What We All Should Have Been Doing at 8 Years Old

I've realized that it's hard to make time to blog when you aren't sitting at a desk all day long bored out of your mind. When contemplating things like what's the best way to make a mini pencil house out of un-sharpened pencils, or should I research Halloween costumes or imaginary trips to Europe, it's not that difficult to find time to empty my thoughts on blogger.

However, since embarking on a rocky road of starting my own company, continuing to babysit, continuing to do part time work, I find that my creative blogging talent seems to go out the window. Which makes me sad.

So, when a business acquaintance of mine asked me how to up the YouTube hits on her son's YouTube website the first thing I thought was to re-enter the blogosphere and help her out. (That is, if I even have loyal followers anymore after this 5 month hiatus...)

Aidan Hornaday is the cutest 8 year old I've seen. Not only is he adorable, but he has a big heart too. Get ready to feel all warm and fuzzy inside after watching this clip:

Aidan Saving The World With a Harmonica

Here's what YOU can do to help little Aidan---> Simply watch the video, then forward it to some friends, post it as your facebook status/on your facebook profile, or blog about it.

Why should you do this, you ask? Because do you normally run across an 8 year old (adorable) boy who spends his time figuring out ways to to fight intestinal parasites in Africa?

If that's not enough, check out these pictures.

Listen up Moms, this one's for you!

I recently posted about how Chelsea, at Design a la Mod, and I have started our own Public Relations and Design company, Blueprint PR & Design. Apparently, money doesn't grow on trees when you start a company, so we won't be making bank with Blueprint for quite a while. Which is where all you fabulous Dallas moms might be able to help me out by allowing me to help YOU out!



That's right, I'm advertising my babysitting and nannying services to the Dallas Blog world (I'm not opposed to babysitting elsewhere in the country, just let me know where to meet your private jet and I'll be there in a flash).



I currently nanny for an awesome family with 3 very hyper active kiddos (all boys, all under age 4) and I have a looonnnnnnng history with babysitting. See this post for further info on that.

Reasons you, or a mom you might know, would want me to babysit/nanny? So glad you asked!

-2 words: Bumblebee Camp. For around 6 years I held an annual summer camp in my backyard for 15-20 kids under the age of 7. I planned activities, organized games, and entertained for 4 hours every day for a week. If I can do that with 20 kids (at age 15!!), think of what I can do with just 3.

-I babysat all throughout high school and college. (Well, elementary and Jr. High if you count being a "mother's helper"...but I think it was more of an excuse to still play house and dolls without feeling immature and old.)

-Um, I'm awesome. I let kids crawl all over me like a human jungle gym. I tire them out so they take really long naps. I actually play with the kids instead of just watching them play. I come up with creative arts and crafts--even though I'm not the most artistic person in the world, to say the least.

-I have a pretty flexible schedule. You need me at 7am? Sure, no problemo.

SOOO, if you, or anyone you know in Dallas, is interested, please let me know! I'd love to hear from you!

Hello, my name is Sloane, and I'm a techie addict

I’m spending hours on Twitter every day. It’s not for my entertainment. I’ve almost started to loathe the sight of the little tweet bird icon. Side note: What is UP with the picture that shows up when you haven’t put a personal picture up yet?? What is that thing? Two dots?? Why some weird, un-determinable image? And the color choices? Brown? Why brown? I rushed to get a picture up in order to not have that thing showing…maybe that was the idea behind it. Anyway, after looking at so many profiles a day that have that freaking image I’ve started to want to just de-twitter those people. And it’s not even their fault; it’s Twitter’s. Anyway, deep breaths.

The act of coming up with tweets that don’t sound like spam, that work to the company’s advantage, while keeping the public’s interests in mind that will hopefully cause them to tweet back and engage in meaningful twitter relationships, doesn’t seem too hard, right? Sure, I’ll agree with you on that one. Just do that several times a day and voila you’re an avid Twitter-er. Now we can move on to somethi—oh, hold that thought. Should I go look through everyone’s tweets and tweet back? Do unto others as they do unto you? Thank goodness I’m still a Twitter loser with only 54 measly followers.

(3 hours later)

I’ve successfully tweeted to, oh, probably 10 people. Reading profiles, then reading their tweets, then reading their responses to other tweets, then wondering why the hech have they not responding to MY tweets if they’ve responded to this doofus, researching their companies, thinking about what exactly I should respond to their tweets with, thinking of future tweets that I can tweet to get them more interested in my tweets, then finding more people to ‘follow’, getting acquainted with their profiles…and then this thought runs through my head:

This is only Twitter. I forgot about blogging. Facebook. LinkedIn. I have multiple social media sites to pay attention to and each one is like a needy 2 year old that won’t stop crying. Meanwhile, I’m attempting to read more about these sites and tweak my skills and suddenly I feel as if I’m living in a world of techie addicts. I start to notice how attached people are to their phones, computers, sidekicks, ipods-- the constant alerts, ringing, typing, putting down and picking back up the devices, everywhere. Then there’s the like 9 hours a day people sit in front of the computer talking on AIM, gchat, email, facebook, blogging, twitter, LinkedIn, youtube, news sites, typing away, saving files, cutting and pasting, printing, scanning, (what did people DO before computers?!). I mean, I think towards the future when I have kids, and I picture me having to tweet, text, call, email, post on their facebook wall, just to let them know dinner is ready. Scary thought, isn’t it?

Perhaps I’ve over exaggerating. Maybe I’ve let all of my involvement in learning, researching, and participating on these sites get to my head (or the depth of my soul). I’m just going to try to not feel naked if I forget my cell phone at home, or if I forget to check facebook one day a week. That being said, I’m off to go do un-technology things. Like, eat. And sleep. And engage in face-to-face conversation.

Giving Six Word Saturdays a Try

Cate from showmyface came up with the incredible idea of doing Six Word Saturdays instead of a regular blog post. For those, like Cate, who actually post every single day I can see why Six Word Saturdays might seem like a breath of fresh air. For me, who is in posting rehab and trying to get my blog back on track, it also seems like a breath of fresh air since it takes no time, is easy Schmeezy, and entertaining! So here I go:

Thinks a beach sounds pretty good.

But then I decided my Saturday could also be described as:

Thinks a vodka sounds pretty good.

Then I realized I could just do this:

Either a beach or a vodka.



(If it were 8 Word Saturday I would add, "with sprite" so i could mix a drink, but oh well, I'll just be stuck with plain vodka.)

So there ya go! 3rd time's a charm. Post your Six Word Saturdays in the comment section and be sure to check out Cate's blog for her Six Word Saturday and others!

I drank way too much milk at dinner

Last night I drank too much milk.

On a normal Sunday, I reserve the entire day for beaching myself on the couch and ordering a pineapple cheese pizza to munch on for several hours while watching stupid, stupid shows like Keeping Up With the Kardashians. Unless I'm with my boyfriend, and in that case we watch shows like Mythbusters, River Monsters, or The Best Warrior. And just in case any of you are interested, a Spartan does in fact beat out a ninja if they were ever paired to fight each other. Something to do with the Spartan's shield...used as both a protection device and weapon. Just fascinating!

Anywho, for some reason I woke up yesterday morning feeling very...active, I guess is the right word. So I went to brunch, cleaned the house, gave the dogs a bath, played ultimate frisbee, played badmitton, worked out, made dinner...and by that time I was incredibly thirsty. I decided on milk because it spoke to me from the refridgerator. It was next to the water filter and for some ungodly reason it looked more able to quench my thirst.

So I had a glass with dinner. And then finished it before I finished dinner. So I had another glass. And then finished that one before I finished dinner. And so the cycle went.

By the time dinner was over I was in my normal Sunday beached-on-the-couch mode, except this time I was an actual beached whale. I think I might now know what it feels like to be 9 months pregnant. I was so uncomfortable that I couldn't do anything but lay flat on my back with my hand on my stomach (as if that makes a difference) and grimace at the tv. Moving, at all, was unexplainably awful. I don't even want to talk about going up the stairs. All I could think about was waking up in the morning feeling 375y37567835 pounds lighter and agile once again.

I'm happy to say that I made it through to morning, but I took one glance at the gallon of milk in the fridge and almost relapsed right then and there. I will be avoiding milk for a while.

One for the con list of working at home

Since starting Blueprint I've been working from home a bunch. It doesn't make sense to use our money on rented office space so we meet clients at their office, local Starbucks, or sometimes at a restaurant. Chelsea and I are creative when meeting with each other. So far we've:

-Discussed business while en route to meeting a client, networking event, or professional happy hour. This means a lot of fast chatter and interrupting.

-Met at Chelsea's house late at night in her office. This means a lot of exasperated sighs and calculation of hours of sleep we can afford to miss in order to get work done.

-Met over dinner. This means we forget to eat because we're too engrossed in business talk. Worst possible place to meet by far since we are both extremely grumpy when hungry.

So, we work a lot at home and I've actually grown to like it...but there are distractions. While most people chalk their distractions up to the internet (facebook, online shopping, AIM or gchatting) I get distracted by my furry companions.



Furry companion #1
Furry companion #2
Annnd #1 and #2 together.

With their constant begging for attention, snoring (yes, one does snore. It is loud.) and potty breaks, I'm rethinking the whole "let's wait to get an office" thing.

I'm back gang! Introducing Blueprint PR and Design!!

Are you there bloggers? It's me....Sloane...

I know, I know, it's been MONTHS since my last post. It's shameful and frankly I've been embarrassed to even begin writing a post because of my slacker behavior. Before you all roll your eyes and begin navigating towards another (faithful) blogger, allow me to explain my reasoning. I at least get a chance to explain, right?

To make a realllllly long, long, long story short...(big breath)....I ventured out on my own, well, almost on my own (shout out to Chelsea, my partner in crime!), and started a company. Let me just say this: Starting a company is.not.easy. I'm working like 60 hour weeks here plus weekends (cry me a river, I know) and it doesn't leave too much time for blogging.

BUT, now that I have slowly but surely regained a bit of control--you know, able to get at least 6 hours of sleep, eating things other than cereal, and not forgetting to feed my dog anymore--I'm BACK.

If you can forgive me for ignoring blogland for such a long period of time, please feel free to support my (and Chelsea's) company by checking out our website, blog page, twitter page, and facebook fan page. (Social networking anyone?)

Oh, and should you have a PR, Design, or Brand related question, you know who to talk to.

Elizabeth Gilbert=Guru

Back in November when I started my blog and was uber into writing (thinking my blog would take off, become a sensation 'round the nation, ya know, that kind of uber into writing, where I feel I can gather information on how to be successful from anywhere and everything) I decided to buy tickets to Arts & Letters Live at the Eismann Center in Richardson, TX. Elizabeth Gilbert was the featured author.

In case you are unfamiliar with Elizabeth, (yes, we are on a first name basis. Having read her book, frequently visited her website, and sat in an intimate crowd of 1,200 to hear her speak, I feel legit in doing so) she wrote the bestseller novel Eat, Pray, Love: One Woman's Search for Everything Across Italy, India, and Indonesia.

It's a beach read. Beach Read = book/novel that can be read at the beach (duh) in one or few sittings while making you laugh/giggle/smile/enjoy yourself/relax.

If I were an author I would be a teensy-tinsy bit offended if my book was labeled as a Beach Read. As entertaining as Beach Reads are, they are somewhat mindless. I would want to think my writing had something along the lines of depth... And in Eat, Pray, Love's case I think it qualifies as a Beach Read, but takes it to a whole new level. So, Elizabeth, if you're reading my blog, don't be offended by the Beach Read comment. I'm going somewhere with it, I promise.

Eat, Pray, Love goes above and beyond laughing, giggling, smiling, enjoying yourself, and relaxing. She spent four months in Italy, basically just eating. The woman described every single thing she ate. And if you've ever been to Italy you know that even a cheese pizza tastes like God's special present made perfectly for you, wrapped neatly up in food and tied with a bow of 35763753865 calories. I would turn the pages, practically drooling, THIS close to blowing $3000 on booking a flight to Italy just to freaking EAT.

Then comes India. Don't feel relaxed by all the eating from Italy? How about spend four months at an Ashram doing meditation and yoga all day in 100+ heat. Enough said.

You may think reading a book about food, meditation, and combining the two with love in Indonesia, sounds like a big fat yawn. It would be, if I wrote it. Somehow Elizabeth was born with the incredible talent to add wit and humor to any situation--even the one where she's sobbing on the bathroom floor over wanting to divorce her husband on page #1. And on top of all that, she makes you want to rediscover yourself as she's rediscovering herself. I almost wanted to get into a downward dog pose, eat spaghetti, and reevaluate my values all at one time while reading the book! All in all, it's a must read.

So you can imagine my level of enthusiasm to see her speak last night. I was hoping she would talk about her experiences in Italy, India, and Indonesia--give more insight, more details, you know, things that the little people who are too unfortunate to miss this event, would never find out. She didn't.

Instead, she embarked on several random stories about book signings, not having children, the new book she's working on, her husband, blah blah blah. And yet I still walked out of the Eismann Center an hour and a half later feeling absolutely rejuvenated, relaxed, happy, all laughed out, and content with life. (Not to mention excited about obtaining the insider information of the Eat, Pray, Love movie currently being produced starring Julia Roberts...)

Who IS this woman and how does she DO it?! She's like a freaking guru!

I woke up this morning and jumped out of bed yelling "Today is going to be a GREAT day!!" Ok, no not really. But I said it in my head. I recommend you fly to a city where she's speaking next, or buy her book. Maybe then I'll have someone who wants to fly to Italy with me for the pure reason of stuffing my face. Let me know.

A Blue Day Cheer Upper

Last week while nannying, oldest child asked me a question on our afternoon walk.

Oldest Child: Why did you just do that?

Me: Do what?

Oldest Child: Do that big blowing noise.

Me: Oh. That's called a sigh. (sighs)


It was a bit refreshing to realize Oldest Child had not learned how, or had the need to, learn how to sigh. He may blow his top over his sippy cup lid not matching the sippy cup, but if that's his biggest problem, sign me up for a day in the life of a 3 1/2 year old please.

Which got me thinking that maybe it is the small things, like matching sippy cups, that matter. Or at least help, to get the big picture in view. So, on that note, a list of 5 things that brighten my day when feeling blue (or in need of a big sigh):

1. The parking attendant at work recognizes me as a loyal customer, therefore reducing the daily parking rate for just moi, nicknamed me "My Friend", and last week fought with another parking lot attendant about parking in his lot over the other one's lot.

2. Jon and Kate Plus 8. I watch this show in utter fascination- starting from how large Kate's belly was when preggers in the opening song to how many hours it takes to get 8 sets of teeth cleaned at the dentist. I feel lucky I don't have 8 kids (please don't hit me in the face, Karma, and give me octuplets in a few years...), and that alone, makes me feel better.

3. When people like Em over at Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit express their views about something political and it's like they took the words right.out.of.my.mouth, except said it much better. Take that, liberal media!! Why don't you stop drinkin' the kool aid and feeding everyone that iconic crap about our newly "crowned" king, oops, I mean president.

4. Lola's gained a few lb's. Watching her pork around my apartment is enough to make anyone crack a smile.

5. A warm day. It's currently 74 degrees outside. My sister, I believe at age 9, wrote an award winning poem in school about Spring. The first line was "Spring comes in a golden carriage." Yes, it does. Full of flip flops, lounging at the pool, bbq's, sitting on patios, long walks outside, and bright colored clothes. A glimpse of spring around the corner makes me sigh a happy sigh.

The Fight

Boyfriend: "You want to talk about it?"

Me: (looks the other way, eyes well up with tears) "No. I've talked about it all day. I'm tired of even thinking about it."

Boyfriend (sighs): "You're upset."

Me: (scoffing) "I am not! God! I don't even care!"

Boyfriend: "Ok....well I've got some stuff to do so I-"

Me: (angrily) "It's just that I try, and I try, and I try, and I put SO much effort in. And I get nothing in return. I mean, it's not even worth it anymore!"

Boyfriend: "This is just how these things work...sometimes it just happens this way and you have to keep moving and hope for the best. Haven't you heard of the book/movie He's Just Not That Into You?"

Me: (jaw drops open) "Excuse me?? Not into me?! Now you're just being ridiculous!"

Boyfriend: (heatedly) "Seriously, sometimes you miss all the signs or it's just not a good fit. This is one of those cases! Get over it and move on!"

Me: (storming out the door)"Fine! If that's the way it's going to go down then so be it! I'm DONE. Through. FINITO. I'm better than this! Let's see how things works without me. HA!" (door slams)

Boyfriend: (muttering) "Sheesh. Not sure she would handle continuing unemployment that well if this is the reaction to being turned down from a job..."

Not everyone should have a blog...

I used to make fun of blogging. For the sole reason that I had only seen a handful of blogs and they could be filed under Downright God-Awful. Since starting my own blog I've discovered blogs that can be filed under Can't Get Enough Please Post More Regularly Even if It's Two-A-Days.

People who can write well, and add wit, sarcasm, and humor to that equation, those are my people. I like you guys. Those of you who cannot write well but write anyway for some insane reason, you are not my people, and I don't like you.

I stumble across horrific blogs daily, and it never ceases to amaze me how these people think I care to kill my intelligent brain cells attempting to get through a paragraph of this crap they call writing. AND why they care to expose their idiocy to the whole world-that is perplexing as well.

Here are some thoughts that run through my head when I have the misfortune of reading said blogs:

-Oh, that's nice, you ate yogurt and granola for breakfast? Fun stuff. Hold on one sec, I want to make a necklace out of paper clips and staples. Yes, that does sound more fun than reading any more of your blog.

-So Crest White Strips really do the trick, eh? I'm so glad you posted the Before and After picture to prove it. I think I'm going to stop eating my breakfast now. It kind of grosses me out that you feel ok with posting a zoomed in picture of your teeth for all to inspect the difference in color.

-I'm just thrilled you've kept your resolution to wash your face and brush your teeth before bed. WAY TO GO. Put a gold star on the chart that is labeled "How to Stay Sanitary" and cross off "Try not to be disgusting" on your To Do list. Good job.

-Good, good. You've lost 2.2 pounds. Now that's what I want to hear about. Go ahead and make me a list of everything you've consumed for the past 2 weeks, please include calories you've burned as well, and the different moves and exercises tried. Oh, looky here! You're one step ahead of me. Yay.

-Two words: Valentine's Day. Who freaking invented this day? It's stupid. And yes, I do have a boyfriend so I didn't take a bite out of bitter salad. And yes, he will do nice things for me on this day, JUST LIKE HE DOES EVERY OTHER DAY. But wait, I do want to hear what you're wearing. Uh huh...uh huhhhh....annnd confirmation of ridiculous. You just said LBD, JC, and VD all in one sentence. Translation for smart people: Little black dress, with Jimmy Choos, to be worn on Valentine's Day.


By all means start a blog. It's fun and addicting. When starting a blog think of these things:

1. Am I starting a blog because I want to keep my family and friends updated on my daily happenings and occurrences? If yes, SAY THAT SOMEWHERE ON YOUR PAGE. Of course THEY want to hear all about what you're doing every minute of every day. But warn the rest of us that you "invite to join in on the fun" that it's actually not fun, and it may possibly kill me. Or make me want to kill you.

2. If you are going to write about daily occurrences, and you want an audience, adding a bit of, oh, I don't know, entertainment, helps. I follow blogs that talk about the smallest of the small and I love it. Becauseeee they.know.how.to.write. I've read hilarious posts about laundry mishaps, cats, and what a kid said when watching infomercials, ALL which would have blown had they not put some thought into it. And they probably only thought about it for 2 minutes. Thinking. Helps.

3. If you've never cared about writing before, if you got anything below a B on most papers throughout your academic career, if you can't write a sentence without abbreviating, if you end sentences with prepositions and aren't at least aware that you are doing so, if you don't know what a preposition is, if you don't know where the spellcheck button is, if you write sentences as long as this one and feel ok about it, then do you think there is a possibility you may not express yourself to the best of your ability through writing? I'm not saying you're stupid. I'm saying you can't write.

4. Going further with #3. If you've ever kept a diary you know the feeling of opening it ten years later. Pure mortification that you even thought, much less, bothered to write.that.down. However, you can laugh it off because you were young and silly. Maybe you've turned into an eloquent journal writer. If so, journal away. If not, and you haven't touched a journal, or barely even written anything with feeling in years, it's probably not a good idea to start an online journal better know as a blog. Why? Because you will look back and be mortified and unable to laugh it off because it was only last year. Last month. Yesterday. That you wrote that. If you're not mortified, someone else will be for you.

5. Going further with #4. I broke out my 3rd grade Secret Diary Journal (equipped with a key of course) last year and began reading, prepared for ridiculous crush banter and 3rd grade drama. This is the first sentence I read: "I spent the night at Kate's house last night and we went to bed SOOOOOOO late!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 7:30!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" First of all, I was in 3rd grade, why did I think 7:30 was so late. Was I cool or what. Second, I think that was the most entertaining thing I read in the whole diary. But that doesn't mean telling people what time I went to bed, now, is. Comprehendo?


I feel like this is all common sense. Apparently a lot of people don't have it. I'm glad the bloggers I follow do. And to all of you who don't, don't fret. You can READ blogs. You don't have to WRITE one. Capiche?

Professional....babysitter

Someone asked me the other day if I had any babysitting experience. That's like asking me if I have any experience with eating. Yes. A lot. Probably too much.

When I was 10 years old I walked down the street and knocked on the door of the new neighbors. I informed the mom I lived in the neighborhood and should she need any help with babysitting I was her go-to person. I became employed shortly after. Just so you know, whenever I have kids I will politely decline any babysitting offers from 10 year olds. I mean are you kidding me?! TEN years old? Watch my kids? No freaking way. I am well aware this is hypocritical.

Anyway, I babysat frequently. Then my number got passed around the neighborhood and I babysat more frequently. By the time I entered into the awkward years of Junior High I was well established as Superbabysitter. So much so that I came up with the brilliant idea to start a summer camp. Bumble Bee Camp was born.

For 5 years approximately 15 kids between the ages of 3 and 7 appeared on my front lawn at 9am for one week in the summer, greased up with sunscreen and bugspray, and ready to create chaos for the next 4 hours. We'd start out with an art project, then game time, snack, more game time, lunch, reading, then the all time favorite-pool time. Don't worry moms, the pool was only 3 feet deep and my mom always came out to supervise at that time. By the time 1pm rolled around me and my little bumblebees were plain pooped.

Then I went to college and more families found me to become a regular at their household.

So, babysitting experience? That's a big, fat, definite.

I thought that once I entered into the " real world" I would say adios to those Superbabysitter days. Just cause, you know, I'm so important and busy now. Well, since I am neither of those things (at least in all things work related) I've decided to jump back into the babysitting pool and I don't know what happened during my babysitting hiatus but, um, babysitting became....hard.

Maybe it's because I do it after "working" for 5 hours. Maybe it's because it's the 3 hours the kids are the crankiest. Maybe it's because they're all boys. Maybe it's because they're all boys, there's 3 of them, and the oldest is 3 years old, and the youngest is 7 weeks old. Oh, and the middle 21 month-er. Yeah. That's probably it.

Let's just say I feel important and busy during THAT job. For three hours every day I am:

-answering what seems to be a never ending flow of questions that range from "why does that tree have holes" to "why are your arms tired".

-wishing there was some sort of device that could be attached to newborns with the sole purpose of keeping the pacifier in the mouth.

-trying to figure out what Middle Child wants when he grunts, crys, stamps his foot, points, freaks out, since he doesn't talk.

-wishing that Dora the Explorer could just magically appear on a floating tv in front of whatever child starts crying

-trying to decipher what Oldest Child is saying since he has a bit of a lisp. And becomes quite frustrated when I ask him to repeat. "I wust SAID it!"

-playing games that somewhat resemble golf, hockey, football, and soccer, but barely.

-freaking out about sharp objects, the street, food spilling, drool dripping, nose picking, and other such things you don't want to hear about.

-pretending that sticks and dirt are actually food, and that the yard is a "grocery store"...don't know how he came up with that.

-mustering up the same level of enthusiasm as Oldest and Middle Child over crawling in and out of a portable dog cage over and over and over and over again.

-forever trying to come up with brilliant ideas of things to do. Tracing Leaves worked. Cleaning Up did not.

-trying not to laugh when Oldest Child does or says something worth writing down. Like FREAKING OUT that Middle Child got to help his mom pick up dog poop and he couldn't. Or when he says he wants to "find a big tasty rock to go in my salad".


Bottom line: Office job ain't got nothin' on babysitting.

Happy Monday?

Bits and pieces of texts, AIM conversations, and other such forms of communication I've encountered so far today:

Friend, via text message- "That's it. I'm quitting my job. I've reached my breaking point. They got a guinea pig. Picking up rodent turds is where I draw the line."

Friend, via AIM, after being "idle" for 30 minutes- "Ugh. Just did some work. That sucked."

Friend, via AIM, 8:59am-" Blah, I'm ready for the weekend."


If those don't scream ITS MONDAY to you then...I don't know what it screams. Misery, I suppose. Feel free to join the I've Got a Case of the Mondays Club!

Onion Schmonion

Hey guys, just your onion-y bloggy buddy here. I know all of you have been waiting with bated breath to learn the outcome of my stinky situation. So with no further adieu...

In the case that you wake up on the idiot side of the bed and feel comfortable with dicing an entire onion into your crock pot to simmer for 12 hours therefore allowing onion fumes to sink into every piece of fabric, body part, or whatever else have you in your apartment/self, you can do these things to remedy your idiocy:

For starters, try amateur things like, using salt to "exfoliate", aka rub your skin raw, and then smoothing it back down with spoonfuls of peanut butter. MMMM there's nothing like the smell of onions, salt, and peanut butter all mixed into one!

Light some candles. Let them burn down to a puddle of wax. Maybe even dip your fingers into the wax. No pain, no gain, right? Burnt is better than onion garden a la fingers.

Wait three days to see if the smell will just go away.

Spray Febreeze on everything like it's your J-O-B. Even your dog. That little stinker has fur, remember? Fur is like fabric...that onion has lodged itself waaaaay in there, right next to the skin.

Don't feel like cleaning your apartment? Quick, give someone a hug and note their reaction. Feel like busting a move with your mop and vacuum now, McStinky?

Leave your windows open. I don't care if it's January going on February. Or that there's an ice storm going on. Priorities people. I personally think it sucks more when you can't wear your smelly jacket in freezing weather than it does you shivering on the couch.

On top of all windows open, turn on all fans. And the turbo fan. Do not, whatever you do, take a shower. While the idea of steaming, hot water all over your body sounds just splendid, the idea of freezing immediately after exiting the bathroom, does not.

And last, but not least, but definitely the most important, and the only one you should really take note of, put small bowls of baking soda everywhere possible.

Five days after the escapade took place, I am onion free, but still onion paranoid.

Something Smells....Onion-y

Because I have recently graduated from college, and due to this lovely recession we are experiencing I've started to play a daily game called "What's The Least Amount of Money I Can Spend" (Creative, I know).

Preferring not to go through my bank statements and highlighting the unnecessary buys, therefore sparing myself the shameful remorse from things like $10 lattes and $15 lunches, I decided to just halt all spending possible.

A bit drastic, yes, but I tend to be more responsive to "full stop" efforts rather than simply cutting back. Rent and bills don't count, obviously, otherwise I would be kicked to the curb in about a month.

I just assumed, and rightly so, that most of my money goes towards food. Well, and drinks. Alcoholic drinks. Eating out and going out are two ways to deplete the bank account.

So as a result Neighborhood Walmart has become my new best friend and I've become somewhat unsocial.

The upside (besides spending less) is that I've gotten into cooking. Nowhere near gourmet, but just basic home cooked meals that have yet to end in disaster. During this recent development I decided to bust out the old crock pot and give it a whirl. I went with trusty beef stew as my first one-pot meal.

Here is the recipe, courtesy of recipes.com (this is an exercise, so pay attention):

4 carrots
3 potatoes peeled and cut into cubes
1 stalk celery, cut
1 diced onion
a pinch of paprika
1 1/2 cups of beef broth
1 tablespoon of Worchestire sauce
1 cup flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 bay leaf
2 pounds beef
Now. Which one of these items do you think ruined the next couple of days for me?

The culprit = 1 diced onion.

First of all, a whole onion?! Really, recipes.com?? That's a lot of onion. I'm downright disappointed in myself that I doubted my instincts and followed the recipe. I actually hate onions (unless they are onion rings, in which case they are delicious) but I figured it would add flavor and I should just get over it. Wrong.

Second, I stupidly decided to put the ingredients in at 8pm and let it cook while I sleep, planning to take it out at 8am and then voila! I can take some to work for lunch. Well, at 2am Lola decides to take a running leap over my body and dart around the room in a burst of hyperactivity, causing me to bolt out of bed in a frenzy. In the process, my nose catches a whiff of something...unpleasant. I open my door and wham! the stench of too much cooked onion slaps me in the face. You would think I would decide to abandon the beef stew idea right then and there, but no. Being somewhat still asleep I merely thought it would just die down as it continued to cook. HA!

For the next 6 hours I dreamed about onions, smelled onions, and felt like I was sleeping in an onion.

By 8am I was most definitely not taking beef stew to work for lunch. Nor did I want to eat it for dinner. Or, really, ever again.

Sitting at my desk a few hours later I feel as if I am carrying multiple onions in my pockets, purse, and maybe even one hidden in my hair.

I stroll up to the receptionist and waft some of the air around me towards her.

Me: Do you smell that?
R: Smell what?
Me: I don't know, anything, what do I smell like when I'm standing near you?
R: I don't smell anything.
Me: Are you sure?? I don't smell like beef stew, or...(practically spitting the word out) onion?
R: Um, no.

I decide it's just me. A few hours later I meet up with my boyfriend.

Boyfriend: You smell funky.
Me: (groan)
Boyfriend: (wrinkles nose) Like...food. Why do you smell like food?

A few tablespoons of salt, spoonful of peanut butter, two hands rubbed raw, and a shower later, I think I have succeeded in getting rid of _____ (I cannot even bring myself to say the name now).

Today, I put on my clothes for work and the rank smell is back. Or it never left. My apartment is hoarding the onion smell and every item belonging to me reeks. I detest, no, loathe, beef stew. I will never eat it again. I will also not go within 6 feet of an onion for a very.long.time. And I'm wary of the crock pot.

How did attempting to be frugal land me in this mess? And yes, I still smell like onions. Any suggestions how to forever rid myself of the atrocity that is inhabiting my apartment, clothes, hair, and fingers? Anyone?

Return to Jr. High

My love of writing all started back in 7th grade, because of this guy:

He's pretty dreamy, huh?

His name is Bernie Schein, and he was my 7th and 8th grade teacher. He's recently joined the Facebook phenomenon and in the past few weeks I've been updated consistently on my Home Page about Bernie's posts on former student's walls. Creepy? Inappropriate? Sketchy? Yes. He is all of those things and more. Which is why he was the most popular teacher at my school.

An explanation of my school is needed: Paideia is a private school in Atlanta, founded by parents in the 1970s. The first buildings of the school were old houses. (My 6th grade classroom was in the attic of an old mansion. Yes, it is as cool as it sounds. And my hand print is still painted on the eave representing the 6th grade class of 1998. Shout out to L & B's class! Wha wha!) Teachers are called by their first names. Sometimes couches are used instead of desks. It's a pretty laid back environment, where children are urged to be themselves and excel. Whether you wore Ralph Lauren and your mom drove a Mercedes, or you preferred to shop at the local dollar store and your mom drove a 15 year old station wagon Volvo, Paideia welcomed you and your uniqueness.

Before you start thinking Paideians held hands and sang Kumbuya every morning (which we most definitely did NOT), I'll being Bernie back into the picture. We were talking about Facebook.

I think it's safe to assume he's quite taken with Facebook. Being a graduate of Harvard, Bernie is pretty smart. And he's used his intelligence to learn that Facebook is a great way to advertise yourself, should you have something to advertise. Which he does. His book. Which was just recently published. (Fellow English majors out there will appreciate the title: If Holden Caulfield Were In My Classroom. Catcher in the Rye should pop into your mind (If you're smart)).

I'm famous, actually. I'm in Bernie's book. (Most of his former students are.) We aren't broadcasted as ourselves, but instead our personalities, stories, sense of humor, problems, and behavior can be identified throughout the whole thing. His favorite question to ask his students since publishing the book is "Did you see yourself in the book??"

If you're intrigued by what I've said about my school, and Bernie, you should go check out his website, http://www.bernieschein.com/ and Paideia's website, http://www.paideiaschool.org/. Because by no possible means will I be able to explain Bernie and his philosophy of teaching, nor his personality, nor the difference it made in my life. And, this post is already too long. If you've made it this far, hang in there, it gets better!

Bernie is a pot bellied, potty mouth, balding, hysterical, crazy, freakishly smart, and freakishly caring old man. He called kids out on their crap, and he always spoke the truth. Being Real, was the goal in his classroom. And he tried to pull the "realness" out of every single kid. If you're real, you're being yourself, and when you're being yourself, you're happy. Pretty simple. We would then express this realness in stories. What we've learned about ourselves, how we've gotten to where we are through whatever obstacles we've come across in the past, etc. Hence, why I love to "dissect" the meaning in things. See One For the English Major Team post.

However simple it was, parents had to give the OK for their kids to be admitted into Bernie's class. That's how intense it was. It was a roller coaster ride of a junior high experience and some parents just weren't on board with the whole concept. Luckily, my parents were.

Anyways, you'll have to do some sleuthing on the web (i.e, go order his book, check out his website) to find more out about this fascinating guy. I have already done all this, and finished the book (rave reviews!), so I've spent my time today catching up on Bernie's comments on Facebook.

On trying to promote his book:

"Yo ___, it's me. Berns. Yep. Cool as ever. Have you read my book. Tell me what you think. You were a great student, reminded me naturally a lot of moi, though I was more the matinee-idol type, and you're not. Love, Bernie"

"Yo, ____. Right. Bernie here. Yes, the great one. CALM DOWN. CALM DOWN!!! God. Read my book, tell your parents to read it, and get back to me, if you catch my drift. Love, Bernie"

"____, Have you read my book. I mean, am I funny or what. I LOVE MYSELF. Love, Bernie"

There are more, much more, funny ones, but I'll wait to see your response to these and post the rest accordingly. For all I know, you guys might be the type of people who wouldn't want your kid (or future kid) to touch Bernie's classroom with a four foot pole. In which case Bernie would respond, with my absolute favorite response, "Why don't you take four running leaps and bounce up my butthole sideways!" ;-)

In conclusion, (Bernie, I hope you're happy and that this did you justice) BUY HIS BOOK. Happy Friday everyone!

What Comes Around, Goes Around

So, funny story:

My eyes have been evilly conjuring up Agitation, Irritation, and Insane Light Sensitivity to take up temporary residence in my eyeballs. Sometimes they invite Redness, and Water. Then they all get together and hold a gross eye infection meeting approximately every two weeks for about 24 hours. They mask themselves as sprinters, when in actuality they are marathoners, since this whole ordeal started about a month ago.

I was driving to work yesterday morning (since eyes were engaged in mid-battle by 8 30am I had already surrendered to glasses) and reached for my sunglasses. To put OVER my glasses. (I absolutely do not have, nor will I ever buy, the clip on prescription sunglasses lens. Sorry. I would rather look like a complete idiot then pull out those handy-dandy-I'm-turning-into-my-father contraptions). Then, with the sun visor down, left hand blocking sunlight, squinting like an angry old lady, and water streaming out of both eyes, I figured I should give the eye doc a ring-a-ling once I un-safely and miraculously reached my destination.

Here's how the conversation went with the doctor this morning.

Doc (peering into eyes with microscope contraption): Uhh huh. Uhh huh. (Sits back) You had pink eye.

Me: I have pink eye?

Doc: No, you HAD pink eye. You don't anymore.

Me: Are you sure?

Doc: Positive.

Me (annoyed): Then what's the deal with my eyes now, since I apparently don't have pink eye.

Doc (chummily): Your eyes THINK you still have pink eye, so they keep trying to fight it out every now and then.

Me: So, it's contagious, right? I need to stay home and stuff?

Doc (happily): Nope! You can go to work and everything!

Me (feigning happiness): That's great!!!! But you've dilated my eyes, so I can't drive for a while, so I probably should hang out here for a bit, right?

Doc: Nope! That was numbing drops. It will just excrete yellow crust from your eyes for about an hour. (Ew!!)

Me (dejectedly sighing): All right. (Weakly) Are you sure?

Doc (beginning to look at me strangely): Yes. Positive. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. You can drive and go to work. Just put these eye drops in 4 times a day to clear your eyes up, and no contacts until you see me next week. Off you go!!

Me: FINE. THANKS.

Funny how things work, huh? When I was jokingly wishing pink eye on myself, I actually had it. And stayed at work all day. Then, I am enlightened and told that was actually pink eye, but now it's just "fake" pink eye, and even though my eyes feel worse than when I DID have "real" pink eye, I am apparently all better and free to go to work. Wahoo!

Oh, karma. You are a b*tch.

And the Award Goes to...

The talented Chelsea from Design a la mod has given me my first blogging award! Thanks!

Here are the rules of the award:

1) Choose a minimum of 7 blogs that you find brilliant in content or design.

2) Show the 7 winners names and links on your blog, and leave a comment informing them that they were prized with "Honest Scrap." Well, there's no prize, but they can keep the nifty icon.

3) List at least 10 honest things about yourself.





Here goes. I'll try to make this as exciting as possible...

10.) I am a direct descendant of Jefferson Davis.

9.) I am also a descendant of Pinckney, who signed the Declaration of Independence.

8.) My mom seriously considered naming me Pinckney, and would have called me Pinky for short...that would have been fun. (sarcasm detected).

7.) My dad sounds like he walked off a southern plantation yesterday. He says things like "holler", "yonder", "dahlin", "dubyah" (i.e. 'w',) and "ol" (i.e. 'oil').

6.) I have 4 nieces and nephews and one of my nieces is older than me (none of them call me Aunt Sloane. phew.)

5.) When I've had a few drinks ask me about something historical. Chances are I'll give you a history lesson about one of the following: Henry VIII, Anne Boleyn, Elizabeth I, Marie Antoinette, or Napoleon Bonaparte (Yup, I'm about as cool as they come)

4.) I love challenges...I've biked 1500 miles across Europe one summer in high school, run a 10K military style obstacle course in mud, run a half marathon, and am open to any suggestions for my next challenge.

3.) I started walking when I was 7 months. I like to think that has something to do with my love of running, but it probably doesn't.

2.) Although I was an early walker I was not an early talker. And when I did finally start talking it sounded like another language since I apparently had a hearing problem (which has since been cured, don't worry).

1.) And, last but not least, if I could be anything I wanted to, and be successful at it, I would be an author. Any publishers out there? ;-)

And now for the 7 fabulous blogs:

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit

A Mess From Out West

I Used To Be Witty

Life

Show My Face

Inspiration DC

Steece's Pieces

A Case Study: Bob

Here's a scenario, just for giggles:

Begin Scene.

Bob graduates college. Bob can't find a job because of the stupid economy. Well, let's give Bob a break, cause otherwise that would have been the end of the scenario. Maybe he lives in a place where the economy is soaring. So, Bob finds a job. Bob is a good natured guy, so he enjoys the first few months of his new job despite the lack of work for newbies. But after, say, 4 months, Bob gets restless. He spends most of his time memorizing Wall Street Journal articles to impress coworkers on thirsty thursdays. When will he be challenged, or even simply fully utilized, he wonders.

After a year or two, once Bob's reached a state frighteningly similar to a robot, he gets promoted. Finally, he's at a good place in his job and feels just swell about things.

Then, the New Guy is hired. Bob is his superior. Bob is in charge of what New Guy does. Bob feels slightly weird about the situation. He:

A.) Doesn't want New Guy to have the same, I-slowly-die-inside-every-day-I'm-here experience that he did. Perhaps he can take on a mentoring role, teach him the ways of the company, invest some time in New Guy and really help him advance. Even if it means spending extra time coming up with projects or things New Guy could do.

or, B.) Feels like New Guy should suffer as he suffered. It will make him stronger in the end. He needs to go through a "pledgeship" of sorts, not just be granted happiness the moment he walks through the door. This is the process everyone goes through. Besides, I have enough on my plate.

End scene.

Which one does Bob choose, you ask? I don't know, people, this isn't a real story. But, I bet you $5, maybe $10, that this scenario is a frequent one among responsible, caring, and smart professionals. Why would responsible, caring, and smart professionals choose B over A? Because people can be ridiculous and stupid sometimes.

And people that work under said people, tend to read and relate to my blog. And then send me emails, comments, and messages about how much they relate. Most of these come after a ballsy post. (Ballsy=what everyone is thinking but won't say. Or write). And I can't help but wonder (Hello Ms. Bradshaw, we meet again. I'm beginning to understand why Carrie used that line so many times. It just rolls off the tongue..er, keyboard), if there are so many people twiddling their thumbs at work, don't you think people might, I don't know, change things up a bit? Invest more time in the newcomers, perhaps? I'm just throwing ideas out there...something to mull over for when YOU become the superior over the "inferior".

In the meantime, my blog is here :-)

An Ode

In no particular form, correct style, or heartfelt meaning, An Ode. To Job.

I was so excited to graduate college,
And set forth into the real world with knowledge,
But you've led me astray,
And I just have to say,
I'm just really not that fond of you.

There's nothing for me to do all day,
I think I'll start "working" from home, ok?
I'd be more productive,
There would be less deductive, (huh?)
And I would be much more fun too.

Do you know I've considered trucking?
And nannying, and waitressing, or just nothing?
The shack down the street,
Looks like paradise to me,
If I was able to quit and say suck it...hmm. Maybe not.

Ok, I take that back, it's not you...
Let's blame the economy, and "change" too.
I just want something demanding,
And difficult, and daring,
To prove my worth (and stop swearing).

Let's work on this, mmmkay?
In fact I think we should do happy hour today.
We can sort out our troubles,
Get over our fumbles,
And start all over, hooray!

One for the English Major Team

One sunny day in the Fall of my sophomore year of college I was on my way to declare a practical major when I got an unexpected call from my father. A few minutes later I got off the phone and started walking in the opposite direction towards a different building. I had been given this advice (which, at the time, seemed more like an order): "Major in something you enjoy, rather than something practical. Then, when you go to graduate school, you take the practical road." And that is how I became an English major.

I was not prepared for the hundreds of people who would later scoff and mock my decision. As soon as the phrase "English major" comes out of my mouth, doubt of my survival in the 'real world' creeps into their eyes, and they either say, or think, "English??!! What are you going to do with that?!" Well, oh ignorant one, let me tell you.

For a college student, there is nothing more frightening than scanning an exam and realizing you have no idea what any of the answers are. Not only that, but there is no multiple choice. A big, blank, blue book practically burns a hole in your eyeballs as you squirm in your seat, this close to a full blown panic attack. What to do, what to dooo...Oh! I know! Develop a coherent essay with fully backed up points and examples from the text to illustrate your meaning!

How? That's for the English major to know, and for you to never find out. We're brilliant. We can be put on the spot and come out smelling like roses. We can answer a question we don't know the answer to, back up our claim, marvel at the genius we just pulled out of nowhere, and leave the professor dumbfounded by our intelligence. Especially since he thought we were either unprepared, daydreaming, or just plain idiotic (Now imagine what it's like when we actually do know the answer).

Confused? Why not wander over to your bookshelf and pull out Shakespeare or Chaucer. What? (feign surprise) You don't have any of those? You only have Confessions of a Shopaholic and other similar chick novels?? I suppose they are a bit difficult to understand.... Pity. Well, let's just say that Shakespeare and Chaucer are remembered and widely read (at least by other people) for a reason.

If you can actually understand what Chaucer is saying while reading it, then hats off to you, but I really don't believe you. Unless you are a Chaucer extraordinaire, aka ,professor who will remain nameless from second semester sophomore year. Who, while we're on the subject, made me speak Middle English for a mortifying ten minutes in front of the entire class. Don't know what Middle English is either? Sigh. Google it. Then speak it around other people and note their reaction.

Anyway, English majors are taught to decipher, describe, dissect, determine, declare (oh, why hello alliteration), analyze, and interpret everything put in front of them. That skill cannot be left at the door. In fact, when you're talking to me, just know, from here on out, that while I'm nodding my head and nonchalantly sipping my coffee, I am putting you through a "what's he/she really trying to say" detector while jotting down notes in my head, and coming up with plan a, b, and c of possible answers, ideas...plans of action, if you will.

Now, transfer these impeccable skills that have been tweaked and perfected over 4 years into any professional environment (ahem, I stress any environment) and the true English major will succeed and excel.

Beg to differ? Well, unsuccessful flaw finder, in true English major style I've already mapped out possible questions, arguments, and back up arguments to your unsatisfied mind. So I'm all ears. ;-)

Do you like your job?

In my opinion, there are 3 types of job people, and you are able to determine which category a person belongs in by asking the question "Do you like your job?".

1. The "I Love My Job" people

The four word answer says it all-these people speak the truth. It's been an exhausting day for them, be it running all over town meeting with business execs, making a deal, answering thousands of important emails, teaching math to 20 3rd graders, devising a new advertising plan for a client, etc. etc., and they don't have the energy, and more importantly, feel the need, to dive into an over enthusiastic explanation of their undying love and devotion for their job. Instead, the exhaustion speaks for itself: I am exhausted because I spent all day working tirelessly for the company, and I put myself through this because I believe in the company and want them (and undoubtedly themselves) to succeed.

I can't do much sarcasm and wit with these people...they're straight up "fighting the good fight" and working hard for the money. I can envy these people, however, and I do on a regular basis. Isn't this what we all aim for in a job?

2. The "I Love My Job. Like, Really, Really, Love My Job. If I Could Have Designed My Dream Job, This Would Be It" people.

The 22 word answer says it all-these people are lying through their teeth. Feel free to whip out your lie detector and use as needed, since pretty much everything they say hereafter will be cooked up with white lies, fibs, and full blown fabricated stories. These people want to love their job, but for whatever reason don't, but they also don't want other people, for whatever weird reason, to know they don't love their job.

Why? Well, they could be talking to their boss/someone who knows their boss/their boss's wife/a potential employer and don't want to come across ungrateful, unappreciative, and suffering from Bad Attitude Syndrome. Putting that scenario aside, they could be talking to an acquaintance/nemesis/ex boyfriend/parent's smug friends/hated teacher from 5th grade, and would like to create the picture of 'I love my life!' rather than 'I hate my job, and I hate you too'. Sorry, strongly dislike. Hate is such a strong word.

For whatever reason they feel the need to lie about their job, you can just go ahead and plop them in the 3rd category (below) while you listen to their 15 minute schpiel (sp?) about working at The.Best.Job.Ever (!!!).

Note: Sometimes these people like to throw in a bucket of I'm Too Cool and claim that wearing a headset, surfing the internet all day, entering numbers into Excel, answering phones, taking messages, running errands, and anything else that makes you feel like a complete professional loser, are the best things about their job and they wouldn't have it any other way. Hold on just one moment while I run gag in el bano.

3. The "I Hate My Job." people

Like the Category 1 people, the 4 word answer says it all. Not only are these people being in-your-face honest, but are also (most likely) loving the out loud declaration of the fact. They sit for 8 hours (sometimes 9, *shudder*), just seething over their situation while having to put on a Mr. Positive face for the office. Every request and question is answered with jubilation and enthusiasm, while on the inside wanting to face plant into the floor.

Sure, this situation will make them stronger, developing the ability to carry on in rough and tough times, be all the better for it when they do get a job they love... bla, bla, bla, but refrain from saying so. They already know. That's what they tell themselves every single day and hearing it from an outsider (particularly a smug, chum of a fellow, who pats them on the back and says things like "Ah, everyone hates their job at some point. You'll come out swingin'!") makes them want to face plant them on the floor.

So. Best way to handle these built up anger machines are to simply lend an ear, nod, and back slowly away after 5 or 10 minutes. After all, they shouldn't be allowed too much ventilation. No need to make your day miserable as well.

I have a case of The First Official Work Day of the New Year

At the end of my last post regarding Work Withdrawal I said to "check back tomorrow for Part II". Well, in case you haven't noticed, 12 days have gone by and there is no need to continue with Part II for one big reason:

I wouldn't be able to give much advice about work withdrawal since I went off the deep end into La La Land of vacation exhilaration and became numb to all work related feelings and/or doings. Oh, and it's past the holidays.

As I sit here in the black hole of work, slowly thawing and reintroducing myself to the office environment, I'm slightly disappointed that a sunny, bright, it's-a-brand-new-year-attitude hasn't inhabited my brain. Instead, a strange and unfamiliar feeling of wrath has unleashed itself. It's possible that the teasing 80 degree weather over the weekend that dropped to a freezing 32 degrees and pouring rain on the very day I go back to work might have something to do with it. Nonetheless, I am just not feeling it today and I have a slight suspicion that many other people are not feeling it right along with me.

Go ahead and throw me in the Pessimistic Group. I'm well acquainted. In fact, that is one of my new years resolutions--stop being pessimistic. I'm off to a great start, huh? But there is always good in the bad, however, and I have found it while riding on the negativity train:

The fact that I am not feeling it on the first day back from work, after the holiday vacation, and a fresh start to a new year, tells me something....perhaps I should think about change. (Now isn't that a familiar word as of late.)

And by change, I of course mean change myself.

Oh, to dare to delve into the throes and woes of this downsizing economy. I wish myself good luck.