New Year, New Mantras

 2012-2013

One mark of a new school year are the bad tans your co-workers show up with in the last week of August. The other indicator is the brand new inspirational shirt. In the Hicks household, it suddenly becomes very very clear how important it is to be cute at the elementary level and the delicate balance a high school teacher must strike between wearing something fun that won’t get you made fun of by a bunch of teens. Hence the simplicity on the left, and the mindbender on the right.

 

iWonder:

• Why after letting some people merge on a busy highway,they choose to look entitled and refrain from offering up the standard courtesy wave? I realize it isn’t required, but their resistance to follow the “code of the road” and show a little gratitude disappoints me.
• Why don’t we take time to listen to each other? I’m guilty of it too...

(a.)
Ticket checker at the airport: “here ya go, and have a great flight!”
Me: “thanks, you too!”

(b.)
Person scanning me in at LA Fitness: “have a great workout.”
Me: “you too!”

(c.)
Me: “Hey, how are you?”
Person: *Insert any line other than good*
Me: “Great! Have a good one”
****In my defense the response “good” is mindlessly used 99% of the

• How can I make paying inside for gas not awkward? If I’m grabbing water or a snack my heart is already starting to race. I’m anticipating that pivotal moment when asked, “anything else?” What options do I have: “I’ve got gas.” or “I have gas.” Being my mother’s daughter and not wanting someone to think I’m capable of that I usually make matters worse by trying a follow up joke or explaining that I mean for my car. Over Explaining just makes you look guilty.

ONE THING I DON’T WONDER:
WHATEVER CARDS I’M DEALT THIS YEAR, MY 4TH GRADERS ARE GONNA GET A MS. HICKS WHO'S ALL IN.....

And my kids are going to see a lot of this move if they give me lip or refuse to do a super sweet ice breaker that makes everyone uncomfortable but makes the teacher feel like she just won the Nobel Prize for creativity.

Amour

​

(Disclaimer: Regardless of how it appears I did not bring my own props to the gym to "stage a blog."  I'm just a good person and it's obvious God is lobbing softballs at me;))

I caught these two canoodling outside the LA Fitness.  At first, I felt awkward about their lack of boundaries in public until I heard one say they needed to go wee wee. It was then that it all made sense…they must be French…public displays of affection are all the rage.  Kinda made me want to grab a baguette, throw on a beret and make out with my hand to show some solidarity. 

Ummm.....

I parked next to a van whose advertisement caught my eye.  It won't happen often, but I don't find it necessary to share my thoughts. In this case the picture truly is worth a thousand words...

Spot & Clifford Didn't Have Strollers...

A Few Thoughts..

a.) I used the back camera on my iPhone to capture this confusing situation as the woman was being chatted up my mom. Let us take a moment to thank Steve Jobs for making being creepy, sneaky.

b.) This sweet woman is enabling laziness. She claims her dog, “just gives up after couple minutes,” so now, she was pretty proud to share “he can make it the whole walk.” I call it enabling, but then again how innovative. If you threw me in a mommy and me jogging stroller and got Ryan Hall to push me I could totally finish a marathon. I guess she showed me nothing is out of reach. (For those of you too busy to watch the Olympics this summer Ryan Hall was 1 of 3 US marathon runners.)

c.) This is pretty blatant favoritism. How do you think that white dog feels as he pushes through and completes the whole walk by paw? My siblings could probably sympathize. Jesse, Sara, and Steph would totally be walking as I lounged. Just like Mama Hicks, I bet this mom thinks the little black dog is the “precious one.”

The Elephant In The Room

Target is nothing if not strategic.  At every turn, down every aisle, there is something you didn't remember you needed.  And if you suddenly remember you need a new garlic grinder, but you have no idea where to start, look for the red and khaki.  This is the uniform of the gods.  Target employees are like tiny little angels guiding you toward more and more things to make you happy you grabbed a cart instead of a basket.

Imagine my surprise, then, when someone broke the ranks in the 10 items or less line.  It is clear in the picture below that this worker is one of two things: 1) A defiant "damn the man" employee who will where a hue of the uniform, but not the true red.   or  2) A bored "guest" who figured she had 10 minutes to spare, and it couldn't hurt to sharpen those skills she gained at the Woolworth's in '56 behind the register.

Love In The Club

I recently got myself some new “kicks” or “tennies” depending on if you’re my mom or Eminem. I feel like I’m on a Charmin commercial. These shoes are like tiny clouds giving eskimo kisses to my feet. That simile I just used was as uncomfortable for you to read as it was for me to write, but I had to put us through that because it explains my experience perfectly. As I laid on the mats to stretch, any threat of “buyer’s remorse” I might have still harvested with these shoes, dissipated. My Ipod was on shuffle and mid quad stretch the song “Love The Way You Lie” came on. Eminem and Rihanna not only supported my stretching, but they LOVED how I was going about it. It’s only natural I was disappointed that while finishing up with a stretch of the gluteus maximus region there was no affirmations given to me through my earbuds. I hoping for Sir Mix-A-Lot to show me a little love. Word on the street that man loves big butts, and he, like George Washington, will not tell a lie.

I'm Lauren, and I'm an Enabler

When I got home from setting up my classroom I was treated to an unsupervised scavenger hunt. It wasn’t given an official title, but something along the lines of “what did Steph accomplish today?” would have been appropriate.

The Kitchen:

(Look at how she balanced the scissors on the sink. Skill like that is hard to come by. Whether it was laziness or sheer talent, I concluded she had been to Target and had been cutting some price tags.)

(I then turned about 110 degrees counterclockwise for my 2nd clue. A fiber 1 brownie wrapper. Lots of conclusions can be made. After cutting tags perhaps she became so famished she needed a snack to go on. The fact she chose a fiber filled treat makes me think she’s desperate to be more regular. Somebody is looking to get some Activia or raisins in their stocking this year.)

The Laundry Room:

(I thought she had prematurely ended my fun until I stumbled upon clue #3. I’ve come to learn that lint resting upon the dryer is a pretty standard I’m pretty perceptive, and was able to conclude she had recently done her laundry. I’d like to note there’s a garbage less than 10 feet away, but making that effort would be an erroneous request on my part so I keep my silence.)

The Bathroom:

(Finally, we end our journey in the bathroom. Here lies a bag filled with trash gently resting on our actual trash can. She had been shopping today!)

Her scavenger hunts of trash are daily occurrences. I’ve decided not to fight it, anymore and approach it like a game. Da$% Sesame Street. I’m waiting on confirmation from mom, but I’m confident she fears garbages because of Oscar the Grouch.

If this is wrong, I don't wanna be right

One thing I respect about my sister is her dedication to lifelong learning. In an effort to explain to her Air Force pilot boyfriend the finer points of teacher mindmapping, she made him an intimate little mock~up . . .purely for demonstration purposes. Though when one looks a little closer, it becomes clear that we have just been offered a little window into what goes through Lauren's head when she sees that flight suit . . .

She's Better Than A Catchy Jingle or Commercial...

Let’s take a moment to celebrate a woman who used to be known as Jessica Z (because there used to be a Jessica S. . . I wonder what happened to Jessica S . . .). Anyway, I’ve known the woman since I was 5, and the entire time, she has encouraged me with laughs (and an occasional snort . . . don’t deny that Jessica Z. I’ve heard it), but more importantly, she has a consistently bright spirit, astute ability to lead and damn good taste in blogs. Now, on to Lauren’s much more loquacious celebration. (In case you were confused, this is not a recommendation letter but rather a celebration of Fan #1. In fact, if you’re reading this, remember that you could have been fan #1 . . . but you didn’t try as hard.)

Lauren’s Top 3 Reasons:



1.) She looks like Alyssa Milano: When I’m around her I always feel like we’re just a Tony Danza away from solving Who the Boss really is. (Also, similar headpieces for their weddings...coincidence or fate?)

2.) She’s a lady and an athlete: A strong female presence in the sports world is slowly becoming more prevalent, but I grew up at a time when Sandlot was popular. Not only did they do wonders for the “mallow” sales, they also taught our culture a fancy way to slam athleticism: “You throw like a girl.” Being the lady and athlete that she is, Ms. Jess threw like a girl, which turned out to be better than most boys....so to that I say a fancy touche.

3.) Her last name, pre-husband: Before she was a Kirschner she was a Zellmer. Now that I’m a teacher I know I’ve been guilty of accidental alphabet favoritism. Lining up last, sitting in the back of the room are only the tip of the iceberg. There weren’t any uncomfortable connections made to Jess’s last name and growing up with Hicks, I envied that. I was either dodging “hickey”accusations or clarifying that in contrast to what my last name implied I would never say anything discriminatory or overlook the No Shoes. No Shirt. No Service rule.

Glass Half Empty Mentality or Half Full?

Every Wednesday Steph takes out the recycling and I take out the trash. Being the responsible one the recycling sometimes becomes my job too. If I’m not secretly shoving it all in a bag and sneaking it with the trash then i actually will take time to separate it out. I can’t remember which of us took it on this week, but one of us didn’t measure up. Steph and I try to be good citizens, and really wanted to woo the recycling guy with our sorting skills. Instead he leaves us this generic note. It wasn’t even signed. Coward.

If you look really closely you’ll see about 20 people locked out of the LA Fitness. Saturdays it opens at 8am and when I pulled up at 8:03am it was clear I wasn’t taking my fitness as serious as I should. One woman even had a toothbrush and was using it in the parking lot. When the gym finally opened and I was being scanned in the girl working who was also texting said to the other one “Ugh. It’s like 8 o’clock on a Saturday. Like none of them have anything else to do?” To which I would have replied “Ugh. It’s like you’re getting paid for being late to work and lacking social skills,” but she hadn’t finished her text message and I didn’t want to be rude and interrupt.

If you look over my shoulder there’s a woman in her mid 70’s sitting on the curb. Is she waiting for a ride or is this a case of a domestic dispute? She looked sassy so I can only assume someone with a 1 too many gold chains, fur coat, and cane taught her some manners and kicked her to the curb.

I love ownership in beliefs and this man’s shirt made me really appreciate his confidence and trust in Jesus saving him from anything life throws at him. Until I noticed the chain hanging from his belt. In my experience those chains are usually connected to a pocket knife of some kind. Hmmm. His shirt should really say “Jesus Saves, but just in case he doesn’t back off I’m packin’.”

Love or a case of sexual harassment? His wing placement appears low which insinuates ownership rather than companionship.

Love: It's All In The Wag

                                                

Sure, this appears to be an LA Fitness member simply utilizing their lunch break, but parking next to me was clearly intentional. It’s obvious this person was passing judgement on how I choose to express my love. Usually I whisper or write it, but never have I wagged it. Starting today, you’ll be able to tell the depth of our bond based on the willingness in my wag. A select few of you will provoke waggin’ like a German Shepherd gazing into the baby blues of a Huskie...

Mysteries . . . Not the murder kind

How does this happen? What excuse did this person accept as they walked away from their clothing? "I have another pair" or "What a relief, these totally pinched my toes!" It makes no sense, and it would seem the problem is getting worse as demonstrated below

 

These Darn Pheromones

                 

(This was my gmail spam folder today)

It’s hard not to peacock when you’re being so heavily recruited. This must be how Lebron James felt. Thank God I’m not single, as Lebron so eloquently put it back in 2010, I’d have trouble deciding where to take my talents . Each one draws you in for different reasons.

Senior People Meet: I wouldn’t have to wonder if they’ll age well. They’ll be up at 5am with me,  and we’d eat meals at our earliest convenience. I’m confident they’ll walk at my leisurely pace.

Christian Mingle: It’s like they were already pre-approved by the highest judge. That and can you imagine how many times I could deflect conflict by saying “you’re not being very Christian.”

Match.com: The animal mom/baby match (also referred to as memory) game was my favorite when I was little, and the 70s game show Match was my favorite during my teenage years. I see a theme.

Online Dating: I love math, and they use stats to draw you in: 1 in 5...20%...I bet I could wow someone with that number to percent conversion in casual conversation.

Cougar Dating: I thought at 26 the scouting or soliciting done by this site was a little premature. Then again, we have the 18-25 ¾ range to work with. Maybe I was just being an ageist. The cougar preys on various types of animals . . . that sounds kinda athletic . . .

Now if the boy would hit up some early bird specials with me, take the role as baby Jesus in a Christmas play, spring for Milton Bradley’s finest match/memory game and then proceed to calculate the percentage in which I beat him by we’d get this cockiness I’ve acquired under control. I’m doing my part being the cougar...I’m 4 days older. Yes it’s a narrow margin, but older is older.

Measuring Up: Middle School or the Gym?

Working out feels more like a middle school the more you look around.

The Cliques:

• “The Athletes” are usually huddled around the free weights or lifting machines with their gallon jug of water. They’re above the standard dress code regulations: the guys (cutoff shirts) and girls (shorts) allow for an impromptu science lesson...it’s like anatomy lab in there with what’s viewable.
• “The Intellects” are usually on the reclined stationary bikes reading the newspaper or something on their Nook/Kindle. They’re more eco-friendly so they go that extra mile and utilize the drinking fountains instead of plastic water bottles. Yet, they are conscientious of those around them and stick to their “3 Mississippi’s.”
• “The Socialites/High Rollers” are usually the ones that take the classes such as yoga or spin. They thrive on that community building and bringing a prop like a yoga mat or the clip shoes for the stationary bikes. Usually they have name brand bottled water (SmartWater is the Hollister of bottled waters...I’m not even sure if Hollister is what’s currently hip, but if you just corrected me as you read that then, my friend, you’re this clique, and I feel judged.) They bring their own towel to dab away the sweat. They realize that the typical paper towel the LA Fitness tries to offer is like sandpaper to their porcelin skin.

Although I try to advertise myself as “an athlete” I realize I don’t into any of the specific groups I listed above. Just like middle school I can’t settle on a clique probably because mom encouraged me to love and be friends with everyone even if they scared me. I take extra Mississippi’s at the water fountain or have been known to carry Target brand bottled waters. I wipe my sweat with a paper towel. I don’t read while I workout, I listen to music and people watch. I abide by the dress code. All of the groups, because of this, take turns snubbing me.

The equipment was even an emotional rollercoaster and aided the insecurities my peers had already placed on me. At the end of my elliptical/bike experiences I was knocked down a few pegs with this message:



(Pedal Faster?!?!?! I imagine it’s the same discouraging feeling you get post swirly or after being shoved in a locker.)

Then, feeling like I wasn’t good enough and a visit to the counselor’s office might be in order, the treadmill saved me with a warm fuzzy:

Doing It Herself: A Trial of Inappropriateness

Around 7pm last night Steph decided to rip up the carpet in her lofted bedroom because she claimed it was “icky.” Before she started I sat her down and very clearly explained that this was HER project. This meant that I was not going to do any of it. I made her repeat it back to me so we were clear. Around 7:30pm I was helping her drag it out to the garage, and this triggered quite the Home Depot experience.

Whichever Bob you follow and believe in (Bob the Builder or Bob Villa) would have been proud of her prep work. She had made a sketch of the layout of her room including the measurements and square footage. Since she’s an English teacher I felt compelled to check her math. She informed me she needed 621 square feet of material, and proudly backed this claim by saying she multiplied the longest part of her room by the widest part. When I told her how to actually approach the problem and that the answer was closer to 221 square feet of material she simply replied “hmmm, yeah I’m not really a spatial learner.” That’s all the thanks I got for wowing her with the solution to a 4th grade math problem. The lack of appreciation was disappointing, but I’ve come to understand giving credit isn’t really my sister’s forte. As we parked she assured me she would be “doing this herself” and they “would not be screwing her with expensive junk.” She had her game face on. It would have been an appropriate time to throw her a butt slap of encouragement and hum “Eye of the Tiger” as we entered the store.

As we approached the flooring section she loudly and proudly announced “give it to me.” I can’t be sure the actual intent of that comment, but my innocent nature wants to believe she was trying to summon that award winning customer service Home Depot is known for. When our special helper, Andrew, walked into our lives my sister not only crossed lines, she left them in her dust. He asked how he could help, and she said “give me something that looks like wood.” Honestly, I couldn’t be easier. Really. I could not be an easier sale.” These are not the values Mama Hicks raised us with. I definitely remember being advised to show a little discretion when dealing with men. Stephanie on the other hand decided she wasn’t playing hard to get and instead decided to play hard to forget. After exploring all the options for flooring, and I mean ALL the options and her calling our orange vest friend a liar a couple times (in jest...I think) she settled on Allure tiling. At this point Andrew was invested and sat on the floor and showed us how to piece it together like a puzzle. (The kid literally went above and beyond. I told her she had to write a thank you note to him and leave it at Customer Service after what she had put him through.) For final confirmation and validation, Steph said, “So you’re telling me I can be up there (uncomfortable pause) by myself (another awkward pause) making things happen?” Maturity was not on my team at this point and since my mind had already found itself there I wandered away into the gutter aisle until I could pull myself together.

Steph left feeling pretty confident that she can lay the flooring in the loft by herself. How can I be sure of this? Well, she proudly called our dad on the way home and told him that our new friend Andrew “let me touch them and he let me hold them. By the end of it I was very familiar with them.” Talk about customer service. Not every employee will let you both touch them and hold them.

She's a laaaaaadddday

ACCORDING to STEPH
She's got them runnin', and I'm pretty sure if they made boots for squirrels, they'd also be made for walkin'.

 At least four times yesterday, I saw a large squirrel fly out of a bush or from a tree in absolute fear only to be quickly followed by this little lady (see below).  She would appear and then spread her fore-paws out while exhibiting a pretty intense chatter to let "the hunted" know that whatever detestable advance they made only moments earlier would have to wait until autumn because she's gathering nuts . . .and she doesn't care what kind if you come between her and her perogative.  (Paula Abdul would be proud.  Very drunk, but very proud). 

Garage Sale Stake Out

I woke up to find our neighbor (who I spoke of a few posts ago) supervising a garage sale. As her daughter and sister set up shop she walked the perimeter of the driveway and puffed away on her Marlboro like she was Joe Camel’s star crossed lover.

I avoid awkward situations or conflict at all costs and felt guilty like it was my neighborly duty to go shopping at their makeshift store. The window shopping I did from within the house proved disappointing. So, to avoid being forced to buy something I made sure that each exit and entrance from my house consisted of a fake, yet seemingly important, phone call. I plan on resorting to a cop like stake out to entertain myself over the next few days. It’s like watching the animals at the zoo. I’m not only shocked by how many people flock to these things, but I’m enamored with the difference in skill level the shoppers exhibit. The veterans’ approach isn’t one of leisurely browsing. It’s more like watching security pat down someone who beeped in the airport. They quickly scan and double tap a few things and their out. Whereas the rookies tend to get swindled into conversation and end up feeling obligated to buy a few things because the family seems nice. (This is why I plan on hiding, I’d be swindled for sure. I sense my usual fallback for avoiding casual spending, “ooo, I’m a teacher” wouldn’t fly with this crowd.)

I thought most of these patrons fell into these two categories: veterans and rookies, but I had the privilege of experiencing the Michael Jordan of garage sale shoppers. As you recall Michael was cut from his high school team, but he didn’t let that stop him. So when a family just rolled up in a Blue and White taxi van I realized they didn’t let something silly like not having a car stop them from uncovering the treasures this sale might hold. At first I was confused by the fact you’d spend money on a taxi to go shop at a place meant to save you money. Then, I thought of Michael Jordan’s journey and realized it’s called perseverance.



Sportsmanship At Its Finest

Usain Bolt, the sprinter from Jamaica, is the epitome of sportsmanship. Tonight was the 200m semifinal which allowed me the privilege of watching him race. 3 ways I know it was a privilege rather than right to view his gazelle like skills:

1.) The announcer’s introduction: “Usain Bolt, from Jamaica. He used to say he’s the fastest man on the planet, but now he says he’s the fastest man on all planets.

Bold claim from Bolt. I can’t help but wonder if he’s counting Pluto because Pluto is no longer a planet. If he is then that’s just arrogant, but if he’s speaking of the other 8 that’s just confident.

2.) While being interviewed Bolt is asked how much he was giving the race because it looked so effortless. He informs us he was giving us “probably like 60%.”

I was once asked, do you drive on a road being paved? No. I guess you don’t. Maybe he’s using the semis to pave his road and will give us a full 100% for the finals. Really though, this feels like a clear message to us as the spectators that we need to try harder so he’ll give us the other 40%. I’m currently piecing together a foam finger out of our couch cushions for the finals. Don’t tell Steph.

3.) The sportscaster also asks him about the guy from South Africa who finished 2nd. He says it appeared that the little guy thought it was an honor to run alongside Bolt. To which he responds, “ya, he did pretty good. Made his country proud. I’m pretty much happy for him.”

Good. Good. It’s just the Olympics and you still kicked the guy giving only 60% but you wouldn’t want to show any weakness by being fully happy for him. Strategic, Bolt. You, Sir, are an athlete.

Justice Pouch

According to Steph

Earlier today, my loving dad sent my sisters and I an email warning against the "sniff the perfume" trick. It's all very simple, they choose someone who is greedy enough to think she is going to get some cheap perfume from two guys standing in a parking lot. Just when the thrifty victim finds her way over to the rag they are using as a tester . . . because we all know fancy perfume smells best when wafting off of a dirty rag . . .they shove a rag dipped in ether on her sniffer and boom, she's out. Well, dad seems to think I would be curious enough to try this, so he sent it along as a stern warning. I will have him know that even though I once stuck around long enough to get a photo of a man who was doing one~armed parking lot push~ups, I am smarter than this. Just today I was stopped outside of a shop in Uptown by a guy who wanted a donation toward the ACLU. I emphatically agreed that the work they are doing is top shelf, and I would love to help, but no, I wasn't going to "simply write down a credit card number and sign this sheet". I calmly explained that I didn't feel safe. He calmly explained that right after I signed it, he would swiftly deposit my information in his "pouch of justice". Immediately I looked around for a "perfumed rag" as I am sure the pouch of justice and parking lot perfume rag come in some sort of wily kit for ne’er-do-wells. I narrowly escaped, and I have my dad to thank.

Gym Eye Candy

(Disclaimer: This picture is blurred to keep the gentlemen’s identities protected and not because I was pedaling at Lance Armstrong-esque speed on a stationary bike)

These three gym rats spent a good 40 minutes in the position you see above. They were standing and chatting around the reclined stationary bike. One had a gym towel over his shoulder while the others were rocking business casual with their socks and khakis. To be fair “yellow socks” attempted to exercise by hopping on the bike for about 10 minutes. He was pedaling like he was piggybacking the bike rather than working it out, but I give him props for intention. When the lady at the front desk came on the loudspeaker to announce they were doing a mandatory fire alarm check I waited with bated breath as to how “my boys” would react. As I suspected the alarm broke up their huddle, and one can only assume they were off to hit the showers at their respective homes. Dressing up for the gym and a safety first mentality...C’mon!!!! If my appreciation/attraction for the AARP+ aged crowd wasn’t identifiable before it should be now. I refuse to tell you the location or the approximate time they workout for a couple reasons:

1.) I don’t want competition with my above eye candy
2.) I want to respect their freedom to workout without gawkers and groupies

I Left With More Than A Massage...

Red=Direct Quote From The Massage Lady

One of my students gave me an end of the year gift card for an hour massage., which I cashed in yesterday. Due to road closures and no sense of direction I got lost and showed up 15 minutes late. After profusely apologizing the woman brought me back into our “special room” where she looked me right in the eye and said “let’s make this the best 45 minutes of your day.” What does this entail I wondered, and afterwards left me worried I hadn’t lived up to her expectations.

Stephanie: Only you would be too embarrassed to run when a stranger refers to a dark closet as a “special room”. But, I respect your willingness to find out what it “entailed” for fear lying vulnerable on a table in the dark might hold some magic that you might never have the chance to experience again. Foolish.

As she got familiar with my shoulders she knowingly questioned “Are you a right handed athlete?” Prouder than I’ve ever been I confirmed her accusations and said that she was straight out spooky. “Sure, I knew it because your right receptors are very taut.” It was from this moment on I had to fight the urge not to flex the muscle she was currently introducing herself to.

Stephanie: If you call a person spooky, and they respond positively, don’t introduce them to anything except a sharp slap from that right hand.

She was getting slightly chatty and I was so relaxed I could barely form sentences when I tried to subtly hint by saying “oooh I haven’t been this calm in forever.” After a case of the church giggles she cleared her throat and said “Welcome to relaxation, I’m your hostess.” Can I get a booth? Yes, I lowered myself and threw her a courtesy laugh, but the woman was wowing my muscles what should I have done?

Stephanie: Can I get a crisis team and a little self-awareness? The very definition of stranger danger.

As my hostess was concluding our tour through “relaxation town,” she asked “Do you feel dehydrated? Because this oil is loving your body. It’s just sucking it right up!” Her tip had gone steadily up until she challenged my water intake...that plateaued it pretty quickly....
Stephanie: Oh, of course. Your willingness to enter a special room where remarks on your apparently freakishly powerful right arm and sweet nothings about this magical land of relaxation could only serve to increase your appreciation. I hate when people have the gull to notice my moisturizing routine. It’s unimaginably inappropriate. I give up.