Not Very Bad Company At All....

....if you could see past the tshirts that said lovely sentiments about "Save Southern Rock" and "Sexas Tucks." I swear, there were hundreds of be-tank-topped, braless, saggy bosoms laying on blubber bellies. Gross, just gross. And those were the men! Don't even get me started about the women. Oy. There must have been a huge ugly stick that hit many of those people! Seriously.

Yesterday, I headed north on 75 for the 95 mile drive to big, beautiful Durant, Oklahoma. And by big and beautiful, I mean small and dusty. But the stars were shining on the Choctaw Casino and Coliseum when legendary rock and roll bluesman, Paul Rodgers of Bad Company fame took the stage.

My friend S was to go with me, in fact the whole trip was her idea initially, but she had an unfortunate foot incident and bailed. But you know me, not much can deter CruiserMel from her concerts, even travel ghoulies! So, off I went.

I skidded into town with hardly a minute to spare before the show began and I didn't have a ticket! As I suspected, casino shows hold back the really good seats for their high rollers and release them to meager low rollers (or in my case, paying customers) as the show nears. BINGO! 6th row. I so rawk.

He came out on the stage in tight jeans and a muscle shirt. No he's not 30 or 40, he's quite definitely over 60. And it hardly shows a bit. This guy was smooth and sexy as hell with a voice like buttah. And he didn't have man-boobs. Take that, Durant.

Much to the chagrin of Sassy Blondie and Lindystars, try as I might, I couldn't get "Rock n Roll Hor" or "Dirty Bitch" embroidered on my panties in time to throw at Paul's feet, so I elected to blind him with my flashing boobs, (and by boobs, I mean camera), until I got wise and turned the flash off which produced way better photos. Sorry 'bout burning your retinas, dude, but I was excited and went all stoopid with my Canon.

At one point, he asked everyone to "come on down" towards the stage and my feet grew wings as I jumped over several seats and I was in wall to wall male and female boobs. I wriggled my way to the front and soon found myself with my own boobs crushed against the stage. (Would you expect any less of me?) Everyone was trying to touch Paul and though I like to be different, I joined the bandwagon and held my hand up. Soon I felt his hand high-five mine. It was just like his voice, buttah.

Before I knew it, he was at the end of his nearly 2 hour show (3 encores, btw), and I was headed out the door to make the drive back to Dallas. Did I mention this was an Indian reservation? Run by Indians? Indians who like to play tricks on innocent palefaces? There was one, count 'em ONE exit out of the parking lot. There was a Tonto at every turn of the parking lot, directing myself and 1000 others around in what amounted to something like the hedge maze in "The Shining". (And I thought getting out of the John Mayer concert last week was awful!) Our cars looked like they were playing ring around the rosey with all the going around in circles. I was so disoriented and felt like they were either going to force me to permanently become a resident of "the Nation" or were leading me down a path which might lead me to Nebraska, so I leaned out the window to one of the Tontos and said "I need to get to 75 South." To which, he flashed his four remaining teeth at me and tossed his head back in laughter as he waved me once again back into the maze. Dick.

Anyhow, I finally found my way to the highway and headed home. Another night, another concert. And it was so worth it, Rock n Roll Hor panties or not. But I'll be working on that matter for the next concert. Heh.

I Wanted To Be Like The Other Kids

.........so I just had to see what my blog is rated.




Apparently I've used the words "hell" (6 x), "ass" (2x), and whore (1x).

Shit. Fuckity fuck.

That's all?

Can't Get Enough......

Ya know how CruiserMel can't get enough R & R? That's rock and roll, not rest and relaxation.

God, that sounds so cliche'.

My pal S and I are going to ignore the rules of adulthood and drive 95 miles after work Thursday to see the one and only Paul Rodgers. You ones over 30 know who I'm talking about.

He came to prominence with Free, Bad Company, The Firm and most recently with Queen.

And he's actually quite hot, for an older guy.

I'm just going as wingwoman for S. To keep her off the stage. After all, she kept me off the stage at John Mayer, who she is responsible for introducing me to. It's the least I can do for a friend.

Sleeping With "Tug"

Thanks, Tug for tagging me today. It's a slow news day anyhow.

6 Weird things I do while getting ready to sleep or while sleeping:

1. I am picky about my pillow. Sometimes I feel like Goldilocks, because most pillows are never "just right." So you'd think I'd be one of those folks who travels with a pillow, sort of like a teddy bear. Funny thing is, I'm not. And I think those people who do travel with their Sponge Bob Squarepants or Dora the Explorer pillows need to get a life. Quit taking up space in the overhead compartment already!

2. I can't sleep nekkid. I'm afraid there will be a fire and I will be so out of it that I'll run out to the street in my birthday suit. My neighbors don't deserve that. Neither do the firemen.

3. I have to set out my skin care, make-up and magnifying mirror for the next day or else I can't sleep. If I wait until the next morning, I'm too groggy to remember the steps of my morning toilette. (Does eye shadow come before or after moisturizer?)

4. One of my favorite things in the world is waking up to see that I've got 2 more hours to sleep.

5. My favorite dirty dream I ever had was about John Taylor in Duran Duran. There was a shower curtain involved. It also oddly mirrored the shower scene in "Psycho." Did you notice I said this was my favorite dirty dream? And I wonder why I could benefit from therapy.....

6. I apparently eat in my sleep. Or maybe I'm having sex. No one has yet to produce a recording of the sounds I make, but more than one person has told me I make yummy sounds. They're just jealous that they're not doing something so that they can make yummy sounds, I'm sure.

I'm supposed to tag some folks - but not all of my readers follow directions or play well with others. So, if you want to tag yourself, have at it. But let me know so I can come snoop into what you do at bedtime.

That's A Good Little Marketer

Four-Time Nascar Champion Jeff Gordon reproduced last week with his wife, Ingrid. The little girl will continue the dynasty in her 2027 Chevrolet at Daytona.

Dear J-May, ...This Time Friday Night.... Love, CM

Just a few more hours......and I'll be seeing this.



Yum.

To Spam Or Not To Spam, That Is The Question

Here is something you may not know about me. When I gradumacated from college (yeah, I actually did gradumacate!), I was given a diploma that said I now had a Bachelor of Arts degree in Theatrical Arts. Not bad for a girl who wanted to major in marine biology but got her first (and only) "D" in her first biology class. Hey, if they wanted me to actually learn something that first semester, they should've scheduled that class some time after 10:00 in the A.

So I punted that whole Jacques Cousteau idea and headed for the play auditions. And I was perdy dang good. I don't want to brag here, oh wait yes I do, but I had a leading role in each and every play for my entire 4 years at school. Okay, except two. Those two I directed. Heh.

After college, I did actually try to make a go of acting professionally for a little while, but I found out that a.) I like food. b.) I like a roof over my head. c.) Did you know there are gay guys in the theatre? Dammit if I didn't figure that out eventually.

So, I tossed aside any aspirations of fame & fortune for a 9:00 to 5:00 career and season tickets to a few area theatres, where I could escape the ordinary for a few brief hours a month. Luckily, Dallas and neighboring Fort Worth play host to some of the better traveling Broadway shows.

Earlier this week I took my dramatic butt to the Dallas Summer Musicals to see "Spamalot." Unless you've been under a rock, "Spamalot" is the musical version of "Monty Python and The Holy Grail."

I was dubious and skeptical. How could they pull off one of the greatest comedic stories ever told? I knew that "Spamalot" had won the Tony award in '05 for Best Musical, so I went with an open mind.

Can I just say...... HYS. TER. I. CAL.

It's got it all. The "not dead yet" guy. The Trojan rabbit. Eric Idle as God. Throw in some coconuts, a few Jews, tongue-in-cheek "Phantom of the Opera" jokes, the black knight who gets "only a flesh wound," and the Grail, and it makes for one hilarious evening's entertainment.

So if you live in a place that "Spamalot" is visiting, go. Even you guys who don't like plays or musicals. Hey, it might even earn you a few points with the missus.

Now go buy your tickets! Runaway!!!!!!!!

No, you come on!

I cannot seem to get over this commercial. I had a Pom (Micky) and if he'd had a human voice, I'm sure this would've been the one. Yay, Dolce!

Panic Mode

I looked at the clock and it said 7:54. Through the slats of my blinds, I could see the sky was overcast, as it has been several mornings in a row. I rolled over, gave CruiserDog a little snuggle, smiled and said to myself....."I love Sundays like this."

Then my eyes flew open and a sense of panic took over and made my skin crawl. I'd said that exact sentence yesterday.

Yes-ter-day.

Uh huh - that's how I began today.

Somehow I got myself into high gear, got ready for work, took CruiserDog outside for a pee and made it to work only 15 minutes late.

Why can't I move like that everyday? I mean, I could really get into sleeping until 8:00 everyday.

Wacky Wednesday

I'm not sure if it's lack of sleep, a hangover, or if the stars are aligned in such a way to just make me crack up everytime I turn around today.

This morning, I received this joke from KP's father's email, who usually tries to shock me by sending pictures of semi- or totally nekkid, ginormously well-enhanced women. But this time he sent a run-of-the-mill joke to my email and it made the Diet Pepsi switch directions in the back of my throat and come out of my nose with laughter. Here it is:

Just wanted you to know that I had a car crash today, no-one was hurt, but I ran into the back of a guys car. I felt even worse when the guy got out - he was a dwarf!!! As he surveyed the damage to his car he was getting quite heated up and emotional. Eventually he came over to me and said in a loud voice "I AM NOT HAPPY" "Which one are you then?" said I. It didn't seem to help.

If that isn't funny enough, get a load of what happened later on as people found that I had forwarded said joke to their inboxes. I got mucho replies saying "Funniest joke in ages!" and "I just cried laughing." Apparently the joke was a hit. (I pride myself on not forwarding jokes that don't literally make me laugh; I'm considerate that way. You're welcome, my email friends.)

Then after lunch, my boss who is traveling today, sends a quick response: "Damn, I hate to hear about that. Glad u r okay." WTF?

He either was having another one of his days where it was a good thing he was out of the office or he has completely lost all sense of humor. I emailed back "you do realize that was a joke, don't you?" In a short time, my phone rang. It was da boss. I could hear his embarrassment over the phone! He had apparently only read the first line of the joke. I certainly hope he pays better attention to his wife! A little while later, I heard from a person he had seen earlier in the day. "Are you okay?" The laughter continued on my part.

It was like I had posed my own experiment or something. Maybe like that game we played as kids where you whisper something in your friend's ear and they pass it along and so on and so on, until the last person ends up with a totally different message. I'm sure there was something psychological-ly there.

Oh - and speaking of psychological......(first, let me state that the following story is of a very personal nature, so co-workers of mine who happen to read my blog, please don't embarrass me by throwing this out willy-nilly at the next company party, k?)......

Last night, Boy Toy J (I so want to call him BTJ, but that just sounds like a serial killer in the midwest) came over after work for a very late dinner and to once again kiss-up to CruiserMel. (heh, it's still working) We hit a bottle of wine pretty hard, cheered at how hard Cleveland was trying to win the game, laughed a ridiculous amount to old "Will and Grace" episodes and eventually ended up, um....how you say?....enjoying eachother's company around 2:00 in the A. All was going swimmingly (I love that word) until I must've done something magnificent because the following exchange occurred:

Boy Toy J: God, that's hot.

CruiserMel: *snort*

Boy Toy J: What did I say? What's so funny?

CruiserMel: Sorry, I was just thinking of Paris Hilton.

Boy Toy J: Gee, I didn't know you were into girls.

Needless to say, the mood was lost for a few as we had to compose ourselves.

And that's the way the day has gone. So far. And there are still 6 1/2 hours to go. Woooo Hoooo, Wacky Wednesday!!!!!

Tagged by Golightly

...and that's a good thing, too, because I was having trouble once again coming up with anything interesting to blog about.



But first let me say to the Cleveland Cavaliers:



GET WITH THE PROGRAM FELLAS. YOU DON'T HAVE TO WIN (OKAY, MAYBE YOU DO - ONCE, PLEASE), BUT CAN WE PULEEEZE GET A SENSE OF COMPETITION GOING HERE?



Okay, I'm better now. On to the meme that Golightly tagged me with. (Oh boy, I hope none of you are grammer teachers out there, because that sentence sucked.)



Here's the dealio: Each player starts with 7 random facts / habits about themselves. People who are tagged need to write their own blog with their 7 things as well as these rules. You need to tag 7 others and list their names on your blog. Remember to leave a comment for them letting them know they have been tagged and to read your blog.



My 7s.....



1. I have so many pairs of black shoes, they won't fit into the shoe thingy in my closet, so they just pile up in a corner of my bedroom. The funny thing is....I actually wear about 3 or 4 pairs over and over again, yet I find myself always looking for the next black pair to buy.



2. Remember white jeans on guys? I loved those so much. I wish they'd come back into fashion.



3. I don't like doing shots. I think they are waste of good liquor.



4. The outside of my house was painted last week. I heart it so much. I have to walk outside several times a day to just look at the house. From the street. Yeah, my neighbors think I'm that crazy cat lady on the block. And I don't have a cat.



5. I have to go to the State Fair of Texas twice during it's 3 week run in the fall. Once to see the exhibits, do some rides, go to the petting zoo, watch the sheephearding dogs and the pig races. The other time I go is for a feeding frenzy, usually with my friend, L. My personal favorites are the Fletcher's corny dogs, the funnel cakes (at a particular food pavillion only), the homemade diet root beer, and the chalupas at Jack's Mexican Food kiosk. Then I top that all off with another corny dog. I can hardly wait until September rolls around again. Gluttony isn't pretty, but it's fun.



6. My friends E & CJ went to see David Cassidy this past weekend in Atlantic City. (Might I add, CJ wins the award for best husband ever?) Knowing they were seeing my first love and I wasn't, just about killed me. I had a dirty dream about him Sunday night. (No, not CJ.) The dream was about the sexy 21 year old David Cassidy, not the mid-50's David Cassidy. But either one would do.



7. I have a love/hate relationship with catalogs. I don't really like shopping malls, especially if I need a particular item, so I rely on catalog and internet shopping quite a bit. As a result, the catalogs that litter my mailbox can be mountainous. I hate that. But I can't live without them, either. How would I buy more black shoes?



Okay - I'm tagging: Dezdemona, Sassy Blondie, Just Tug, Lindy, KP (because she really really needs to do a blog entry for God's sake), Circe, Sassy One.

Boogity Boogity Boogity!

It's here! The NBA Finals begin tonight.

San Antonio has a dog in the hunt. So does Cleveland. Dallas, alas, does not.

But I'm not bitter. I'm just torn.

Spurs or Cavs? Which will it be?

The Spurs could be adding another championship to their dynasty.

The Cavs could make franchise history.

As long as it's great basketball, it's a win-win situation for CruiserMel.

The only sad part: can I wait another season to hopefully see my Mavericks in the finals?

Testing 1-2-3

My oh my, has it been that long since I blogged? I know some time ago, I promised to blog at least a couple of times a week and here I am, barely coming in under the wire. I shouldn't be able to call myself a blogger. *hanging my head in shame*

First off: in case you guys haven't checked the comments from my previous posting, I've got something to say.

You people rawk. Hard. I appreciated each and every comment you guys (and girls) left for me. I've taken every remark under my consideration - and believe me, I've been considering. Hard. For a whole week. I know many of you think I should jettison J yesterday, but as my friend K says: if we didn't give people second chances, we'd all be very lonely.

One thing you should know about CruiserMel....I believe in second chances. (Hell, in the past, I've believed in 102nd chances...but I'd like to say I've grown since then and I plan on stopping at single-digit chances from now on.) That being said, Boy Toy J still has his tail firmly wrapped under his very cute ass and sometimes it's difficult not to crack a smile at how hard he's trying to get back in my good graces.

We spent a good part of the weekend together in all sorts of situations. And I was watching.

Friday we ran boring errands and then I got to meet his son. Believe you me, if I was a little younger, oh say.... 9 years old, that boy would be mine. Mine, I tell you! He was adorable and I loved watching the interaction between father and son. A girl can learn a lot from watching that. We did the single-daddy thing - dinner and a trip to WalMart to buy something for little BT, Jr. I was just along for the ride (okay, the buffalo wings, ya got me) but we had a fun time. I accused Boy Toy J (the elder) of using this precious child to work his way into my heart , but he didn't get my humor. Evs.

The next day, we had planned on going to see a couple of bands at a bar. A perfect opportunity to test his promises.

The club had two tribute bands performing that night. (I'm sort of new to this tribute band stuff...but it's basically a copy band that does only music by a certain artist.....and sometimes in full regalia. It sounds cornier than it is.)

I was excited about the first band, a Journey band. We sang, we danced and had a ball. There is something to be said for slow-dancing to a Journey ballad.

Boy Toy J was more excited about the second band, an Iron Maiden band. Iron Maiden. I'm embarrassed to say I was even there. And I didn't know a single song they played. I suppose they were good, but I lost the hearing in my ear the moment they hit the stage.

I stepped back and kept my eye on J. He was in his element and had some cocktails under his belt. If he was going to F up, this would be the night. Admittedly, I expected a shout-fest afterwards, with me doing the shouting. But it didn't happen. J was attentive and caring and when he noticed I was grimacing from the ear pain, he offered to go towards the back of the club just to be with me. Happily, I sent him up to the front - mostly so I could test him. Was that mean? I wasn't trying to set him up, but I figured "why the hell not?" and the payoff was a pleasant surprise. He was thrilled that I'd let him be a kid for a while or so, but as soon as it was over, he was right by my side being a gentleman.

Success.

So far, at least.

So - Boy Toy J is still in the picture. But he knows he needs to walk the walk for CruiserMel and his feet are on thin ice.

I wonder how long I can get away with this?

Weekend Update On The CruiserMel Broadcasting Network

Hiya people, I trust we all had a nice extra day off yesterday to honor our Veterans who have given so much, sometimes their lives, for us. My neighborhood hosts a nice parade and ceremony and follows up with a really fun block party. By my count, there were probably close to 200 folks, young and old, who came to one or all of the activities. All this under threat of imminent rain storms. But when all was said & done, everyone was dry, except for CruiserMel, who was covered in strawberry snow cone syrup. I am now the Snow cone Queen aka SuperHero to the Kiddies!

Alas, there is a Boy Toy J story to be told. It's not exactly romance and roses, either. I guess it had to happen, but so soon? Then again, J doesn't do things in moderation....he's pedal to the metal most of the time. We've discussed that in this here blog already.

Sooooo - I invited him to join me and some coworkers for happy hour Friday and he shows up with a bag? A BAG? No subtlety there. Aw, what the hell, he may as well have clean clothes since I was probably going to invite him to stay anyway, so I rolled with it. That night was fun - we had someone there who we used to work with and had fun catching up on her life. My first words to her were "Wow, you look like an American Idol," and come to find out - she's now singing! In public. Yikes, maybe I'm a little psychic. I mean, I never knew she sang. Pretty cool.

Then Saturday was a nice day of just running errands and hanging out with J. It was nice. Nothing special. Nothing un-special.

The Sunday of Memorial Day weekend is my favorite day in motor sports. I mean it's like my Super Bowl or Final Four. I plan this day. First, there's the Indy 500 and then Nascar's longest race of the year, the Coca Cola 600. It's 1100 miles of left turns, baby. And I pride myself on usually watching as many of those 1100 as possible. Until I can't stand up without getting dizzy.

I thought J knew this. I'm certain I covered this in our interview, um first date. And he played along nicely for the Indy race. But then he decided beer was his drink of choice, being a sporting event and all. So he picked off at least 7 or 8 of MY beers (okay, I don't drink beer, but I was the one who bought it!). By about lap 50 of the Nascar race, J was pretty buzzy and not as interested in the roar of the engines as he was earlier in the day. (I, on the other hand, had sat through hours and hours of Spanish soccer the day before and didn't complain even once, though I really wanted to do so.) He thought this was "ridiculous" and was stunned when I wasn't interested in going out or *gasp* changing the channel. So he left.

I admit I was pretty perturbed and miserable for awhile, but in the grand scheme of things, I got to watch my race in peace. So, it was a win for both of us, right?

Um, yeah. I hit the bed around midnight, only to be awakened at 3:14 by the phone. J was drunk and lost, but clearly closer to my house than his own. I gave him directions. (stupid? crazy? sucker? I'm not sure yet.)

He showed up 1/2 hour later, very drunk, and with a friend I'd never heard of or seen before. Excuse me?! The friend looked like someone you'd find on a bench, passed out at the bus station. I kid you not. There would be no further sleep for CruiserMel that night/morning, fo sho. I mean I've got some nice things in my house and I kinda like to keep them!

I'm standing there in my robe and slippers, just dumbfounded. Then J starts doling out MY beer and MY Weller. And I lost it. Totally lost it. And one thing you need to know is CruiserMel RARELY IF EVER loses it. And it was like J thought this little bitchfest was a game, egging me on. And you know once that dam is broken, it's balls to the walls, folks. I am a redhead after all.

I hated the person I became at 4:00 am Monday morning. I still hate that person, but I do feel a bit justified. Am I wrong?

The friend got a ride home finally, but it wasn't over. At 6:30 I had to start showering and dressing to help set up for the neighborhood party, right? OH HELL NO, J wasn't having any of that. But he was still helping himself to whatever booze he could find in the casa.

I was able to swipe his keys and hide the liquor without him seeing. When I left for the events, I told him to sleep it off and I'd be home in a few hours. It may have seemed like I was holding him captive, but honestly, he would've been calling from jail if I didn't do something drastic.

Fast forward until 3:00 in the afternoon - I came home and he was indeed sleeping it off. When he got up, he had the hangover from hell (and it looked like it, too - heh) and I didn't even offer an aspirin to him. Heh, heh. He felt rather sheepish and ashamed of his behavior and though I can't say I was warm to him, I wasn't the cold bitch I'd been a few hours earlier. Hat trick heh! I think I just didn't have the energy, to be honest. I sent him on his way, tail firmly tucked under his butt.

I'm not sure what to think or do yet. He's admitted that he's got issues with getting enough sleep and blames his A.D.D. or hyperactivity or whatever. (He was working on about 5 hours from Saturday night.) And introducing a day (and night, too) of non-stop alcohol consumption into that equation just isn't a pretty picture, no matter how you turn your head to the side or hold your mouth just "so." I'm pretty sure I should cut this one loose, like a fish that's just not quite right, but for some reason, I'm buying his story. (Note to self: he IS in retail and this could all be a sales pitch, so beware CruiserMel.)

I just don't know what to do, how to react, where to turn, aw hell, I don't know ALOT right about now.

There you have it. Another Boy Toy J story. You didn't say you wanted to read just the fun ones. Be careful what you wish for.

Hmmm. Interesting line there, huh? Maybe I should listen to my own advice.

Any Requests?

I'm noticing this pattern with my little blog. Apparently, I take requests. That's cool, too, because there are days when the CruiserBrain cannot think of anything to write about here and I understand the addiction that is reading blogs, so I'm pleased to take ideas from my precious readers from time to time.



Lindystars and (Not-So) Pregnant In Texas have all asked for more Boy-Toy J stories. I am nothing, if not accommodating, so here's what's happening:



Remember how I said I was trying terribly hard to overlook the things that have, in the past, caused me to turn-tail and head for the hills? To be honest, I'm doing my level best, but every now and then one of those stupid little things rears it's head and I have to stop myself from doing a U-turn.



But this one trait has me verging on the edge of crazy at times. He's hyper. I mean, H-Y-P-E-R. I haven't used that word to describe a human being since I was perhaps a pre-teen, and then it was usually in regards to my friend, E. Rather, "hyper" is usually used to describe a miniature poodle, tap dancers or fleas. Certainly, I have never used that word to describe a guy. Guys are usually described by me as "that lump on the sofa that eats every bite of food in my house" or "the one who farts."



Boy-Toy J is just plain hyper. Maybe it come from being in retail / sales. Maybe it comes from a high metabolism or too much caffeine. I suppose he could actually have undiagnosed hyperactivity disorder. Whatever the reason, there are times he absolutely must be reined-in and told to shut the F up already!



I've found just the best way to shut him up and chill-him-the-fuck-out. Sex.



No, really. There is scientific proof this works. I've learned to buck up and offer my services at any time. I'm helpful that way.



It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. That last sentence wasn't actually written to be funny. Let me explain.



I found myself slinking into my own home at 3:00 in the morning today. I say "slinking" because I had of course, left practically every light in my house on, including a very bright front porch light, that if anyone knows my routine, I usually turn off by 10 or 11, even if I'm not calling it a night. As I pulled the CruiserCar into the driveway, I felt as if there was a neon sign with a big red arrow pointed at me that said "A Slut Lives Here."



But back to the real sacrifice - I have to wake up for work by 6:30 or 7:00 to be on time. You do the math. Scratch that; I already did the math for you - that's like hardly any sleep at all! So, I've been draggin' ass all day at the office. I lingered over the composition of a simple 3 paragraph letter for at least 20 minutes, and even complained that my teachers in 8th grade probably should have never passed me along to 9th grade.



However, if it can help out my fellow human being, I am willing to face this challenge head on to provide this service to hyper Boy-Toy J. Don't say I'm selfish, because obviously I'm the most selfless person I know.