04th Dec2005

“Chunky” Would’ve Been A More Accurate Candy Description…

by Will

“It’s a wonderful feeling, feel the love in the room from the floor to the ceiling…”

So, here’s a MySpace update, and I hope she doesn’t track me down to retaliate, but here it goes:

If you’re fat AND Black, it’s probably not such a cool idea to call yourself “Snickers”. Just sayin’…

17th Nov2005

She Lost It For Guys In Black Turtlenecks

by Will

“More than meets the eye!”

So, as an addendum to the Myspace saga, I was looking at the pic and I realized I was wearing the The Black Turtleneck.

I’m not sure if I’ve ever told this story on the blog before, but if you’ve met me for more than 5 mins, you’ve heard this story.

Anyway, back in college, I used to look forward to a cappella events ’cause that was the extent of my social life. When we’d go on tour to other schools, that was the mother lode. Imagine, being 19 and thinking you’re the shit ’cause you can sing a poor rendition of a popular boyband song, and people will ACTUALLY pay money to watch you do it! It was the tits.

One of our favorite schools to visit was Yale. Now, I missed the first trip which yielded National Greg Levow Day (ask a callboy), but I WAS there for the next trip. We were singing with a group called Something Extra (who ROCKED, btw) and we knew that afterwards was the obligatory “after party”. Sometimes these parties were ragers. Sometimes we would’ve had more fun at a Denny’s. This party was…interesting, to say the least.

Well, I happened to be wearing the same sweater as in the pic, and little did I know it would become a conversation piece. One of the members of Something Extra starts giggling to one of her friends. I guess the friend said “Go for it”, ’cause the next thing I know, there she is in front of me. Let’s examine the awkward exchange which followed (along with commentary!):

Her: “Oh my god! Are you wearing a black turtleneck?” (What kind of a line IS that?)

Me: “Uhh….yeah…” (Smooth, Will)

Her: “Oh, god! I totally LOSE IT for guys in black turtlenecks!” (Umm…desperation, party of 1)

Me: *nervous laughter* “uhh…heh…you lose it for guys in black turtlenecks?” (that’s right, Will. Reflect it right back at her)

Her: “Yeah!”

Me: *nervous laughter* “…..” *turn and run away*

Yeah, I ran. It goes without saying that we weren’t invited to sing with Something Extra again. Was that the reason? Probably not. But I gained a new reputation that night. I’d gone from being “The Black Guy in Last Call” to being “That Weird Black Guy in Last Call”. We had Eddie by then, so he was the normal one, and I was the crazy Negro.

It loses some of its emphasis on paper, ’cause you have to see the gleam in her eye. She TOTALLY lost it for guys in black turtlenecks, but what exactly was “it”? I’m thinking her sanity. Either way, I didn’t even know how to play that game. Was it a joke? Was it real? The world may never know. But I’m still alive today, so I think running was the correct choice…

14th Nov2005

Not The Last Time I’ll Mention Ted McGinley…

by Will

“Goddess, NO!”

So, I’m starting to think of myself as the Ted McGinley of blogging. For the uninformed, Ted McGinley is an actor who is referred to as a “show killer”; every time he is added to the cast of a show, it ends up getting canceled. The main exception to this is “Married…with Children”, where he played Jefferson Darcy for about 9 years. Prior to that, he had a hand in killing “Happy Days” and “The Love Boat”. It’s not his fault, but people seem to think he’s cursed. The same goes for the lovely Rena Sofer and Carla Guigino.

Either way, whenever I comment on someone’s blog, I kill the thread. Sometimes, I kill the blog entirely. There’s a site out there called “Ithaca Has Gorges”. It was created by some people I know from Cornell, and I found them through a random, boring afternoon online. Anyway, while they hadn’t been online long, they’d prolific in a short span of time. I commented about how glad I was to find them online, and then nothing. Nothing which lasted for about 2 months. They finally posted again 2 weeks ago, but it still seems like they’re on life support.

This is only one example, but I have had this happen many times. And all I’m trying to do is cultivate e-friendships. Listen to me, I’m like Casper, the Friendly Ghost over here!

09th Nov2005

MySpace: The Internet’s Lowest Common Denominator

by Will

“Be cool, my babies.”

So, I’m having so much fun, I had to do a “Part II” regarding MySpace. It’s such a guilty pleasure. But I think what keeps me coming back is the fact that, except for a few peeps (looking at you, airni), there is NO class to found on the site. I mean, it’s like a big GED registration meeting on there. And I can’t get enough. It’s like a car wreck.

Hey, all you single ladies out there; nothing says “hot” like a picture of you and your baby. Keep up the good work. So, should I bring you flowers or Similac?

But my personal fave are the guys who’re clearly saying, “Hey, dude…watch me flip off this camera!” Yup, you really showed that camera, man. You sure put it in its place.

Friendster was created for random encounters outside of the setting of a typical online dating site. Facebook was created so everyone could relive their collegiate glory days, long after leaving the hallowed halls of higher learning. But I find that MySpace has 2 different putposes; it’s either saying 1) “Dude, sign my band. We can’t set up a real site, but check us out. We’re going places.” OR 2) “Hey, can you give me a ride to the free clinic? I get out of detention at 4.”

Seriously, they need to enforce an age requirement on there or something. It’s like R. Kelly’s dream world. I don’t think any of those kids can vote. I wish I could go undercover in a high school to investigate ’cause MySpace must be the coolest thing to hit high school since blowjobs lost their classification as “sex”. I’d really love to hear it from the horse’s mouth that MySpace is “tha shizzle”.

I love that MySpace really just supports every negative stereotype about society. All Asian guys are into riced out cars and anime. All Black guys are underground rappers. And all Spanish chicks are named “Angel”. Someone needs to have an intervention in that last one. They’re just settin’ her up for a life of table dancing.

Anyways, I’m out. Chae is pickin’ me up in his new Civic, and we’re going to drop Du’wayne off at the studio before we go see Angel’s new baby.

07th Nov2005

An In-Depth Analysis Of My Social Networking Timeline

by Will

“And you expect me to go into business with you?!”

So, I’m trying to get fired. I’m fairly certain of it. Why do I say that? Because I haven’t done jack shit in DAYS. At least, nothing involving commercial real estate. What I HAVE been doing is getting back into the swing of online networking.

I used to do Friendster, but I’ve since let it fall by the wayside. I mean, it was cool until the facebook came along. Then, we could be just as elitist as we wanted. Finally, a site that had a certain college requirement! And not just any college. In the beginning, it was top-tier schools.These days, they’ll let anybody with a certificate from Lincoln Tech on there, but in its glory days, the facebook fed my inner snob like no other.

Eventually, I decided I should get away from collegiate things, and try to grow up. At that point, I sort of dropped the facebook. I’ve been invited to Xuqa and another one (forgot its name), but I just didn’t feel like starting a new e-relationship. But there was one beast, staring me in the face. Over the weekend, I caved. I joined MySpace.

Now, I only set it up to direct people over to this site, but it also lets me look at people’s pictures. The picture feature is the most important part of online social networking. I can’t tell you how many people I’ve added as friends just because I recognized their face, and not their name. Hell, that’s how I got through glee club! There were no names; there was “guy with the hat” and “crunchy, treehugger guy with beard”.

Anyways, I really focused hard on my own pic and came to a startling conclusion: I’m nowhere near as hot as I used to be. Hear me out. This isn’t for sympathy or compliment fishing. It’s just that I don’t know who the guy is in those pics anymore. He was hot, kind of suave. Looked like he might have been dangerous. The kind of guy who’d take you home, but leave cab fare on the nightstand. Hell, I’m attracted to that guy. But alas, I am no longer him. Where did he go? I don’t know.

Online network pics always have a good story behind them. Usually, they’re a group pic that’s been edited, or it’s some candid, drunken party shot. I always hate the ones that have, like, 3 people in them, and the person used MS Paint to circle themselves, adding “I’m the one on the right.” Either way, there’s always a story. Even the bad pics have stories, where you can’t help but think, “Poor girl, was THAT her best pic?”

Here’s the story of my own pic: All of them have exes edited out. OK, I guess you can’t say “all” when you only have 2, but they’re both the remnants of couple pics. It’s the modern day equivalent of ripping the pic in half when you’re in an emotional, post-relationship rage. Keep in mind, I haven’t had a scanned pic in 3 yrs, which is why I’ve been rotating between the 2 pics, but they both have stories.

Why do I keep using pics with memories attached? Am I still carrying a torch? No. The answer is simple: That Will was hot. I haven’t looked that good since college, and I keep it around as a reminder of what I’ve been, and what I might be able to reclaim in the future. Sure, I’m no Brad Pitt, but you’re reading the ramblings of a guy who used to weigh 250 lbs and could only buy clothes in the Husky Dept. The “black turtleneck” Will of 2002 was a classic! I’d love to look like him again. So, when peole are meeting me online, I want to put my best e-foot forward. When I get a better pic, I’ll replace the current one. But for now, what you see is what you get.

P.S. Someone, PLEASE take a new, GOOD pic of me. Preferably when I’m not looking. I hear I’m really hot in a tuxedo…

22nd Sep2005

The Lost Adventures: The Lion King Audition

by Will

“I’m me again, baby! I’m back!”

So, where have I been? “We’ve been waiting a whole month for Post #450,” you say. Well, I had it all plannned out. If comics have taught me anything, it’s that round numbers, such as 450, equate a special occasion. Sure, you could say that I should’ve reached #450 over a year ago if I’d been posting everyday like other good bloggers, but I digress. In any regard, an event like this usually involves a new headquarters, a new status quo, a back-up story, and a death. I was really gonna WOW ya, but something was missing. Most of the components were in place, save one. It’s funny how life works sometimes…

Originally, I was going to use this post to debut the reason behind my recent lack of funds. That’s right, you were going to see the new West Lair! I got an apartment. Finally, I can get out of this Negroid Golden Girls lifestyle I’ve had to endure for the past 2 years. At last, I would have a place of my own, where I could hide from the discussions of Ben-Gay and Old Testament God vs. New Testament God. I would have my Fortress of Solitude.

Anyway, I signed the lease back on September 1st, and I was gonna move in Labor Day weekend. My Cousin Joe was gonna help me, mainly ’cause he had a pickup truck. Now, few of you have been to a West family function, but those of you who have (Tarek), have surely met my Cousin Joe. He’s basically like a brother to my mom (first person with the Southern incest jokes gets it!), and he’s one of the few father figures I’ve had in my life.

So, Cousin Joe was all set to help me move, but come Saturday morning, I wasn’t prepared. I hadn’t packed up a thing, and I had no desire to rush crap into a box. So, I called Joe to tell him not to worry about me; we’d do it next weekend. He wasn’t there, so his wife, Rose, said she’d give him the message.

Fast-forward to about 3 hrs later: we get a call from Rose saying that Joe had been rushed to Washington Hospital Center. The Golden Girls jump into action, and we make our way down to the hospital. Turns out, Cousin Joe was washing his truck and had a massive heart attack. We were in that hospital all night, from 5 PM Saturday to 11 AM Sunday morning. The staff tried to brace us for the worst, but nobody wanted to hear it. Cousin Joe passed away Sunday morning. I still haven’t moved.

Since then, time has been wrapped up with funeral arrangements, as well as life’s other little dramas. The family hasn’t been taking it so well, and I can only think, “So, it begins.” You see, Joe was a year younger than my mother. I always felt that when the dying started, it would be like a domino effect. These people have been together all of their lives. They grew up together, moved north from Alabama together, and they don’t know how yo be apart. I fear it’s like when a husband dies, and his wife dies 6 months later. It’s a cohort effect, and Joe fired the opening salvo. Selfish, I know, but all I find I can be lately is selfish. I guess it’s my defense mechanism. I keep thinking how close I was to witnessing the heart attack. Had I not called, he might have had the heart attack WITH me, while moving MY crap. I don’t know if I could’ve handled that. No hyperbole there, I truly don’t think I could have held it together had that scenario transpired.

But here I am. I’m still alive, and I guess I’ve got that’s what I’ve got to work with. A lot of people think I’m a pessimist, but I feel it just comes with living with the old folks. Many of you don’t realize it, but I have to worry about things that most people dont even think about until their 40’s. And now I’m more worried about the gals than I have been before. But there’s my milestone post. There’s my death. This is no publicity stunt. He’s not coming back.

Anydangways, I also wanted to give y’all a nice back-up story, A hidden tale that few people know. You see, about a year and a half ago, I took a little blogging hiatus. Prompted by a bunch of personal drama that simply hit the fan, there are about 3 months of my life that went undocumented. One such event, I’ve hinted at, but never fully revealed. You see, right before I started working for H&M, I had delusions of actually continuing the whole singing thing, and I auditioned for the National tour of “The Lion King”.

In my unemployed days, I used to troll the classifieds in the Arts section of the Post, looking for auditions. Since I was still in my “I’m Will West” mindset, most of the community theatre productions were beneath me. I mean, I was THE Black voice of Cornell A Cappella! Cornell! A Cappella! “Today Show”! Surely, that meant something. I would have to wait, until a role came along befitting my stature. One day, I saw it: The Lion King. I mean, besides “Porgy and Bess” or “A Raisin in the Sun”, it’s probably the most sure thing in theatre if you’re Black. And if they aren’t doing colorblind casting!

Since I was days from starting H&M, I figured it was God’s way of saving me from the sad, dreary life of the proletariat. He would deliver me to the stage, to the spotlight that was destined to be mine. I was sure of it. All I needed was the right song. Immediately, I called up my old drama teacher, and we started to brainstorm. She wanted me to do something from when I was Pippin, but that wasn’t enough. She suggested a song from when I was in Hello, Dolly, but I was having none of it. I felt I needed a Disney song, but nothing actually from the Lion King. After all, it’s kinda dick/facetious to go into an audition with an air of “You know that song you guys sing? Well, I sing it better!” Anybody out there who’s sat through people auditioning for them knows exactly what I’m talking about. Finally, I settled on “A Whole New World”. It had been our graduation song (*gag*), but “Aladdin” is the next best thing to “The Lion King”, at least musically. I’d be showing them that I can sing “the Disney way”, without slaughtering one of their signature numbers.

I practiced for a week. I had it down. But the night before the audition, I decided to showboat a little. I realized my sheet music wasn’t in the right key for me, so in order to use it as accompaniment, I’d need to transpose it. Now, we’re gonna get musically technical, so try to bear with me. I downloaded a program, and moved the song to a range that I could sing, both comfortably and well. But when I was done, the song had about 8 accidentals. You know those little “flat” symbols? Yeah, I had 8 of them. But whatever, it’s Disney. They should be able to follow that, right?

When Last Call did the Today Show, it was really hard warming up vocally that early in the morning, so I decided not to sleep. After all, I could sleep after the audition. I spent all night practicing and warming up. Auditions were taking place at Howard University, so I was scared there was gonna be a LOT of competition. I mean, casting the Lion King at Howard is like finding Bush supporters at the 700 Club. I expected PANDEMONIUM, with a hip-hop soundtrack. I figured there would be lines around 12 city blocks, as we all vied for a chance to have our 15 minutes of fame. So, got down there at about 5:30 AM. Auditions started at 10:00. What did I find? Nothing. A whole lotta nothing. Plus, it was February and FREEZING. Plus, security doesn’t like random Black guys hanging around buildings. Even at a Black school! Go figure…

Around 11:00, the Hippie Chick shows up. You know the type. If you’ve ever been in a show, you’ve met her. She’s the girl who’s all about “The the-ah-tur”. You never know when she’s acting and when she’s living. It all blends together in a fake, blah soup. So, apparently, she’s all nervous, ’cause all she does it dinner theatre and she doesn’t know what to expect. Plus, she’s scared of her chances, seeing how it’s a Black show. Man, that was priceless. She was scared that she might face discrimination. I’m not gonna get preachy, ’cause it’s not what I do, but that schadenfraude was just what I needed at the time. Guess I should’ve known what was coming to me.

Soon, other people start to trickle in. You’ve got typical “stage dad” going, “My boy can sing. Watch my boy sing. Do that thing you do, boy!” You’ve got “classically trained Black chick”, who should be doing arias rather than hakuna matata’s. And you’ve got “sad R&B wannabe brother” who really just wishes he’d been in Soul for Real (whatever happened to those fugly Dalrymple boys?). You know the kind: all he can do is wail, but rather than music, what he emits sounds more like what I’d cry if I got my penis caught in my zipper.

And they’re all looking at me, like “Why’d you bring the White girl?” But I DIDN’T! Hippie chick came on her own. Just ’cause we were the first ones there didn’t mean she’s MY fault. Story of my life…

So, they start lining people up, and you’d have thought there were ribs up for grabs or something. Somehow, I actually get to go first, seeing as how some people had vouched for the fact that I’d been the first person there. So, finally, it was the moment of truth.

I walk into the room, and hand my music to the guy at the piano. I warn him about the accidentals, but he doesn’t seem worried. But here’s where I started to worry. He had just sat down as I walked into the room. They were running late, and he’d never even warmed up at the piano. Now, an expert should be able to play on any piano, but it’s still a good idea to get a feel for your instrument prior to performance. So, he starts banging out my music like a retarded kid trying to smash ants. I mean, he wasn’t even near my scale. But I’m just singing away, in MY key, him in another. I tried to give him some death glares, hoping he’d straighten up, but this only mademe look worse. When he was done, I knew I was done. Then, began the Q&A part of our morning.

“So…’William’, what have you done…musically?”

“Well, not much lately. I did a cappella and glee club in colege, but not much since I graduated. Mainly just karaoke hereand there. I’ve been in touch with my old music teacher, and we were going to work on some things.”

“Yeah…well, it might be a good idea to hook up with your ‘music teacher’. You know, to add a little more…technical ability to your…’natural gifts’.

That last line was the one that did it. It was a harsh, modernized, personalized “Don’t call us, we’ll call you.”

“Well, thank you for the opportunity. *fake smile* It was a really great experience.” And I walked out.

I kinda lingered for awhile, trying to understand what had just happened. I was NOT the best thing since sliced bread. I was NOT as great as I had made myself believe. And I WOULD be reporting to H&M on Monday. But hear me out, it was NOT my fault. Yes, my ego was out of whack, and I was in a bigger pond, but that was NOT my fault. I am my own worst critic, and I RARELY give myself credit. Heck, I never even thought of myself as “Will West”; that’s a caricature that other people had forced on me after concerts and whatnot. But I was ready, as ready as I could ever be, and I sounded GREAT! I wanted it, and I could taste it within my grasp. How it slipped away, I don’t know. Well, I DO know. It was the guy at the piano. But I guess what I will always wonder is “why”. Well, I guess everything happens for a reason, and I don’t have many complaints about the past year. In any regard, I saw the show about 3 weeks ago. It was good. A lot different than the cartoon. But it was nothing to write home about. Just something to blog about, apparently…

Here’s that variant cover. If youve been to James’s site, Jeen’s site, or the site of James’s e-mistress (Oh no he di’nt!), this’ll look familiar. Everybody on the avatar wagon!


03rd Aug2005

Probably Not The Last Time I’ll Talk About “Craigslit”

by Will

“I’m gonna have you sweatin’ like Jessica Simpson takin’ the SATs!”

Can you believe that “craigslit.org” isn’t taken yet? I mean, someone is missing a GOLDEN porno opportunity there! Especially with the prevalence of dyslexia and poor spelling. Syntax mistakes alone will bring in 40% of the site’s traffic.

Apparently, there’s a notice saying that it’s “coming soon”, but if it’s not porn, it’s going to be such a waste! That’s a gift horse, people! Stop looking it in the mouth. All of the good URLs are taken, and there are these, just sitting there, waiting to be the butt of jokes. Now, someone’s going to miss out on a vast porno empire because they just weren’t using their thinkers. Why, oh why, must I think of everything?

25th Jul2005

Yet Another “Don’t Know What I’m Doing Here” Post

by Will

“Sunday, Monday, Happy Days…”

So, I can’t quite put my finger on it, but at some point recently, this site jumped the shark. It just doesn’t feel…”right” at the moment.

Part of the blame goes to The Great Flame War of June ’05. “We lost a lot of good men out there.” Those were certainly dark days for the bloggers, but I think we’ve finally emerged from all of that unnecessary drama. In the meantime, we’re in the middle of e-Reconstruction, but there’s no e-Lincoln to lead us.

Blame must also go out to my identity crisis. Like many of my e-friends, I’ve never really figured out what I wanted this site to be. Part of me wants to think of it as my personal rant site, but there’s a part of me that wants it to be some kind of destination pop culture site, like a geeky Wonkette or something. In either regard, I’ve got a lot of work to do to achieve either of these goals.

There are a lot of people out there who claim, “My blog is for me. It’s therapy, and I don’t care who reads it.” Yet, their comments section blows up like the Q&A portion of “The Ricki Lake Show.” And they love this. They love the feedback.

Well, I love the feedback, too. But for what? I blog when I feel a little smug, and think I’ve come up with something clever. I pride myself to be “the person who says what everyone else was thinking.”

I might say, “Lance Armstrong had ball cancer.” You might retort, “Will, that’s so insensitive!”, but you know that, deep down, you were thinking, “Damn, Armstrong came back from ball cancer to win for the 7th time?!!” I say what you’re too ashamed to say, or rather, I dumb it down in a way that you’re ashamed to admit understanding. And we’re both better for it. I can be glib, and you can live vicariously through me, without the social backlash.

Another issue is my life. I’ve got wonderful aspects of my life (Yeah, I’m looking at you, girl)
but I haven’t had an “adventure” in a long time. I hate to say it, but I miss H&M.

As much as I hated H&M, I never lacked stories. There was a point where I had to decide between the worthy-to-be-published and the unworthy-to-be-published. Regardless, I never lacked for stories.

These days, I figured you wouldn’t be interested in the click-top Sharpies that I stole from the supply room. It’s sad, but these are my adventures now. Nor is this my dream job, so I can’t join that youthful minority who love to drop, “Oh, I LOVE my job!” into conversation. Instead, I sit there trying to make up stuff that might be interesting if blogged. Even worse, I’ve started dreaming up fake stories to post on craigslist just to “sample a new audience”. But the key part of the phrase is “make up”.

I didn’t make up stuff before, and it was golden. Just check out my archives. There’s some stuff in there that even I can’t believe came from me. But the well’s running dry. I’m not a quitter, but for the blog to be good, life needs to be good. Don’t get me wrong. I’m not necessarily depressed or anything. I’m not complaining from a stance of complacency. I’ve got the wheels in motion on several projects, but I’d rather wait for results, than share them here and have them go bust.

I guess what I’m saying is that I’m in a bit of a holding pattern right now. But, hopefully, it’ll get better soon. I’m the blog equivalent of early UPN right now. But if I really work hard, i might climb to the level of late 90’s WB. And really, is there anything better than that?

24th Jul2005

The Epic Battle Hits The Internet!

by Will

“I’d like to make a caramel-colored baby with you.”

If you’re looking for a fun way to kill time, hop on over to the comments section of http://www.livejournal.com/users/palaedorian . My good friend created the site to destroy me, and now the war is being waged, WWE-style, on the blog.

This is gonna sound so sad, but I’ve gotta admit that this is the most fun I’ve had blogging in a long time. I’m sure it’ll get stale SOON. But for the moment, it’s got me looking over my shoulder at work, scared that I’m gonna get fired for laughing so hard.

So, if you love good kayfabe ‘rasslin’, hop on over and blog a steel chair into the matchup. Hardcore rules apply, e.g. anything goes. Anyone’s welcome. Don’t worry if he’s going on and on about some French dish he prepared the night before. The best time to throw someone through a table is when they’re distracted. He might be rambling about his CFA or his LSAT, but what he really needs is a good kick to the junk.

‘Cause this is about one thing, brother. This is about that title. I worked my way up from the mean streets of Wheaton, with one thing on my mind. And the next thing I know, he’s talking smack about wanting to destroy my blog. Well, I want to teach his ass a lesson. But most of all, I WANT A TITLE SHOT!

19th Jun2005

The Father of Reappropriate Crossovers

by Will

“There will be a reckoning…A CRISIS!”

So, I’ve just made my blog rounds, checking in on the e-friends, and I came across Jenn’s blog .

Now, if you’ve been following my net presence, you’ll know that I have a tendency to cultivate e-beef. For the most part, it’s all in good fun, such as my “Jenn’s new design is anime…again” post from a few days ago. Whatever, I’m sure she got what i was doing, and everything was fine.

But, things got worse. She went on this rant about Fathers Day and the greeting card companies, and I went off. Then, I scroll down, and she’s baring her soul about all her beef with her dad.

Now, I DO feel that it’s a shame that they can’t work their stuff out, ’cause it’s clear that it hurts her . Neither of us can understand where the other is coming from on this topic, nor would we strive to at the moment. If you want the whole story, read her blog (www.reappropriate.com), but it TRULY is sad that she has to go through so much stress and pain because of her parents. And I don’t know what she’s going through. Not to minimize the situation, though she’ll probably take it as such, but I just threw out another lens from which she could view the situation. In any event, my whole “calm down and enjoy the fucking dip” stance is gonna earn me the flaming of a lifetime. Wait for it…