate goal, to say the least.

So, to refresh: I’m not a superdriven career woman and I’m not a mother-in-the-making. What am I?

It’s not so much that I’m on a crusade to change these perceptions, but just that it’s starting to wear on me. I know that I should be okay with not fitting into either mold, but the constant reminder that I should be is starting to convince me that maybe I’m just lazy. Maybe I should get off my ass and climb the ladder. Or get off my ass and make some babies. I’m not doing anything, I’m just sitting here reading lots of good books and traveling whenever I can afford it and spending time with my family (of the sibling and parent nature…not the husband and kids kind). WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!

You see my point I’m sure. What is so wrong about wanting my life to be about interesting things: people, places, books, etc? Nothing. There’s nothing wrong and I know it. Yet I feel all this pressure, like, okay woman you’re 27 and you’re nowhere near becoming a mommy. That must mean you want to be a big shot career woman, but uh, nope. You don’t seem too interested in getting to the top very fast. So what exactly is it that you’re doing that’s worthwhile?

Um… I just started a book club. I went to New York last month. Does that count?

Sometimes I wonder if this whole grad school thing is just a result of that pressure. Like in order to keep going and getting better jobs, it makes sense to get some more education. And since I’m not doing anything very domestic, maybe I should try to be better at working for a living. So here I am, back in school. I’m not even sure what I want to do with this degree!

The worst thing is that as I get older, this is only going to get worse. I’ll be expected, more and more, to either procreate or tack a fancy title after my name. Or both. And all I’ll have done is read a few hundred books and taken a couple dozen trips. Is that so wrong?

I just looked over the syllabus for my first-session summer course. Um, holy crap. Finding time to blog just got A LOT harder.

I start tomorrow. Cry!

Yeah, so last night while we were making stir fry… Brad dropped the spatula on the grey kitchen rug. I don’t know what his deal is with dropping messy kitchen utensils lately! But at least this time it wasn’t such a huge disaster: nothing on the beige carpet and nothing on his pants. Just a couple stir-fry-sauce-covered water chestnuts and onions to pick up.

Last night Brad and I made spaghetti for dinner. We were cleaning up and when Brad picked up the bowl of sauce, the serving spoon fell to the ground and splattered red spaghetti sauce all over the rug in the kitchen. He froze and looked at me, shocked, knowing what a mess he just created.

I tried to remain stoic because I didn’t want to make the situation worse, but I couldn’t help it. I bent over in laughter. Besides, it’s just a cheap rug, and it’s dark so it will clean easily enough. But then we noticed the sauce had splattered all over his pants AND onto the beige carpet in the dining room. Not so easy to clean.

Still, I laughed. Brad just looked at me pathetically and said, “Why does it have to be such a huge disaster?”

I love that line. It has made me smile every time I’ve thought of it since. For real, doesn’t it seem like that sometimes? It could have just been a minor mishap, a simple mistake, a tiny little problem. But instead, things are so much worse than they need to be. The sauce could have stayed on the cheap grey rug, but instead it splattered all over our light-colored carpet. And we have no carpet cleaner. And The Office is starting in five minutes, a show we hate to miss.

You could have simply locked your keys in your car. But no, you locked your cell phone in there too. And it’s raining. Hard. And the nearest phone is a mile away.

You could have just had problems getting the power point to work at that big presentation. But no, you also forgot your notes and your mind is blank. Plus you ate spicy sausage and mustard for lunch, evidenced by the stain on your shirt and the audible churning in your stomach.

True, none of these are actual disasters. But sometimes don’t you feel like it’s all just so much worse than it has to be? A simple inconvenience exploded into an incredibly annoying nuisance?

Seriously, why does it have to be feel like such a huge disaster sometimes?

So here’s the big NYC post. Like I said, this is going to be mostly for my own future reference, for that day when I’m like “Wait, have I ever been to Grand Central Station? I can’t remember.” I’ll just check the ol’ blog and find my answer. If you’re interested in the play-by-play of others’ trips, read on. If you just want to scroll through the pictures, feel free (by the way, I was so rushed and distracted the whole time that picture-taking was not my primary concern. I basically just held my camera out and hit the button a lot. So these aren’t the greatest photos I’ve ever taken). And if you’re bored to death with the whole business, come back a little later when I’ve written something more interesting.

I took this trip with my friend Robin. She had been there once before and so remembered a little bit about the lay of the land, but I’m happy to say I figured it all out pretty easily. I never really felt completely lost or confused, and we even gave directions to people a few times! Despite our cameras and maps, we so looked like locals. Uh huh.

We left Thursday morning and actually had to fly west to go east (oddly, it was cheaper that way), so we sat at our layover for a couple hours and got to New Jersey in the afternoon. We were staying with someone R knew just across the water from Manhattan. This is the view from the end of her road, about a sixty second walk from her front door:

Since it was our host’s birthday on Thursday, we didn’t go into the city that night so we could hang out with her. We strolled through the park at the end of the road and took pictures of the skyline, went to the grocery store to buy a birthday card, then had Pakistani food made by our host’s Pakistani friends. We got to learn a little about Pakistan culture too, including the fact that one of the girls was related to Benazir Bhutto. I think maybe Benazir was her aunt, and she was in Pakistan for a wedding when Benazir was killed. She had even talked to her earlier that day. It was surreal to hear her talk about her so personally. We also took a ride in the BMW convertible that our host had just leased! That night we went to bed later than we wanted to, but we were ready to go see the city Friday morning.

Friday we figured out the bus system and went through the Lincoln Tunnel to Manhattan. As soon as we stepped foot onto 8th Avenue outside the Port Authority where we were dropped off, I was immediately overwhelmed. We just started walking with no real destination and got swept up in the fast-moving chaos of the city. Eventually we stopped to make a plan and look at a map, but we made the mistake of pausing right in the middle of Times Square where we were immediately accosted by the tour bus people. We talked to this guy, Salu, for a good half hour before agreeing to buy tickets from him.

As soon as the sale was complete we asked for the nearest Starbucks—I was starving and Robin needed coffee. That’s one thing about New York that I noticed: no matter where we were, it was never in the right place to find what we wanted. On our walk to the middle of Times Square we had been looking for a Starbucks, which supposedly are on almost every corner, and never found one. But later that day we saw one every two minutes. There were a couple times we were starving and walked forever looking for a place that didn’t seem sketchy but didn’t cost $30 a plate. Once we were severely craving gelato, and we even went so far as to call our boyfriends who searched Google Maps for us. Guess what, the nearest one was about twenty blocks away.

Anyway, Salu pointed us to a Juan Valdez café where we had a quick breakfast, then we were off to find Madame Toussaud’s. That turned out to be far too expensive, so instead we hopped on the tour bus and went to the Empire State Building. Part of our tour bus ticket deal was one free day on the bus and a ticket to the ESB. We waited in a crazy long line, spent about 15 minutes on the observation deck and headed back down. As soon as we got to the ground floor we encountered mad media. Camera crews and reporters blocking our way.

We got outside and saw signs everywhere for Mariah Carey. We had no interest in awaiting her arrival, so we moved right along and found our way to Grand Central Station where we took a couple pictures and grabbed some lunch. Then we walked to Rockefeller Center. That is one of those places you see all. the. time. on tv so it was pretty cool. We saw the golden statue, the Rockefeller building, the place where they ice skate, the spot where the Christmas tree goes, Today’s Studio 1A. Around the corner we saw Radio City Music Hall, then went on to find the Museum of Modern Art.

We knew that MOMA had free friday evenings, so we got there early to make sure we got in. We checked out the gift shop, then sat around the lobby. At about 3:45, just before the free hours started, we realized maybe there was a line we should be in. Uh yeah. A line that went down the block and around the corner! It went fast though and we got in no problem. We blew through all six floors of the museum, doing our best to take it all in without lingering so long that we wanted to leave before we got through. I took this one for Brad (if you haven’t seen it before, read the caption):

We sat in the MOMA sculpture garden for awhile eating over-priced gelato, then decided to walk to a tour bus stop that would take us closer to the Port Authority. We sat at the SE corner just outside Central Park for 20 minutes before we realized that the buses were done running. By then my legs were so painful that I was practically limping, so we hobbled down to the SW corner of the park and sat in Columbus Circle until I could move again. We worked our way down 8th Avenue until we found a place to eat dinner, then hobbled the rest of the way to the bus station. We were so tired, we fell into bed soon after getting back to the house.

Saturday morning we got to the city about 10:00, stopped at a Starbucks (this time we knew where to look) and hopped on a tour bus. We rode the bus all through midtown, into the Flat Iron District and then into Greenwich Village. Although Friday was gorgeous, this day was cold and windy and we were ill-prepared. We got off the bus in Soho partly to walk around and check it out, and partly to get out of the cold wind on the bus. We strolled around, checking things out, and eventually made our way to Ground Zero. I’m sure you’ve all heard about the little chapel next to the WTC buildings that survived with hardly a scratch. We checked that out for awhile, and took what pictures we could of Ground Zero, which isn’t much. It’s all blocked from view while they do construction. Still, it was an obvious hole in the landscape, and that alone was enough to evoke memories of the loss that happened there.

From there we walked down to Battery Park to sit for awhile. We didn’t want to take the ferry to the statue, so we took a couple pictures from the park and called it good. Off to Wall Street we went. We saw that iconic bull statue (can’t even remember what it’s for), the New York Stock Exchange and all the other fun money-related things. By then we were exhausted, but we still had to walk up to the pier by the Brooklyn Bridge to catch our bus. We rode that into Chinatown, got off to walk around, then struggled to find a good place to eat lunch. We ended up in a little Italian place with delicious food in Little Italy. We went back to the other end of Canal Street, but it was so crazy and overwhelming that we escaped as soon as possible. No Coach or Chanel or Prada for us (thank god), but not for lack of trying on the sellers’ part. Hopped back on the bus to get to midtown. We found the Marriot Marquis where you can buy discounted Broadway tickets, and the line was holy long already!

But we entertained each other to get through and buy tickets to Chicago. Since we had a few hours until the show, we got back on the bus (our legs were so tired!) and rode the whole downtown tour so we could see the things we missed by getting off the first time. By the time we got back up to the Broadway area, we had time to grab some Jamba Juice (in lieu of dinner) and get in line at the Ambassador Theatre. The show was amazing and very entertaining. We got out and walked through Times Square at night, which is full of energy. Then back to the bus station and home to bed.

I want to take this moment to say that my best word to describe Manhattan is: DENSE! So dense. So many people, so many cars, so many buildings everywhere. Look at all the people:

That tiny little island is jam-packed with stuff. I don’t get how it doesn’t just sink. Anyway, Sunday we slept in a little later. We knew it was going to be cold again, and we had accomplished so much already that we knew we could be a little more casual on our last day. We got to the city around noon and immediately hopped on the bus for the uptown tour. This one took us along Central Park, over to Grant’s Tomb, past where John Lennon was shot, through Harlem, etc. We got off at the NE end of Central Park and went in. The park is so totally different than I had imagined. I thought it was just a big park, like grass and trees and people hanging out. Oh no. First, we encountered elaborate fountains and flower gardens.

Once we figured out how to get out of there (we kept hitting dead ends), we were in the middle of a sophisticated system of paths and trails full of runners, walkers and bikers. Then we found the reservoir and some tree covered grasses, and then somehow we ended up hiking in the middle of woods.

After the forest we walked over a bridge and pretty soon were in the middle of what was basically a street fair. Finally we got out of the park and, in search of much-needed food, we ended up down on 47th for pizza. That’s when we called the boys about finding us some gelato, but instead ended up at Red Mango. Which, by the way, best frozen yogurt EVER! By then we were freezing and so very tired, so we agreed that we had done all we wanted to do and now it was time to say goodbye to New York City. We got back on the bus, through the tunnel and into NJ. We took a nap, ate some dinner, packed up all our stuff and crashed. Monday was a long day because of the layover (and we almost missed our connection!), but we were home by 4.

Tuesday I was tired and so not ready to go back to work, and my legs still hurt a little too. Plus, all the walking and not a single pound lost! Such crap. I’m so glad I went though. It wasn’t a very expensive trip (thanks to the fact that someone let us use their house to sleep), and I got to see a city I had always wanted to visit. I’m sure I’ll be back someday, but it was definitely an amazing first visit. Thanks to Robin for putting up with my soar legs and slow walking at times. We should travel together more often. I’ll leave you all (as if anyone is still reading) with this gorgeous view:

I’m back from New York City! Yes it was incredible. My legs hurt and I’m totally exhausted, but we did everything on our list, so it was worth it. I’m working on a detailed post that nobody will give a crap about except me, but in the meantime there’s this…

Today is my and Brad’s annikissary!

Yes that is a lame made-up word for the anniversary of our first kiss. In honor of that, I direct you to the sappity sap sappy stuff we wrote last year at this time. It’s all about how we met and blah blah blah. It’s cute though, so go over there to laugh and say aaawwww until I can put up some details about my super-fabulous trip.

Part 1 of the looove story

Part 2 of the looove story

My dad turned 50 on Sunday. That’s nothing to him because he plans to live to at least 102. Oh and he thinks he’s the man of steel, something I too believed until I was about 20 (a part of me still kind of does). We had a little party for him on Sunday—just immediate family. Which in my family means a pretty good-sized party since our family is HUGE! It was perfect though—the weather, the food, the people, the fun.

We had a cookout, we gave him a new digital camera, we took some family photos, we even gave my sister’s boyfriend a group-effort haircut in the garage. One of the best parts though was the cake. For his birthday my brother bought my dad a brand new Stihl chainsaw (my dad likes to cut wood), which looked maybe a little something like this:

Apparently my brother is a professional cake creator because just before the party started, he walks in with this, like it’s no big deal: 

Okay, I’m impressed with myself when I manage to make a box cake and frost it evenly in the pan. He made a fucking chainsaw cake! I had no idea my brother was so awesome. I want him to make my next birthday cake. I’m thinking maybe a detailed map of Europe…

On Saturday while I was hanging out with my mom, I got a text from Brad.

“The DVD player is broken. I’m going to get a new one.”

By the time I got home he had hooked up the new one, and the old one was on the floor near the tv stand where it stayed for a couple days. I’m not really sure what the appropriate process is for discarding broken electronic equipment, but I figured it would eventually find its way to the trash.

Yesterday I saw Brad pick up the broken machine and carry it toward the bedroom.

“Where are you going with that honey?”

“In here.”

“In the bedroom? Why?”

“I don’t know…”

“Isn’t it broken?”

“Yeah, but just in case it starts working again someday.”

Um, okay. I suppose since I have no idea what’s wrong with it, I shouldn’t doubt that it might magically start working again one day. So I just shrugged my shoulders.

And now the tv on my dresser is sharing its space with a broken DVD player.

Hmm… maybe it’s not really broken, and he just wants to use it to watch porn. I just thought of that. Hon, is there something you need to tell me?

Friday night I put the finishing touches on and submitted a 68-page paper for one of my classes. Thirteen of those pages were chapter titles, but still, that’s a lot of frickin’ pages! I had been working on it all semester, and when I hit SUBMIT, that was the very last thing I had to do for the semester.

For two whole weeks I’m so done with classes! It’ll be a busy two weeks, but at least one part of my life is on break. Damn that feels good.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go enjoy the last couple hours of this gorgeous day.

Holy crap you guys, help! I’ve been so busy that I haven’t time to write anything, and I’ve hardly had time to read your stuff. My life has got to relax or I’m going to crash. I’m so close to the end of this semester, and even though it’s a very short (and busy) time before summer classes start, I can’t wait to be done.

Work is out of control, but I can’t talk about that, so moving on. Almost all of my after-work time is spent on school stuff, little life errands, or pre-arranged engagements with friends and family. I feel like I’ve been busy since November, and I wonder if it will ever chill out or if this is just my life now. I’m hoping for the first one.

I’m sorry, I hate posts that are only about how busy someone is and how they just can’t manage to blog. But it’s all I’ve got today. This week, actually. Hey at least I’m not writing about how I think I’m done here because other things have taken precedence over blogging. This is still really important to me, I’m just too busy to be creative. Or interesting. Or funny. Or at all worthy of your attention.

Please love me anyway! I still love you, and I promise I’ll visit soon.

Mom: Well don’t bite my throat off!
Shannon: Your throat? That’s not right.
Mom: What is it then? My neck?
Andrea: I think it’s your head.
Mom: Well don’t bite my head off then.

[laughter all around]

Shannon: I might have to blog that mom.
Mom: Just make sure you say I’m on pain meds that make me loopy.
Shannon: Nah, that’s not important.

I think “don’t bite my throat off” might be my new catch phrase. Somehow it’s much more graphic than the one about the head.

Last night I was walking around the mall with my sisters and mom—we had been visiting my youngest sister who works at Macy’s, then hit the food court when her shift was over. Walking down the main corridor of the mall, some guy looked my sisters (only two of the three were there) up and down and said “Hey” in the most disgusting way possible. Andrea ignored him completely, and Kelli said a bored “Hi” back, and we all kept walking.

Essentially the encounter was harmless, and maybe it’s just because I don’t like nasty guys hitting on my baby sister, but I was really bothered by the exchange. I kept saying, “Gross, do guys do that to you a lot? How do you stand it?” I can’t imagine walking around and being ogled all the time. How uncomfortable.

Now I consider myself decently attractive, and even if you disagree, I’m still pretty okay with the way I look. But I’m not what you’d call “hot.” My sisters are.

I remember when Andrea and I were working and living together at Yellowstone - we’d walk into the cafeteria, and very subtley, everyone (or so it seemed) would watch her. Guys and girls. Some were checking her out, some were just noticing her, but either way it made her so uncomfortable. She didn’t like the attention and would get anxious, walk quickly through the room, eat fast and get out. One of the first times, when it was still a room full of strangers, we walked in and she looked at me anxiously and said, “I just want to leave.”

Emily hosts karaoke, and every time I go to support her (because I sure as hell don’t go to participate!) I hear drunk guys yelling disgusting things at her that they, apparently, think are compliments. And now I see that even Kelli, my baby sister, is being checked out in a disgusting, demeaning way by complete strangers who find nothing wrong with letting their eyes blatantly wander up and down a girl’s body.

I don’t get that kind of attention, and I thank god for it. I’m realizing more and more how blessed I am to be sort of average. I don’t draw attention for being “ugly” nor for being “hot,” and I’m actually quite relieved and happy about that.

There was an episode of King of Queens where Carrie suddenly feels unattractive because the men at a construction site don’t whistle and cat-call at her when she walks by. So her husband pays off the guys to demean and objectify her with lewd comments so she can feel better about herself. For the show, it’s just supposed to be comedy, but I know women in real life who feel that way. Like if they don’t get the attention of men, even the cat-call kind, then they feel ugly and unworthy. There is so much wrong with that, I won’t even go into it.

But I hope that my sisters aren’t those kind of women, I hope they feel confident in themselves despite their looks and what men think about them. The fact that all the attention makes Andrea uncomfortable, and the fact that all of them basically ignore that kind of attention instead of smiling and giggling and flirting back is a good sign at least.

Maybe I, as the oldest sister, am not as hot because it leaves me free to kick the asses of the jerks who look at or talk to my sisters the wrong way. The guys aren’t paying attention to me while they’re checking out the other three, so I can quietly come in from the side and roundhouse kick ‘em all in the face.

You kind of forget how invested you are in the lives of the people behind the blogs you read until one day you click on their link in your feed reader and BAM! Rejected, blocked out. “This blog is open to invited readers only” and you weren’t invited somehow.

Dude, Kelly, what’s up? I get a little behind on my blog reading, and suddenly you’ve gone all private on me. I don’t even have your email address to tell you how desperate I am to be invited. I can see that you’ve posted twice since I last stopped by, and one of them is titled “TOTAL DISBELIEF” in all caps. What? What is total belief? Why? What happened? I must know!

Good thing I’ve got this little tool called my own blog to write a public statement that says: I’m pretty sure we’re friends. Right? Can I be an invited reader or what? Help me out girl.

As for the rest of you, if I find a similar message on your blog with no warning, I’ll either cry or punch you in the thigh. Depends on my mood that day. So just don’t okay?