Purple Patent Leather Pumps!

This weekend has been super busy and stressful, but I did manage to find time to swing by my local TJMaxx in an attempt to find some [more] new school shoes. (Yeah, the shoe quest has become a bit of a problem. But since I don't do drugs or steal, I'll hang on to this vice.) I found these. They're not quite as garish as the ones I wanted a few weeks back, but they're still obnoxious and sassy. Perfect.

(What do I love more? New shoes? Or alliteration?)

Look how shiny!

Tomorrow begins the second semester of the school year, and we all know what that means, right? HALF WAY TO SUMMER! WOOOO-HOOOO!

Right now things are looking good. Big project is complete, laundry is done and folded, Matt's cleaning the house tomorrow and cooking dinner. (Matt plays Betty Homemaker on Mondays when he has the day off and I have work and a class afterward.)

This week we're looking forward to Mitch's 6th birthday, another visit by his dog friend Reilly, at attempt at Martha's adaptation of Julia's beouf Bourguignonne (I still don't know how to say it), the premiere of the final season of Lost (tell me what those damned numbers mean already!), relaxing for a minute, and then hosting a Superbowl party. And maybe I'll even do our taxes. Eh, that might be pushing it.

What do you have planned for this week?

Perfect Fit Button? WTF?

I am not on board with the Perfect Fit Button. What do you think?

PS--I call bullshit on the claim that people won't even notice. Well, maybe if you also wear a belt? Do the makers of Perfect Fit Button also make belt extensions?

Saturday Ramblings

January has been a crazy month for Matt, Mandy, and Mitch. If all goes according to plan, though, February will be much more relaxed. With work and life being so crazy, I haven't found much time to blog. (I also haven't found time to take the load of laundry out of the dryer--the same load of laundry that's been there since Sunday night.) My brain is fried, the school year is officially half-way over, and my house is 65% wreck. But it should get better soon. Until then. .

• Last night, I had a dream that I was on a road trip with my girlfriends and we stopped at a farm and saw hot-air balloon races. Races! Oh, and I think there were guns, and Obam'.
• Speaking of Obam', how about that question and answer session yesterday? I want to kiss him on the forehead, and then have him flash that winning smile. Whether we agree on the politics or not, I think we can all agree that that man has an amazing smile.

• And speaking of smiles, the other night we watched Julie & Julia. I wish that it had only been Julia. Julie sucked. I couldn't wipe the big grin off my face during Meryl Streep's scenes, but allowed my face time to rest during Amy Adams' scenes of suck.

• Mitch is still the cutest dog on the planet. No surprises there.
• Yet again, it's snowing everywhere else and not here. F'ing Savannah.
• We've been eating slightly better. In fact, last night we went grocery shopping [for the first time in almost a month], and we have a menu of pretty healthy meals planned for the next couple of weeks. For tonight: spicy pork stew.
• Have grand plans to get back to posting recipes on here. During the last week, most of our meals have been pasta with parmesan cheese, and I expect that you already know how to make that.

Well, I'm off to enjoy a productive Saturday [hopefully]. First up: getting that load of laundry out of the dryer.

Have a great weekend, and make a snow angel for me if you can!

R.I.P., Mr. Salinger

Boy, when you're dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye

Goodbye, Mr. Salinger. We are sad that you're gone.

(Well, I am. Matt's happy. He's been saying for years that he can't wait until Salinger dies because he knows Salinger's been holed up, hiding from the world, writing and writing. And Matt can't wait to get his hands on all of those books and stories.)

Here's to hoping.

And here's to you, Mr. Salinger, you curmudgeon, you brilliant weirdo.

Michelle Obama's State of the Union Dress

Michelle Obam' = sassmonster. And tonight, a purple-adorned sassmonster.

I kind of want to be her. I think I'm too mean, though. And lazy.

Oh well. I guess it's time to throw on a purple t-shirt, brush my hair, and practice my First Lady wave.

Parenthood?

I want to adopt a Haitian orphan. Matt says no.

Richmond It Is!

No, not really. Don't get your hopes up just yet, Mid-Atlantic-ers.

Let's rewind to Valentine's Day 2000, freshman year at JMU.

I'm not a big fan of Valentine's Day. I wasn't when I was single, and I'm not now that I'm not. I think it's pretty stupid, really. Plus, I'm not that into hearts or the color red, so, eh.

What I AM a fan of is boys who sing. (Lucky for me I married one of the country's greatest singer/songwriters, a man whose hits include "All I Need is a Mitchacle" and "Blinded by the Dog.") And even though I know it's cheesy as can be, I love me some all male a capella singing. Like love love.

And on Valentine's Day ten years ago, all of JMU's a capella groups put on a Valentine's concert. I went with a hoard of my friends (hoard of whores?), and we sat there for several hours with our eyes wide open and giant smiles on our faces, watching cute boys sing love songs.

My favorite group was Exit 245.


And thanks to the wonder that is Facebook, I've found a picture from that night. That guy in the middle, the one wearing the wings, the one my friends and I called "Wing Boy" for the next decade, his name is Jeff. Maybe I stalked him? Just a little?

But that boy all the way to the left? His name is Matty F. He was the first Matty F. that I almost married. (True story. Even though he doesn't really prefer the company of women, we almost got married during college in an attempt to get better financial aid and to be able to register.) That Matty F., the cute singing one who was sassy as could be, worked with me at BW3 and became one of my good friends. He called me Keaton (it was at the height of my Family Ties obsession), and we called him Focker (or sometimes we'd change the vowel).


Focker graduated from JMU and began a career in education, and after several years, decided that he hated it. So he decided to pursue his dream: to open a cupcakery, Frostings.


And I'm so proud of him! My own cupcaking obsession stems from my desire to go to Frostings every day. (Since I can't make the 8-hour drive every day of my life, I had to learn to bake. It's served me well--well, except for that whole "Wii Fit calling me obese" part.)


Check out Matty's apple cupcake! Focking amazing!



Okay, now here's why I have decided that the Matty F. that I actually did marry and I are going to be moving to Richmond. Tonight I went to Frostings website and saw this:

Forget Flowers... Surprise Your Love with Cupcakes and a Song

Cupid's Choice Cupcakes (choose half or full dozen)

Delivery to his/her home or office

Serenade performed by the Cupcake Duet

Personalized note card

Long stemmed rose

Valentine's Memory to Last a Lifetime

$49 (half dozen)

$59 (full dozen)

Supply is Limited

Email us for availability and song list

Soooooo, let me get this straight: cupcakes and singing boys? Would the cupcake duet sing "All I Need Is a Mitchacle"?

It's settled. We're moving to Richmond--by Valentine's Day. Maybe I do love this holiday!

Cats that look like Hitler?

Why can't I stop laughing?

JJ Has No Fingernails? An update.

In case you were looking for additional reasons NOT to have sex with family members, here's another: your kids might not have fingernails.

In my quest for answers, I came across this article that discusses polygamy and incest.

Although it could be any one of a number of reasons, I believe that JJ's no fingernailness is likely a result of inbreeding. Mmmmmmmmmmm, inbreeding. . . Yuck.

But I wouldn't rule out torture. Anything can happen at Juniper Creek!

What do you think? And how do you feel about the new opening credits of Big Love?

Best Dog Friends: A Post from Mitch

Hey you guys, it's me, Mitch. Man, I haven't been on here in forever! Things were just crazy for me during the holidays, and I'm just now getting back on track.

I mean, things were so crazy because I spent a lot of my holiday season playing host to dog friends. Reilly was here for Thanksgiving AND for Christmas, and we had so much fun together. I mean, Reilly is so funny. First of all, he's tiny! Second of all, he has gigantic ears. I mean, his ears are as big as mine, and he's a fraction of my size!

Oh, and I saw Fletcher a few times over the holidays, too. Fletcher seems to be coming around. I only hate him a little bit now. I think he'll be okay once he gets a little more mature. I mean, like, now he just torments me, like, nonstop. He's almost as big as I am now, and he punches! Did you know that dogs can punch? Well, they can, and it hurts.

(Neither Reilly nor Fletcher have tails, and they're both really jealous of mine. And, forgive my conceit, but I have a pretty snazzy tail. When I go to the park I overhear lots of dogs commenting on what a beautiful tail I have.)

I've also been busy lately with the usual: lying in my dirt spot in the back yard, snuggling with my mom and dad, pre-washing the dishes, barking at kids who walk down the street, barking at the mailman, barking at the neighbor when he takes out his trash, and catching up on Madmen. That show has such good writers! Oh yeah, and I've started to pen a new Air Bud movie, but I'm not at liberty to tell you any more than that.

After having Reilly here for so much of the holiday, I've grown used to having another dog friend around.

I kind of miss this little guy. I mean, look at those ears. What'd I tell you?
When he was here, I just wanted to hold onto him and cuddle and be happy.
(And watch Animal Planet and eat homemade treats.)


Me and Reilly, we're like peas and carrots. Now, if only Fletcher would lie down on the couch and spoon with me! Until then, I'll continue growling at him and humping his face. (Face humping is a great remedy for punches.)

More Ranting about Avatar

When the Golden Globes aired last week, Matty and I were enjoying our last night in tropical paradise, and I was forcing myself to puke after having eaten too much bar food. (Not a new diet, just a negative consequence of being a fatass.)

At least, I thought I puked because of the nachos, wings, burger, margaritas, and chocolate cheesecake. . .

Perhaps, though, my body sensed what was about the happen during the awards show. F'ing Avatar and its pain in the ass creator won best picture. Really, Golden Globe voting people? Really? Best picture?

What really made the puking commence, though, was probably James Cameron speaking in Na'vi.
I didn't even watch the awards show, and it sickens me. In fact, I might puke again. Damn you, psychic stomach full of junk food! Damn you James Cameron, you crazy bastard!

Anyway, a few weeks back, Matt's buddy Drew sent us a link to a HILARIOUS article about Avatar. Now, I don't yet have it translated into Na'vi, but hopefully you'll retain your English skills for a bit longer. The article discusses how many moviegoers slipped into deep depression after watching Avatar, because life on earth just can't compare to the beauty of life on Pandora. Seriously, that's what it's about.

Here are some of my favorite excerpts:

"Ever since I went to see 'Avatar' I have been depressed. Watching the wonderful world of Pandora and all the Na'vi made me want to be one of them. I can't stop thinking about all the things that happened in the film and all of the tears and shivers I got from it," Mike posted. "I even contemplate suicide thinking that if I do it I will be rebirthed in a world similar to Pandora and the everything is the same as in 'Avatar.' "

"One can say my depression was twofold: I was depressed because I really wanted to live in Pandora, which seemed like such a perfect place, but I was also depressed and disgusted with the sight of our world, what we have done to Earth. I so much wanted to escape reality."

Within the fan community, suggestions for battling feelings of depression after seeing the movie include things like playing "Avatar" video games or downloading the movie soundtrack, in addition to encouraging members to relate to other people outside the virtual realm and to seek out positive and constructive activities.

Discuss. Did you experience negative or suicidal feelings after watching Avatar? Were they because of how bad the movie was, or because your dream to live on Pandora will never come to fruition? Have you downloaded the Avatar sountrack or joined a support group to cope with these feelings? Will you ever rebound?

Talk amongst yourselves.

(p.s. I wrote this entire post from bed. I love the new computer!)

Love and Same-side Booth Sitting

After a looooong day at work yesterday, I was thrilled to come home, and even more excited to see that my new Real Simple had arrived. I love me some Real Simple--love the recipes, love the road tests, love the tips and the articles. I even love the "Thoughts" feature, the feel-good quote and picture that start off each issue.

When Matt, Mitch, and I settled in for our Friday family snuggle nap (you can puke now if you'd like, because we really do call it that. In fact, we usually scream it in a high-pitched voice--"FAMILY SNUGGLE NAP!"--and then retreat to the bed, our favorite place.) I took my new, crisp magazine. I read this month's quote, and it made me smile, so I then read it to Matt:

"Love does not consist in gazing at each other but in looking

outward together in the same direction"

~ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPERY, WIND, SAND AND STARS

And while I was picturing something sweet like this. . .

. . .Matt responded: I think that Real Simple is advocating same-side booth sitting.

(You know, the couples who go out to eat by themselves but insist on sitting on the same side of the booth. Often they start making out in the middle of the restaurant. We are anti same-side booth sitters.)

It was like the time I said I would want to name a boy child George, and he asked me if I really wanted to name my kid after George Bush. My solution: George Clinton. Or maybe George Barack.

Sometimes I think I might hate Matt, but then he calls on a Friday afternoon and suggests a family snuggle nap, and I fall in love all over again.

Notes on American Idol

Matt and I were anti-Idol until the writer's strike a couple of years back. The absence of good TV left us longing for something more, and, desperate for some new television, we threw away our pride.

Yay for throwing away pride.

So, yeah, I'd scoffed and mocked, but Simon Cowell has made me a believer. Here's why:

• Simon is hot. Like hot hot. Like surly British guy who says things like "Chin up" to a crying wannabe singer hot.
• I love passing judgment. Idol provides a great judgment-passing forum. At this point, too, Matt and I are pretty good at predicting what the judges will say. We like to play little predicting games here (similar to our Jeopardy! winning in life game or our "guess what time it is" game), where we predict exactly what the judges will say. You can't go wrong with some, "Dawg, you could sing the phone book!"
• The heartwarming stories. I usually don't get through a single audition episode without sobbing a little. This girl's taking care of her ailing grandma? That girl's dad died the day before? His WIFE died? I could start crying just thinking of past audition shows.
• Ryan. What a strange little man. Remember when he tried to high-five the blind guy?
• Hollywood Week. I f'ing love Hollywood Week. I especially love the group auditions and the drama they bring.
• I love when it's obvious that the judges have hangovers.
• Singing and dancing! Horray for singing and dancing. Second to watching Center Stage twice a week, Idol is the best place to go for singing and dancing fun.
• Wide appeal. I love that I can talk to colleagues, students, my sister, and my grandma about this show. There's something special about a show that appeals to such a wide range of people.

Now, this isn't to say that I love everything about American Idol. I've tired of the gimmicky weirdo auditions and people who try too hard (and, no, "Pants on the Ground" does not fall into this category. That song is BRILLIANT!). I hate the long commercial breaks (we wouldn't watch the show at all if it wasn't for DVR). And I really hate Kara.

I hate how she makes bedroom eyes at young boys. And I hate how she claims every pop song is brilliant (stole that one from Matt. No, Kara, Shania Twain's "I Feel Like a Woman" is not the masterpiece you claim it to be).

Hopefully, this cool cat ("think you a cool cat?. . .lookin' like a foo' with your pants on the ground") will compensate for Kara's tremendous suck.

I've loved Ellen since her ABC sitcom days, since the time her show was called These Friends of Mine and not Ellen. She's super funny and sassy.

Plus, it was from Ellen that I stole one of my favorite games of all time: pretending that the plots of movies actually happened to me. It's best to play this game when in line at a tourist attraction. Tanya and I used to do this like champions. "Hey, Tan, remember that time you went to that vacation resort with your family and then fell in love with that dance instructor? That was crazy! I can't believe your dad thought he'd knocked up that girl!"

Try it sometime. And thank Ellen. And watch American Idol. It's really fun, and Simon's sexy.

Come to me, beautiful!

Dear All Clad Chef's Pan:

Please come live with us and allow us to cook up delicious foods inside your shiny, evenly-heated belly. We'll make it worth your while!

Sincerely,

Mandy, Matt, and Mitch

Curtains, Curtains!

I'm pretty much obsessed with my new Stockholm Blad curtains. Here are the curtains that we had in the room before. Oh, and by curtains I mean sheets that I had chopped to pieces with a pair of kitchen shears. If I had ever taken a close-up (which I refused to do because they were so hideous), I could show you how the sheets were all frayed and wrinkled. But the best part is how the bottom of the shirtains was about a foot from the floor. It became one of those things I hated, then got used to, then hated again, got used to again, and then, three years later, changed.

(Now, these two pictures aren't a true before and after because of the completely different light, but I have faith that you'll forgive me that sin.)

Before:

And after.

I'm in love--with the curtains, of course. . .
. . .but mostly just with this dog. . .

. . .and this hilarious fabric. That there's going to be a kitchen curtain one day--and maybe a pillow, and maybe a jacket, or a pair of boots. The possibilities are endless, really.

Shopping Fun

I wasn't exaggerating when I said that our trip to Ft. Lauderdale is one of our favorite weekends of the year. And on top of the conversation and the relaxation and the gluttony is the shopping.

Oh, Ft. Lauderdale shopping, how I love thee!

Sawgrass Mills plus IKEA = a Mandy who smiles from ear to ear.

I was trying to be on good behavior with spending money, and I found some great deals. My favorite purchase was these curtains from IKEA, the Stockholm Blad. (IKEA names always make me chuckle.) I was ogling them in the store when I realized that they were $60, more money than I was willing to pay for curtains that are wildly fun, but possibly obnoxious. So I pulled out some sour grapes coping strategy and decided that they were ugly.

But later, when I found them in the as-is bin for $10/panel, I retracted my insults. I was back to true love. And at a third of the price, the curtains quickly jumped from the obnoxious column to the awesome and beautiful must have column. Score! They're awesome in our room, too. I'll get some before and after pictures for you soon.

But back to the shopping.

I didn't get too much else while we were there. The usual: v-neck shirts in a variety of colors from Gap, a great spoon/spatula thing, bigger s-hooks for hanging pots and pans in our kitchen, an umbrella (which got put to good use during today's monsoon), and some hilarious Billy Goats Gruff-looking fabric that I plan to turn into a kitchen curtain (I, too, will believe it when I see it).

BUT. . .

There was gambling. Texas Hold 'Em, $1/2 no limit. And there were douche bags, many of whom were from Yonkers (yawnkahs?), people who, while constantly reminding us of their New Yorkerness, also passed money our way. Oh, Yawnkahs. Thank you, Yawnkahs!

Matt and I save our change all year, and go turn it in right before our annual Florida trip. The money we get from the change becomes our gambling fund. This year we had decided that any winnings would then go to our new computer fund. So, $180 of our dimes and quarters plus $300 donated to us by the lovely citizens of New York put us that much closer to this:

. . .our new sassy laptop. After working on a clunky 5-year old desktop, it's like heaven. Heaven I tell you!

Now maybe I'll actually post more since I can sit here on the couch with the dog and not in our uncomfortable office chair in the coldest corner of our house. Hell, I could even blog from bed.

Hello, Florida.

The two weeks of winter was too much for me and Matt, so we decided to escape to Fort Lauderdale.

Now, to be fair, it had been just as cold in Ft. Lauderdale as it had been in Savannah. And Miami even had snow flurries for Christ's sake! (Oh, Miami gets snow but Savannah doesn't? That's fucked up if you ask me.)

But as we drove farther and farther south, it got warmer and warmer. (Fortunately our trip coincided with the departure of the arctic blasts.) By the time we arrived at Matt's godfather's house, it was tropical and breezy and, well, perfect.

Plus, there were oranges on the trees. That's like an exclamation point on perfect.


The Godfather, Gary, has made of his home a tropical escape, a place where people to go escape the stresses of daily life. Oh, and he makes you eat about 200 brownies a day. I agreed. (Knowing what was awaiting me in Florida, I put off those New Year's "I'm going to eat healthy and stop being such a fatass" resolutions until after MLK weekend.

Even the coconuts at Gary's look like they want to eat.

One of the cool things about visiting Gary and Bill (Matt's godfather and my soulmate) is that we stay in the guest house. The guest house isn't fancy or anything, but it's got a bed, TV, bathroom, refrigerator, and a mirror on the ceiling, so we're set.

We went to the beach, and enjoyed the warm weather.

And we enjoyed a full weekend of quality time with Matt's parents. This is actually one of my favorite things about our annual weekend in Ft. Lauderdale. When we visit them during the holidays, it's always hard to get in a full conversation that's not cluttered with talk of wrapping and gifts and cookies and interruptions. But during that Florida weekend, we can talk, enjoy each other, laugh, drink margaritas, gamble, and just have fun.

Matt's parents aren't wild about having their pictures taken, so I'll just put this one up from when they were younger. Glamorous, huh?

But the best part about the Ft. Lauderdale weekend (it really is our favorite part of the year)?

Soulmate, a.k.a., Bill. Bill pretends that he hates me and I pretend that he's pretending.

I decided, years ago, that we are soulmates and then proceeded to harass him for years. He's a good sport. Most of the time, anyway.

Oh, Soulmate. You and your funny gestures.

(Other awesome things about our weekend: we won $300 playing poker, I scored at Ikea, and I ate so much that I puked my guts out. Well, that last one isn't awesome so much, but it did motivate me to to start eating healthy and exercising. For a couple days at least. Oh, and I saw my best good friend Tanya. She and I are like peas and carrots, or, to translate to our language, cake and icing. Just stay tuned for more exciting details.)

Oh, Senate.

Well, someone's turning in his grave tonight. . .

. . .because a douche bag was elected. Mr. Scott Brown is about as smarmy as they come, even if we're comparing him to other politicians.

At first I was sad about losing a 60-seat majority, and then I realized that we never really had a 60-seat majority (read: Lieberman, a.k.a., "Douche of the Century"). So, whatever. At least I've got a box of wine in the fridge.

But seriously, this guy makes me want to puke.

Fictional Character Twin

Today one of my Facebook friends posted this as her status:

It's Fictional Character Week! Starting now, post a picture of someone fictional that you think best represents your personality. Be creative. Copy and paste this so we can all play along!>


I didn't want to play this game on Facebook, especially after getting hooked into the "what color is your bra" scheme. SO, I decided that I would instead post it here. Well, even though my ideal fictional-character-that-best-represents-my-personality is Scout Finch:



. . .it's fair to say that I'm less insightful and way too judgmental to be her. (And let's not even get started on The Bruce v. Atticus debate. . .)


Damn.


So, I'll settle with this character as my personality look-alike. I give you. . .


. . .Drumroll. . . .


. .. Darlene Conner.

>

Yeah, that seems more like it. Fortunately for me, Matt is way cooler than David (and, P.S., I'm cooler than Darlene--even if we do share character traits and a dry wit).

JJ Has No Fingernails?

I'm not going to spoil anything here--at least I don't think I am--by inquiring about Big Love's weird reveal on Sunday: that JJ has no fingernails.

What the hell is that supposed to mean? I figure it's got to mean either inbreeding or torture, but this is Big Love we're talking about, so it could be anything, really.

No fingernails? Gross.

Local doctor's clinic in Haiti beginning to see quake patients | InsideNova.com

Local doctor's clinic in Haiti beginning to see quake patients InsideNova.com

At this point you've no doubt been seeing the devastation in Haiti, and likely reached out to help. In case you haven't and want to, here's a group run by a man who used to work with Matt's dad. From what I hear, Medical Missionaries only has a 1% overhead, so most of the money will go directly to people in need.

Paula Puppet is BACK!

We've been swamped this week, both because of legitimate adult reasons and because American Idol auditions are on this week. Will this season bring us another Adam?

And the return of American Idol signals the return of Topher Payne's Paula puppet. The Paula puppet makes me believe that all is right with the world.

And, just in case you have been hiding under a rock all day, here's "Pants on the Ground."

". . .lookin' like a foo' with yo' pants on the ground."

Eye Might Puke.

Matt and I are big fans of the boneless skinless chicken breast. Because we found them on sale for $1.99/pound, our freezer is currently full of them. Like, full full. But that's not my story.

You see, last night, while we were whipping up an old favorite meal, Ana y Jose chicken (cajun chicken breasts with jalapeno cheese melted on top--fancy, I know). I took my nicely thawed chicken breasts and began to trim them up, and to pound them with what I call my meat hammer. I think the official name is a meat tenderizer, but I prefer meat hammer.



And I was pounding away at the chicken, holding my hand up to keep chicken bits or juice from flying all over everything when--I want to puke just thinking about it--a piece of raw chicken flew into my eye. Not my eyelid or near my eye. It flew directly onto my eyeball. As you might imagine, I freaked out and started rubbing my eye. Only, I had somehow gotten cajun spice on my hands, so my eye started to burn. I had to go to the bathroom to flush out my eye with water, and I pulled the eyelid away from my eye to see if I could see the RAW CHICKEN.

Raw chicken in my eye.

Well, I didn't see anything, so I decided that it must be okay.

I was wrong.

When I was getting ready for school this morning, I looked in the mirror and saw a really big sleepie. (What do you call the gunk that gathers in the corner of your eye? I call them sleepies. Others call them sheepshit. Is there a scientific term for overnight eye gunk?) Only, it wasn't a sleepie. It was the chicken.

So, party people, there you have it. Raw chicken in my eye overnight.

Excuse me while I vomit and schedule a doctor's appointment for my eyeball salmonella.