An update on all things hot

So you should all be proud to know that I bought a new battery and replaced the fire alarm to its place of honor on my ceiling earlier tonight.

I was talking to my mom last night and I said "I need a boyfriend to do things like this for me." But the thing is, in the last month, I've declogged a sink, replaced a battery in a fire alarm, replaced my windshield wiper blades...all things I previously would have nudged a boyfriend in my life to do (and by nudged I mean stomped my foot like a 5 year old until it happened). Granted, I did get a wicked sunburn this weekend because I was incapable of applying sunscreen successfully to my own back, but some things are just out of my control.

It's nice to know that I might want a boyfriend to do these things, but I don't need one.

But lest you think I'm really smart, I'll leave you with this...I baked a cinnamon struesel bread tonight for a breakfast party tomorrow, and upon taking it out of the 375 degree oven, I ran a knife around the outside of the bread to loosen it from the pan. I then chose to put said knife in my mouth to lick off the struesel. The 375 degree knife.

Tongue? Burned.

Self? Functionally retarded.

Blame it on the a-a-a-a-a-alcohol

Last night was...interesting. Want me to tell you about it? Don't mind if I do.

So, for once in my life, there was more than one social event going on to which I was invited. I tried to compromise by going to one for a little bit and then the other (to which I had committed first) for the rest of the time. There was a lag between the two, though, and I spent said lag sitting at the bar in Marcella's by myself drinking a vodka soda. And I really enjoyed it (not just the drink, also the experience). I am laughing right now because I don't think it's really a good sign when you "really enjoy" sitting at a bar drinking by yourself...but it was a new experience, and one I wouldn't be afraid to try again. There was something about it, sitting at the bar last night, the first really hot night in Columbus. The windows of the restaurant were open, everyone was in a good mood...it was just...alive. Granted, I think the experience may have been a little different if the bar hadn't been Marcella's and I hadn't already had a beer to chill me out (at another party, I wasn't just pounding drinks by myself).

So I had dinner with a bunch of friends which was great. The capellini al pomodoro wasn't the best thing I've had at Marcella's though, so if you go there, maybe try the carbonara because that was delish.

AFTER dinner we all decided to walk to a local bar and continue to hang out, after which we all piled back into my car (I was sober by this point, thankyouverymuch) and did a driving tour of Columbus's fast food establishments...first we tried Taco Bell, but as it was after 1 am, they were a disappointment...so we went to White Castle and waited ROUGHLY 30 FREAKING MINUTES for our food...but those chicken rings were sooooo good (sorry again, John, for eating all your chicken rings...oops). We hung out at a friend's house in the GV for a while until I started doing the going-home rounds and drove back to the Short North to drop another friend off.

Upon arriving home around 3 am (thank you, 20 min drive back to the suburbs), I discovered that my fire alarm was beeping and probably had been beeping for hours (sorry neighbors). So I set about disabling the fire alarm because I really did not feel like trying to sleep through beeps on the minute every minute for the rest of the night. I am 5'6". I climbed onto a kitchen chair and still had to stand ON MY TIPTOES and REACH for the stupid thing (you can laugh at the image, it's ok). After about 5 minutes of trying to slide the battery cleanly out of the alarm, I gave up and yanked the mother off the ceiling. I then stood on the chair, triumphant and giggling at the disembodied alarm that remained in my hand.

Until it beeped again.

I had ripped this thing off the wall. The battery was no longer in it. All the wires were left hanging from my ceiling. I had a moment where I briefly considered that it was possessed and wished I had a baseball bat or a crucifix, but since I have neither, I dismissed the idea immediately (note to self, are single woman living solo, maybe should get baseball bat. another note to self, are also Catholic, why no crucifix in entire apartment?). I then came up with the brilliant idea of taking the alarm to the living room at the point furthest from my bedroom and burying it under pillows. The little bitch was persistent, though, and continued to beep audibly from its hiding spot (it's like a baby, always selfishly wanting attention and care).

Eventually I figured out that if I pressed the "TEST" button long enough, it would lose all of the residual energy it had stored up, you know, in the event that there was a FIRE and during said fire someone climbed on their kitchen chair, ripped the sucker off the wall, and then removed its battery.

So this morning when I woke up, I laughed at two things.
1) The cords that remain from my fire alarm, hanging from the ceiling, connected to nothing
2) The fact that, in an unrelated incident, but maybe because it wanted some attention too, one of my pillows did some midnight gymnastics and managed to flip itself perfectly vertical in order to fit in the 3 inch space between my bed and my nightstand without knocking anything off the nightstand.

To both the pillow and the fire alarm (and really, to myself for my new alcoholic habits): I'm not even mad, I'm just impressed.

Happy Sunday.

Leaving on a scooter...

So I'm moving back to my old department at work. Today was my last day in my current department, and I composed this as my goodbye message to my colleagues. And I'm so proud of it I thought I would share it with you here. Click on the link and then set the replay setting to the fastest speed.


http://artpad.art.com/?kimdgi22858

Because nothing beats animal humor

I said spy, not slutty ninja

This conversation just happened out loud...there was a simultaneous IM conversation happening but that cannot be published...and this conversation is almost better completely out of context.

So Brittany e-mails me this DISGUSTING picture of a fat chick in a slutty ninja outfit (contextually, it made sense) and I burst out laughing and say,

me: "I said dressed like a SPY, not dressed like a slutty ninja"
brittany: "Hahahaha...whatever"
me: "I'll show you what I have in my head..." (type type type) "...why can't I Google Image 'roundhouse kick' and get anything good?" (i choose a picture and send it to brittany) "like that"
brittany: "no. you have a tail"
me: "and cat ears. just like in my dreams."

later, brittany comes back from the fridge with a can of Diet Coke at which I stare longingly. She cracks it open and says "Ahhhhh" right in my face. I start to type the words "I am going to get a roll of quarters and put it in my fist and punch you in the mouth" into an IM to her (don't ask why we IM as well as speaking out loud, it's a long story) but then she offers me some of her Diet Coke.

That, people, is true friendship.

I frantically deleted the IM.

Gonna get a little unruly

Notes from today:

1. I giggled today when I was on the good girl/bad girl weight machines in the gym and Christina Aguilera's "Dirrty" came on my iPod (just fyi the good girl/bad girl weight machines are the ones where you either push your knees together or push them apart). Oh, iPod. You are so topical.
2. You know you got a good workout when you take your hair elastic off your ponytail and your hair STAYS in the ponytail because you're just THAT sweaty.
3. I giggled again when I was pulling curry powder out of the spice rack tonight and I saw the dill weed.
4. The women on the Biggest Loser need better sports bras. What, they can give away $10,000 in challenges but they can't buy the ladies better sports bras? Not ok. We don't need to be seeing all that.

I mean, maybe.

I met this guy at a party this weekend (no) and we had a conversation about how he has two cars...an SUV and a coupe. Now, he was a pretty big guy. He's gotta be like...I dunno, somewhere over 6 feet tall, and king size (as opposed to fun size or party size).

So he drives the SUV when the weather is bad. This morning, I was sitting at a stoplight outside of work behind a car that fit his SUV's description (and it has been raining lately). I considered the idea that it might be him in front of me until I looked down and saw the bumper sticker that read:

"Give it a chance! Bellydance!"

Hee.

I am taking this personally

do not wear cat ear headband?

i WILL wear cat ear headband!!!!

To the one who says "Meow" isn't English.

I was talking to a friend recently and she gave me some advice that has been on my mind. She said (I'm paraphrasing here) "Ok, you want a great job, a great boyfriend, and great friends. You have two out of those three. You can have it all, but you can't decide the order in which you get them." Isn't that subtly brilliant?

So last night I was talking to another friend as I drove home from a party. He was happy drunk (as opposed to angry drunk or sad drunk...obviously happy drunk is the best kind). We talked for 40 minutes as I drove home and got ready for bed.

Being the gentleman that he is, he said that he would stay on the phone with me until I was inside my apartment to make sure that I did not encounter any murderers or rapists. I asked what he intended to do if he heard me encounter a murderer or rapist. He said he would drive out to save me, but I pointed out that he was wasted (in addition to being 20 minutes away). He said he would explain to the police that he HAD to drive to beat up the murderers and rapists. Brilliant logic, I tell you.

Anyway, we were on the phone for a while, and I remember saying to myself, "if I have to give up the great boyfriend to have great friends like this, I am okay with that. I will take this deal."

Sometimes all you have to do to feel better about the things you don't have is take a look at the things you do have.

One of my favorite pictures of myself and this particular gentleman:

I'm young HO, rap's Grateful Dead

I feel like it is rarely aknowledged that Jay-Z is one of the best lyricists of all time. I would like to aknowledge that right now.

(aknowledged)

On to the real reason for this post...I feel the need to share a quote that I think defines me:

"You don't have poker face. You have like, miniature golf face."

-Elizabeth Gilbert, Eat, Pray, Love

I tend to feel things intensely, and my general feelings/opinions are normally written all over my face. There's nothing I can do about it. I react quickly and have a hard time filtering the expressions that flash themselves across my features. My apologies to anyone who has been offended by my facial expressions in the past, but really, isn't it refreshing to know for sure what someone thinks about you and your ideas? I am happy to perform that service for you.

Speaking of feeling things intensely, please take a moment to enjoy the newly updated trailer for HP6, released yesterday. Potential side effects include permanent goosebumps and an intense desire to weep. Also, if you're me or my friend Meghan, the inability to stop yourself from writing HARRY POTTER 6 MOVIE in your calendar for July 15th (because yes, the release was moved up to the Wednesday of that week, and yes, I am a huge nerd):

Words I wish I used more often - vol. 1

I often come across certain words or phrases and think to myself "must use that word/phrase in conversation more often, will certainly make other people think I am cool."

Some of those words/phrases are:

1. Well played.
2. Wack (only because I wouldn't be able to help but giggle immediately after saying this because - let's be honest - anyone who says it seriously is kind of a douchebag)
3. Easy, Drama. (also because my brother has a guinea pig named Johnny Drama and there is very little in life I want more than for my older brother to think I'm cool)
4. You're killin' me, Smalls.

I will add to this list as more phrases come to mind but I just thought I'd get it started while I was feeling inspired.

Also, while I doubt I will ever say this myself (aside from repeating this exact quote), I feel the need to share the brilliance of a friend of a friend - I think his name was Alex - as I designated-drove him home one night -- "That girl was all up in my grill like charcoal."

Well played, Alex. Well played.

Love, thy name is Diet Coke

I think you all know how I feel about Diet Coke. DC. Coke Light. Whatever you want to call it (and yes, I know Coke Light and Diet Coke are two separate entities, but I like them both). I love it. I drink it daily. Sometimes more than once daily. I go out of my way to get it from the fountain if possible. The rankings in my head are as such:

1) Fountain Diet Coke
a) with a shot of root beer and many lemons (preferably from TIA on the Corner or from L7)
b) with a shot of dr pepper
c) with a shot of cherry coke
d) plain with many lemons

2) Canned Diet Coke

3) Bottled Diet Coke (individual or 2L bottle)


Now, this list becomes much more extensive when you add in all the other options - such as Coke Zero and Cherry Coke Zero and all the different bottle/can/fountain permutations included therein. But for now, just the basic list. I encourage all my fellow DC aficionados out there to include their lists in the comments (I'm talking to you, Molly V, Molly H, Austin, Noodle). Another option out there is the Coke Slurpee (Lizzybee).


My friend Paul knows of my love for the DC and tells me that Coke consumed in Disney World is unlike any other Coke in the world. Now, I have been to the World of Coke in ATL (with Lizzybee and Noodle...here we are with the bear), and I have tasted the straight-from-the-source Diet Coke and Coke Zero they have there...so I hope this Disney World DC rises to the challenge...because yes I am campaigning for a trip there with friends solely for the purpose of tasting this DC.


So anyway, while I don't necessarily NEED a reason to wax philosophical on my love for the greatness which is DC, I do have a reason today.


My friend Brittany came into work around lunchtime today and as she rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, my eyes went to her hands where she held two extra large fountain Diet Cokes. As she walked towards me, she extended her hand and said the most beautiful words in the world "This is for you. There's some Dr Pepper in there for ya."


I don't think anyone has ever done anything more romantic for me in my life. I told her that if things didn't work out between her and her husband, she should keep me in mind. Future Husband, take note. If you have bad news for me or want to ask for something - come prepared with Diet Coke in hand.

well it goes like this the fourth, the fifth

A few random things today:

1. I've had a cold for about a week. I tried really really hard to lose my voice this weekend to no avail. Now I just sound like I've been smoking since 10 years before I was conceived. Every time I laughed today I wheezed and then started coughing. It was really hot. Anyway, I talked to my mom and the conversation went like this: Mom "Do you have any cough medicine?" Me "Yes." Mom "...are you TAKING the cough medicine?" Me "Ummm...(cough)" She knows me too well.
2. I am HUGELY proud of myself because this weekend, I went to the store, bought replacement windshield wiper blades for my car, and installed them myself! I just did a little wiggle dance because I am still really proud. Please note that it rained today in Columbus and I am partially convinced that Jesus made it rain to show me what a good job I did with the wiper blades.
3. Every time I hear the song Hallelujah it never fails to move me. No matter who's singing it - although my favorites are (in order) Jeff Buckley, Kate Voegele, and Rufus Wainwright. A sampling of the lyrics:

"baby i've been here before, i've seen this room and i've walked this floor, i used to live alone before i knew you. i've seen your flag on the marble arch, but love is not a victory march, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah

well, maybe there's a god above, but all i've ever learned from love, was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you. it's not a cry that you hear at night, it's not somebody who's seen the light, it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah "

I pop collars because champagne gives me headaches

Someday, when my career takes off as the first multi-platinum white female super preppy rapper, that will be my golden lyric. I pop collars because champagne gives me headaches. I thought of that today and I will henceforth attempt to insert it into conversation whenever possible.

Today marked the first ever Easter I was without my family. I went to mass with John in German Village and we met friends for brunch at Lindey's. It was a beautiful day. After brunch John and I walked through Schiller Park in our finery (we were prepped out, it felt like home...I am still wearing my pearls) and blew bubbles (you know, like, soap bubbles) at doggies. They did not give chase, which was a little disappointing. John received bubbles in his gift from the Easter bunny (aka me because I was sad we were both without our families and felt we could each do with a little boost...and bubbles tend to work in those situations).

I met a 3 month old dachshund with a punk spike collar on. It made my day. That and the baby at Lindey's dressed as a pink bunny. Because really, what beats babies dressed as animals? Very little.

Here's to having good friends with whom to make new traditions, and to having old traditions good enough to miss them.

UPS trucks and wombats. Separated at birth?

I like that boom boom pow

This morning as I was driving to work, these things happened:

1. I have some road rage issues. Trying to curb those.
2. I was driving down a suburban road and there was a squirrel on the side of the road, waiting for a pause in traffic so he could cross to the other side. There was a spot between the car approaching me and myself and he went for it. He cleared the road with time to spare. I cheered for him (out loud, in my car, alone).
3. A few seconds later, I noticed two geese on the left side of the road, watching the traffic. I passed them and then stopped at a red light and observed them in my rear-view mirror. One of the geese stepped tentatively out into the road and began to cross. He made it halfway across the street before a car came along and he though it best to reconsider. At this point, I was sitting in my car, watching the goose waver on the median, and I was yelling "YOU CAN FLY. FLY! USE YOUR WINGS. USE. YOUR. WINNNNNGS!" The goose apparently did not think flight was in order. The considerate minivan stopped in the middle of the road. The goose stretched his neck out towards the minivan and considered it as he walked safely by. At no point did he flap his wings. Not even a little "Oh, maybe I should consider taking flight" ruffle of his feathers.
4. You should really go to www.failblog.org if you need a good laugh. The videos are out of control. I strongly recommend the jumping jack video.
5. I have a tiny, tiny football next to my computer. Every so often, I pick up the tiny, tiny football and pretend that I'm a giant.

Hee!

I want one!

Then we got artistic

Ok, so now the system has "gone live" (which is why I was here until after midnight last night/technically today) and we are spending all our time answering phone calls/troubleshooting for users. It's actually quite fun to be troubleshooting with people. The only lame part is that I'm wearing a headset right now, a la drive thru operator at McDonalds. I tried to avoid it all day, but the wedging the phone between my head and my shoulder + trying to write down the user's problem + my hair being ultrafine and therefore very slippery = awkwardness.

So, headset for me.

Anyway, wanted to give you an update on the butter situation. I received this drawing from Gary today:

just in case you can't read it, gary is saying "oh, what did i do to deserve this? i am such a nice person and whatnot" and i am saying "I completely understand that Karma dictated the covering of my head with non-dairy butter. I am mean. And I use. Too many. Periods." (i hate you gary)

I responded with this gem:

I am covered in blood on the left. My tablemates (wearing their headsets) say "Where have you been?" I say "Murdering Gary." They say "Who?" and I say "Exactly."

Gary responded with another picture that is not fit for public viewing.

Infantile.

I just got buttered.

Like a roll.

I have been at work - on a Sunday - for 12 hours and 17 minutes at this point.

Things have gotten a little crazy. All day, Gary was throwing small objects at me. Wet wipes. Pieces of gum. Small pieces of paper. A tiny, tiny football (that was my favorite). The last thing was butter.

I turned and said "Did you just throw BUTTER at me? Who throws packets of butter?"

I later turned and threw the same packet of butter back at him. It may have hit him in the eye (I have poor aim).

He was outraged.

I was apologetic.

He buttered me as he left. He held the packet of butter in his hand until it was time for him to leave. He then. Smeared. The butter.

On my forehead.

In my hair.

And down my back.


I chased him out of the building. I was unsuccessful. I am plotting.

a quote from The Amateurs by David Halberstam

I've read The Amateurs a few times and I recommend it to any rower or anyone even remotely interested in rowing or in the Olympics...but after yesterday's post about rowing I felt the need to share this quote that I think "gets it":

''Those who competed did so with a demonic passion. Yet there was no overt financial reward at the end, nor indeed was there even any covert financial reward, a brokerage house wanting and giving special privilege to the famed amateur. Yet the athletes were almost always the children of the upper middle class, privileged, affluent. One could understand the son of a ghetto family playing in the schoolyard for six hours a day hoping that basketball was a ticket out of the slum. It was harder to understand the son of Beacon Hill spending so much time and subjecting himself to so much pain to attain an honor that no one even understood. Perhaps in our society the true madness in the search for excellence is left for the amateur."

An evolution of sorts.

I have always been something of an egomaniac when it comes to writing, so in high school, when my first three attempts at college essays were flat out rejected by my AP English teacher (I believe her words were something along the lines of "I'm not even going to comment on these. Try again."), I grew to be a little angry. My first attempt wasn't memorable - I couldn't tell you now what it was about.

My second, rather ironically, was about second chances. My mother had cancer the summer before my senior year in high school, but we were unbelievably, almost embarrassingly

 fortunate, and she's fine now. My best friend's mother died on September 18th, 2001 from cancer. The essay was about coming to grips, for the first time, with what appeared to be the supreme and unforgiving randomness of Life (yes, with a capital L). The idea that it didn't matter why things happened - only that they had, and you had no choice but to fall on your knees and thank God before moving on in your altered Life. It wasn't good enough. 

The third was about a consignment shop I had been working in since I was...I don't know, 12 maybe? I volunteered there sometimes on weekends but mostly during the week in the summer. There is one experience that I remember more clearly than any other I had there, and that is what my essay was about. One day this lady came into the shop wearing a sweatsuit that was stained and clearly in need of replacement - holes, tattered hems, etc. She came straight to

 the jewelry counter and tried on a bracelet made of silver and pearls. The money that she used to buy the bracelet could have bought any number of outfits in that store to replace the one she was wearing - but it wasn't what she wanted. The essay was about the idea that desire, while sometimes seemingly irrational to those standing on the outside, always makes perfect sense to those of us in its grip. 

And finally - the fourth. I was so angry by this point in time that I decided to give up on trying to write something moving and meaningful, and I just laid it out there. I can't even tell you how angry the tone of the essay was -but in the end I think that's what made it work.

It was about rowing. By this point in time, I had been rowing for 3 years and was approaching

 my 4th season of high school rowing. I wrote about why I rowed - which may seem pedestrian - but is one of the most passionate things I think I've ever written. I wrote about how I hated getting up at 5 o'clock in the morning. I hated wiping out on the ice-covered docks at the beginning of spring. I hated having a tiny, type-A, obsessive compulsive little bitch (that isn't confined to one person, but rather to coxswains in general) scream in my face as I exhausted my body while they sat - SAT -  in front of me covered in fleece jackets. 

And then, I wrote about how it was all worth it. It was worth it to watch the sun rise over the monuments every morning from the Potomac. It was worth it for the first 10 seconds of every race. 

I will never be able to adequately explain this to someone who has never rowed, but that feeling is like nothing else. Your body is tensed up like a coil, gripping your oar, waiting to release everything you've got. The starter's impassive voice over the loudspeaker says "All ready. 3. 2. 1. Row." What no one else can hear is the coxswains in each of the boats whispering fervently into their mics "set this boat. set the goddamn boat. if you do not set this boat before we start you are going to lose this race. SET. IT. UP." (setting the boat is the idea of making the boat even so that you're not leaning to either port or starboard...it's surprisingly, excruciatingly hard). So the starter says row - and your entire world explodes. 

Typically there are 6 boats in a sprint race, lined up one next to the other. If you are one of the better boats in the race, you're in the middle...meaning that you fully experience the start, because in front of you and behind you in your OWN boat, people are moving as fast as they can, driving all the power from their legs into the water, kicking the boat along. Next to you on either side are boats in which 9 more people are doing the exact same thing you are. The water is splashing, the oars are clicking simultaneously in their oarlocks (oh, God, that sound, when all the oars clicked together, it was...exalted), and I promise you, there is nothing else in the world aside from that moment. Nothing else exists. You are - for those few moments, those first ten seconds

 - capable of anything. 

If I didn't do an adequate job of explaining it above, I'll just tell you this - racing is what makes all the early morning practices, all the effing roadtrips, all the weekends apart from your friends, all the PAIN - worth it. Wholly and fully. So it must be pretty good, right? 

I haven't raced in 6 years and I remember those feelings the same as if I raced yesterday. 

I've been thinking about rowing a lot lately because I'm trying to get those feelings back - trying to commit myself to something in the same way - and having a bit of trouble. I'm trying to run. The problem with running, though, is that you don't have 8 other people running around you at the same time, along with whom you have to match your pace and power exactly. You don't have that self-obsessed little hellion screaming in your face that if you do not keep running she will kill you. I have my internal coxswain now - who doesn't, really, in all aspects of their life - but it's not quite the same. I'm trying, though. For what it's worth. 

Putting this on the blog feels a little bit like cutting out a piece of my heart, cupping it in my

 palms, and offering it to you silently. I look at pictures from those days and I grieve. I think it's the same way with runners and swimmers as it is with rowers - it doesn't matter that I haven't raced in 6 years. I will always be a rower. 

For your viewing pleasure...this picture was taken during a head race in Charlottesville the fall of my first year at UVA (a head race is much longer than a sprint race...endurance rather than speed). I was bow at that point (the very last person in the boat, or the first person to cross the

 finish line):

This winter some things came up in conversation with my friends Paul and John that - for lack of a better term - blew their minds. They weren't things about me that I hid from them in any particular fashion, I guess they had just never come up before...until this summer. One was that I love horror movies (we were talking about the Saw series in particular). Another was that I love rap music. I would say most of the time when I'm listening to music, it's rap, or hip hop, or some other form of nauseating pop music. Don't get me wrong, the transcendent musical moments of my life (you know what I'm talking about) are all to quality music - DMB, KoL, Incubus, blah blah the list goes on, but generally, I listen to rap. And I think I just figured out why. 

Rap is like rowing in a musical form. It has the driving beat, the power, and the anger. It allows you, for a few moments, to become something you might not always be. Which is why I listen to rap music at this point in my life when I'm trying to become something I have never really been - a runner. 

I almost choked on my water.

go to http://www.mom4life.com/ and just look at some of the insane products they offer there.

The end.

Whenever I breathe on a track, I asthma attack it

Really, who doesn't love it when I title my posts with rap lyrics? Just some randomness today.

1. This morning as I walked from my car to my building, I narrated the walk as if I were involved in a stockcar race. Like, some guy was walking behind me and passed me on my right and in my head I was like "Ahhh, guy in blue sweatshirt makes a move on the outside!" Yeah. That happened.


2. There are no words for this. Really, no words that I come up with could possibly make it any better. The only thing that could possibly make the picture better would be if the baby were wearing an animal costume inside the...pouch? What the hell do you even call that thing? I mean, honestly, that baby has got to be like "Wait, I just got OUT of something like this...do I have to squeeze through that hole again?" (sorry everyone who was just offended, but I couldn't NOT say it) It looks kind of happy about it though.
3. Sorry I really can't follow that up with anything, so I'm out.