Well. I've gone and done it--again.
Made a big old mess of things.
And I blame my Uncle. He's the one who found this cat. This cat who just had to have a good home. With another cat. He's sweet, charming, handsome, seven years old, calm demeanor, the second most beautiful green eyes I've ever seen (Jeter's will always be first)--a really great cat. On paper, it seemed perfect.
So I went to the Humane Society and picked up my new cat--Bernie Williams.
(Yes--the Yankee naming tradition continues in my house. Proudly so. If you don't like Bernie Williams--seriously--something is wrong with you. He's probably the smiliest guy to ever play for New York.)
Bernie the cat didn't even make a peep in the car on the way home except to help pick out his new name (they called him Herman at the shelter. Blech--how awful is that?).
He didn't pee, either--which already makes him a winner in my book.
So I get him home.
And that's when all hell breaks loose, even though I did everything those stupid articles, books, pamphlets--you name it--tell you to do.
Separate them? Check.
Mix scents? Check.
Scrub down and fill litter box with clean, fresh litter? Check, check, and check.
I thought I did everything right. But alas--I was SO very wrong.
And not so surprising? Bernie is not the problem in the equation. The problem is....Yogi.
Sweet, not so little, super dense Yogi Berra. That's what I thought, anyway. Now...not so much. Big fat whiny baby is more like it. Yogi is now terrified of his own shadow, blankets, and especially Bernie. So much so that whenever he even smells Bernie--he freaks the frak out. Completely. There is almost manic yowling going on all hours of the day and night. Poor Bernie is living under my bed, sneaking out to use the litter box or to crawl on my lap. I'm even feeding him under there because Yogi is such a damn turd about the whole thing.
Well, I obviously had to go to work today. On less than three hours of sleep--which is awesome. Night time in my house is now more dangerous than any jungle in Vietnam...trust me on this one. I just start to nod off to sleep and it sounds like a village of small children is being massacred under my bed. Not pleasant to say the least. They lay in wait for each other....(I fear neither one of them is very much on the bright side) and it does not go well. There is a lot of smack being talked--but little action. Kind of like the Kitty version of the UN.
I just hope this little "adjustment" period is over sooner than later.
I seriously need some sleep.
Eye cream can only do so much!
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 18, 2011
Standoff with the Man...
Ugh. It's been a long week. And next week will be even longer.
I'm being punished.
What for? (There's a lot that could go here...trust me on this one. A whole lotta shame.....)
But no. It's not even for anything bad. It's for showing up to my part time job, that's what. "We can count on you!". Great. Just great.
So for the week of Inventory, at "work work", I will put in another 25 + hours in Retail Hell.
And if you have ever worked retail--you know just what a flaming hell Inventory can be. Joy of joys. Happiest of days.
I am so very much in need of a vacation just thinking about it. The good news is the new eye cream I purchased has made a vast improvement to those suitcase sized bags under my eyes. I can go out without make up! And people will stop asking me who's been punching me in the face because the dark circles are pretty much gone, too. Money very well spent if you ask me.
(And FYI--to be a victim of domestic violence..you have to be domestic with someone, sometime.)
But, back to my title. I had an old fashioned standoff with my bank this morning. Strategery was used. And I WON.
I checked my bank account this morning, cruised through the last few days information--and BAM. There it was. $43.00 in fees.
FEES.
For not having $1000.00 a DAY in the account? $10.00.
For using my bank card? $33.00 ($0.50 for every time I used it because I didn't have $1000.00 in the account every day).
It would seem, the account I had with them prior to January of 2011 no longer exists. So they picked the "best" account for me.
You know--the one that charges the most possible fees. To me. To my person.
Look, I will kick someone in the knee over $5.00. Or less. It's not something to be proud of, but when you count pennies the way I do, forty three bucks is nothing to sneeze at. That's grocery money, yo.
And I've gots to eat.
Well...maybe not. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but that's got nothing to do with people taking my money.
So, long story short, not only did I get my money back and my account switched--I also got an apology. From a vice president. For them being a bunch of a-holes who looked for the best possible way to get more out of me.
Hell hath no fury like a short woman separated from her cash money.
Let that be a lesson to you out there.
I've got a vicious right kick--you've been warned.
I'm being punished.
What for? (There's a lot that could go here...trust me on this one. A whole lotta shame.....)
But no. It's not even for anything bad. It's for showing up to my part time job, that's what. "We can count on you!". Great. Just great.
So for the week of Inventory, at "work work", I will put in another 25 + hours in Retail Hell.
And if you have ever worked retail--you know just what a flaming hell Inventory can be. Joy of joys. Happiest of days.
I am so very much in need of a vacation just thinking about it. The good news is the new eye cream I purchased has made a vast improvement to those suitcase sized bags under my eyes. I can go out without make up! And people will stop asking me who's been punching me in the face because the dark circles are pretty much gone, too. Money very well spent if you ask me.
(And FYI--to be a victim of domestic violence..you have to be domestic with someone, sometime.)
But, back to my title. I had an old fashioned standoff with my bank this morning. Strategery was used. And I WON.
I checked my bank account this morning, cruised through the last few days information--and BAM. There it was. $43.00 in fees.
FEES.
For not having $1000.00 a DAY in the account? $10.00.
For using my bank card? $33.00 ($0.50 for every time I used it because I didn't have $1000.00 in the account every day).
It would seem, the account I had with them prior to January of 2011 no longer exists. So they picked the "best" account for me.
You know--the one that charges the most possible fees. To me. To my person.
Look, I will kick someone in the knee over $5.00. Or less. It's not something to be proud of, but when you count pennies the way I do, forty three bucks is nothing to sneeze at. That's grocery money, yo.
And I've gots to eat.
Well...maybe not. I could stand to lose a few pounds, but that's got nothing to do with people taking my money.
So, long story short, not only did I get my money back and my account switched--I also got an apology. From a vice president. For them being a bunch of a-holes who looked for the best possible way to get more out of me.
Hell hath no fury like a short woman separated from her cash money.
Let that be a lesson to you out there.
I've got a vicious right kick--you've been warned.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Happy times? Sure--why not?
So, this past weekend was my birthday.
I should have had two massive morning hangovers--but the drinking gods were good to me. Also, I remembered the golden rule: hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE!
So instead--I got a speeding ticket.
In hindsight, I think I would rather have had the hangovers.
They're cheaper, you know it?
Leave it to some piggy in Whitestown to catch me with my foot on floor. Sigh. Lesson learned--do NOT drive the back way to get to Zionsville anymore.
But..I had a blast this weekend. Schnitzel, martinis, margaritas, tequila shots, limes, cake, yummy breakfast on Sunday AND a home cooked meal from the Momster? Ah...life is good.
So, I feel I need to take my good spirits with me as I move onward and upward.
I've got retinol, good booze, great friends...what more could a girl in her early 30's ask for?
Beats the hell outta me!
I should have had two massive morning hangovers--but the drinking gods were good to me. Also, I remembered the golden rule: hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE!
So instead--I got a speeding ticket.
In hindsight, I think I would rather have had the hangovers.
They're cheaper, you know it?
Leave it to some piggy in Whitestown to catch me with my foot on floor. Sigh. Lesson learned--do NOT drive the back way to get to Zionsville anymore.
But..I had a blast this weekend. Schnitzel, martinis, margaritas, tequila shots, limes, cake, yummy breakfast on Sunday AND a home cooked meal from the Momster? Ah...life is good.
So, I feel I need to take my good spirits with me as I move onward and upward.
I've got retinol, good booze, great friends...what more could a girl in her early 30's ask for?
Beats the hell outta me!
Saturday, January 29, 2011
No more X-mas...and the perils of online "dating"
So. Yesterday, Christmas disappeared from my house. Well..sort of. I still have the wrapping paper in the office (which needs to be fully gutted, cleaned, and put back together--but that's going to take more than a day off here and there) and the lights are still up on my balcony. And yes, they are still on. I realize this is a bit white trash, but they look so festive out there. And they have like six inches of frozen icy snow on top of them, so they aren't going any where for quite a while. And they look pretty. So don't judge!
Also going on--as Roy Rodgers would say, I'm back in the saddle again. Again. Again. Again. How many times have I done this now? With like NO success what so ever? And why do I keep subjecting myself to this? Well, it would be nice to eat with someone who isn't a girl. (No offense to my many friends that are ladies.) And to be able to really laugh at juvenile and raunchy things without getting the "I can't believe you find this funny" look. (But who doesn't find people falling down, farting, or getting kicked in the groin/head/face, etc funny??)
But, let me share with you the little nuggets of joy that have brightened my week so far:
A 21 year old boy who told me "We should hit it! I like old laidees" (Yes. That's just how the little monster spelled it.)
A 36 year old man who wants me to verbally AND physically abuse him. Preferably leaving marks of said abuse. (And he took pictures of himself wearing nothing but a towel. Now there's a great first impression! Barf.)
Another guy who wanted know if I would think about being a part of his harem of ladies. "Sexier than sister wives..I promise! We like to share everything with each other!" And...I promise you I will never respond to your e-mail.
There have, so far, been more freaks than anything (Like the guy I thought posted a picture of himself and his sister and his crazy Mr. and Mrs. Roper looking parents. But I was wrong about one thing. That's not his sister! That would be his 17 year old daughter! And he's 33. YIKES. DELETE!! DELETE!!).
All that said, some of them appear to be completely normal, rational, sane people.
Hmm. That's what they said about Ted Bundy, too, isn't it?
Oh well, this is my lot in life. I might as well dive in head first. If anything--it's good for a laugh!
Also going on--as Roy Rodgers would say, I'm back in the saddle again. Again. Again. Again. How many times have I done this now? With like NO success what so ever? And why do I keep subjecting myself to this? Well, it would be nice to eat with someone who isn't a girl. (No offense to my many friends that are ladies.) And to be able to really laugh at juvenile and raunchy things without getting the "I can't believe you find this funny" look. (But who doesn't find people falling down, farting, or getting kicked in the groin/head/face, etc funny??)
But, let me share with you the little nuggets of joy that have brightened my week so far:
A 21 year old boy who told me "We should hit it! I like old laidees" (Yes. That's just how the little monster spelled it.)
A 36 year old man who wants me to verbally AND physically abuse him. Preferably leaving marks of said abuse. (And he took pictures of himself wearing nothing but a towel. Now there's a great first impression! Barf.)
Another guy who wanted know if I would think about being a part of his harem of ladies. "Sexier than sister wives..I promise! We like to share everything with each other!" And...I promise you I will never respond to your e-mail.
There have, so far, been more freaks than anything (Like the guy I thought posted a picture of himself and his sister and his crazy Mr. and Mrs. Roper looking parents. But I was wrong about one thing. That's not his sister! That would be his 17 year old daughter! And he's 33. YIKES. DELETE!! DELETE!!).
All that said, some of them appear to be completely normal, rational, sane people.
Hmm. That's what they said about Ted Bundy, too, isn't it?
Oh well, this is my lot in life. I might as well dive in head first. If anything--it's good for a laugh!
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
Damn..I'm Handy! And Hooray for Good Samaritans!
Okay.
So apparently, my Malibu Barbie Car likes to eat turn signal bulbs.
This, buddies, is NOT cool. (Plus--my remote start has stopped working. I think it's just a fuse--so keep your fingers crossed. I just give thanks that the heated seats still keep my bum nice and toasty warm every morning.) It's like a freaking jig saw puzzle to get these things out--but I have developed a technique that is not only functional, but speedy, too.
But...there are these two giant bolts that hold the stupid head lamps on that can slow me down.
Which is where I had problems last night.
I left work and headed toward the gas station (I worked late, so it was too dark to do it in the parking lot as planned after work) to fill up and pop the new lights in.
Driver's side? Piece of cake. In about 2 minutes flat, I had a new, working (!), turn signal. Yeah for not getting killed on the interstate!!
Passenger side? Bolt one? Easy breezy. Bolt two?
Bolt two.
ARGH. Bolt TWO! You SUCK!
It wouldn't budge. Not at all.
Now, what is is so frustrating about this experience is the fact that two truckers, one farm kid, and various other fellows who reside in Johnson County that one might think would be inclined to help a lady by getting their hands dirty didn't say a word. Nope. They just stared.
At me.
Like I was a monkey at the zoo. And believe you me--I was getting peeved enough to throw poo. Once I got the stupid thing off, I knew it would only take me a few seconds to get the new bulb in and the stupid thing reattached to the car. But for over fifteen minutes I worked on getting that bolt off.
Fifteen. Very. Long. Minutes.
When I was about to start swearing at the air and the chubby guy sitting in the Blazer next to me staring at me while he ate his bag of chips and sucked down his Polar Pop (I guess I was the show to go along with his dinner), a very nice older man in a suit that cost more than I make in a month got out of his Volvo and asked me if I needed help. I said yes--please!!--and he proceeded to work on that bolt for over ten minutes. He was determined to get it off for me, and when he was finished, he thanked me. His wife doesn't let him tinker with the cars anymore--she feels they can pay people to do that for them.
So to the nice man in the cashmere blazer driving that beautiful Volvo S80--thank you again for helping a short girl out.
And I'll let you work on my Chevy any time. For serious.
Damn..I knew I should have gotten his name!!
So apparently, my Malibu Barbie Car likes to eat turn signal bulbs.
This, buddies, is NOT cool. (Plus--my remote start has stopped working. I think it's just a fuse--so keep your fingers crossed. I just give thanks that the heated seats still keep my bum nice and toasty warm every morning.) It's like a freaking jig saw puzzle to get these things out--but I have developed a technique that is not only functional, but speedy, too.
But...there are these two giant bolts that hold the stupid head lamps on that can slow me down.
Which is where I had problems last night.
I left work and headed toward the gas station (I worked late, so it was too dark to do it in the parking lot as planned after work) to fill up and pop the new lights in.
Driver's side? Piece of cake. In about 2 minutes flat, I had a new, working (!), turn signal. Yeah for not getting killed on the interstate!!
Passenger side? Bolt one? Easy breezy. Bolt two?
Bolt two.
ARGH. Bolt TWO! You SUCK!
It wouldn't budge. Not at all.
Now, what is is so frustrating about this experience is the fact that two truckers, one farm kid, and various other fellows who reside in Johnson County that one might think would be inclined to help a lady by getting their hands dirty didn't say a word. Nope. They just stared.
At me.
Like I was a monkey at the zoo. And believe you me--I was getting peeved enough to throw poo. Once I got the stupid thing off, I knew it would only take me a few seconds to get the new bulb in and the stupid thing reattached to the car. But for over fifteen minutes I worked on getting that bolt off.
Fifteen. Very. Long. Minutes.
When I was about to start swearing at the air and the chubby guy sitting in the Blazer next to me staring at me while he ate his bag of chips and sucked down his Polar Pop (I guess I was the show to go along with his dinner), a very nice older man in a suit that cost more than I make in a month got out of his Volvo and asked me if I needed help. I said yes--please!!--and he proceeded to work on that bolt for over ten minutes. He was determined to get it off for me, and when he was finished, he thanked me. His wife doesn't let him tinker with the cars anymore--she feels they can pay people to do that for them.
So to the nice man in the cashmere blazer driving that beautiful Volvo S80--thank you again for helping a short girl out.
And I'll let you work on my Chevy any time. For serious.
Damn..I knew I should have gotten his name!!
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Teddy Bear Tattoos and Food Stamps?
You would think these things do not go together.
I'm here to tell you that they do.
Now--please don't worry! I have not out and gotten myself inked. That said, gather round children--let me tell you a story.
I was at work on Friday night, doing my normal picking up after people thing (and now that the holidays are over, I can honestly say that my second job is like a cake walk. I can do this thing in my sleep if need be. And Friday, I can pretty much guarantee you that I was sleep walking.
Until.
Until a girl that I work with bounded over to me (which takes a lot, because she's damn near close to six feet tall) excited like a six year old.
To show me her new tattoo.
(Which was added to an already giant tattoo on her lower arm, close to her wrist of a rose.)
Her new tat? Is of a Teddy Bear with a bow around his neck. Surrounded by flowers.
She was soo excited, too. This probably made my WTF reaction not so appreciated. I quickly reined it in:
"Is that a...bear?"
"NO! He's not just 'a bear'. It's a Teddy Bear! Just like Mr. SnugglePants, the bear I've had since I was a kid. I love Mr. SnugglePants!"
"Wow.....that's.....neat."
"I had to come to work tonight before we were finished with him. I'm adding some more stuff..you know. Doing a half sleeve thingy. So I will have ink all over the lower part of my arm. Cool, right?"
"Yeah....sooooo cool. You have fun with that."
What the hell do you say to a 22 year old woman/child that has added a 10 inch permanent stuffed animal to her arm. Her lower arm. In an area you will pretty much NEVER be able to cover up? How will you NOT regret such a stupid thing when you are 45?
And, more shocking, her boyfriends (she has more than one--but I forgot to ask if they all knew about each other) all seemed cool with this idea. Encouraged her, even.
Seriously--what man is going to take a look at that and not have his "Crazy Girl with Daddy Issues" alarm not go off? (If you are a guy, and this wouldn't be an issue for you--please explain to me why. In detail.)
So, off to my department I go to get some work done and before we know it, it is time to close. I'm working with BearGirl again and another nice older lady from the suburbs when Bear Girl asks us, out of the blue:
"Do you know where I can buy some Food Stamps? I broke up with the guy I used to get them from...for free--ha ha" (I have to interject here, the way she said this--you would think she was getting diamonds from this guy at no cost. She was proud of this fact.)
Hmm. Well, since that is illegal, and neither of us two old squares have ever been on public assistance (If you actually need it--there is NOTHING wrong with getting a helping hand. However--as this conversation illustrates--there are serious problems with this system.), let alone where to buy Food Stamps off the freaking street. Did she really expect me to be like "Yea...I've got a guy. I'll totally hook you up!"
Not so much.
And if I did have such a sleezeball in my back pocket, do you think I would share this? Especially to a girl with a stupid Teddy Bear on her arm.
Again--not so much.
Working so much, sometimes, does have it's own entertainment value, that's for sure!
I'm here to tell you that they do.
Now--please don't worry! I have not out and gotten myself inked. That said, gather round children--let me tell you a story.
I was at work on Friday night, doing my normal picking up after people thing (and now that the holidays are over, I can honestly say that my second job is like a cake walk. I can do this thing in my sleep if need be. And Friday, I can pretty much guarantee you that I was sleep walking.
Until.
Until a girl that I work with bounded over to me (which takes a lot, because she's damn near close to six feet tall) excited like a six year old.
To show me her new tattoo.
(Which was added to an already giant tattoo on her lower arm, close to her wrist of a rose.)
Her new tat? Is of a Teddy Bear with a bow around his neck. Surrounded by flowers.
She was soo excited, too. This probably made my WTF reaction not so appreciated. I quickly reined it in:
"Is that a...bear?"
"NO! He's not just 'a bear'. It's a Teddy Bear! Just like Mr. SnugglePants, the bear I've had since I was a kid. I love Mr. SnugglePants!"
"Wow.....that's.....neat."
"I had to come to work tonight before we were finished with him. I'm adding some more stuff..you know. Doing a half sleeve thingy. So I will have ink all over the lower part of my arm. Cool, right?"
"Yeah....sooooo cool. You have fun with that."
What the hell do you say to a 22 year old woman/child that has added a 10 inch permanent stuffed animal to her arm. Her lower arm. In an area you will pretty much NEVER be able to cover up? How will you NOT regret such a stupid thing when you are 45?
And, more shocking, her boyfriends (she has more than one--but I forgot to ask if they all knew about each other) all seemed cool with this idea. Encouraged her, even.
Seriously--what man is going to take a look at that and not have his "Crazy Girl with Daddy Issues" alarm not go off? (If you are a guy, and this wouldn't be an issue for you--please explain to me why. In detail.)
So, off to my department I go to get some work done and before we know it, it is time to close. I'm working with BearGirl again and another nice older lady from the suburbs when Bear Girl asks us, out of the blue:
"Do you know where I can buy some Food Stamps? I broke up with the guy I used to get them from...for free--ha ha" (I have to interject here, the way she said this--you would think she was getting diamonds from this guy at no cost. She was proud of this fact.)
Hmm. Well, since that is illegal, and neither of us two old squares have ever been on public assistance (If you actually need it--there is NOTHING wrong with getting a helping hand. However--as this conversation illustrates--there are serious problems with this system.), let alone where to buy Food Stamps off the freaking street. Did she really expect me to be like "Yea...I've got a guy. I'll totally hook you up!"
Not so much.
And if I did have such a sleezeball in my back pocket, do you think I would share this? Especially to a girl with a stupid Teddy Bear on her arm.
Again--not so much.
Working so much, sometimes, does have it's own entertainment value, that's for sure!
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
You'll pry this sucker out of my cold dead hands....
Alright.
I give up. Every time I find a new one of you guys, it's wonderful. I feel happy to have you with me. It's almost...magical. You know, like unicorns and rainbows and kittens--all rolled into one big ball of glee.
But then...when I really, REALLY, need you--you are no where to be found.
When will I learn to stop trusting cosmetic companies?
First, Almay broke my heart by discontinuing the best lipstick (hands down) in the US market. My poison? #42--Sequin...boy did I look good in Sequin. Pink Copper (#40) was a distant second--but doable in a pinch.
Like when they were out of Sequin.
You can sometimes find a tube here and there online...but it's trickery. They will let you get all the way to the check out before saying "Whoopsie!! We actually don't have that. Sorry! : ( How about this disgusting Estee Lauder?"
Sorry?
Sorry?!
SORRY!!! You're damn right you are sorry. Hell hath no fury like a woman who can't find her lipstick.
(And yes-Estee Lauder lipstick is DISGUSTING. It's like slapping a layer of tinted Turtle Wax on your lips. Foul, foul stuff...)
But..I found sort of a substitute. A step up, if you will, from Prescriptives.
R/O Surprise #14
It smells lovely, it goes on like a dream..and it's a bit more pinky than Almay, but that's okay...it's the closest thing I've found out there.
So, my tube is almost empty.
So I go online to Prescriptives to find out where I can find my new(er) treasure...
Oh. The horror.
DISCONTINUED.
I called a Prescriptives counter...hoping that the information online was incorrect.
It was not.
And yes. I realize this makes me a crazy person.
But do you know how many years I've spent trying to find the perfect neutral lipstick? Let's put it this way..you should be addressing me as "Dr. Cain", as I should have a doctorate in Cosmetic Sourcing.
That said...there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I found ONE website that has ONE tube of (I'm practically bouncing from my seat as I write this)...Almay #42!!!!
So. I'm safe for now. And I have a few months to find a viable substitution.
So if you see me out--NO biatch--you CANNOT use my lipstick.
Why?
My, my, my...someone didn't read the title, did they?
I give up. Every time I find a new one of you guys, it's wonderful. I feel happy to have you with me. It's almost...magical. You know, like unicorns and rainbows and kittens--all rolled into one big ball of glee.
But then...when I really, REALLY, need you--you are no where to be found.
When will I learn to stop trusting cosmetic companies?
First, Almay broke my heart by discontinuing the best lipstick (hands down) in the US market. My poison? #42--Sequin...boy did I look good in Sequin. Pink Copper (#40) was a distant second--but doable in a pinch.
Like when they were out of Sequin.
You can sometimes find a tube here and there online...but it's trickery. They will let you get all the way to the check out before saying "Whoopsie!! We actually don't have that. Sorry! : ( How about this disgusting Estee Lauder?"
Sorry?
Sorry?!
SORRY!!! You're damn right you are sorry. Hell hath no fury like a woman who can't find her lipstick.
(And yes-Estee Lauder lipstick is DISGUSTING. It's like slapping a layer of tinted Turtle Wax on your lips. Foul, foul stuff...)
But..I found sort of a substitute. A step up, if you will, from Prescriptives.
R/O Surprise #14
It smells lovely, it goes on like a dream..and it's a bit more pinky than Almay, but that's okay...it's the closest thing I've found out there.
So, my tube is almost empty.
So I go online to Prescriptives to find out where I can find my new(er) treasure...
Oh. The horror.
DISCONTINUED.
I called a Prescriptives counter...hoping that the information online was incorrect.
It was not.
And yes. I realize this makes me a crazy person.
But do you know how many years I've spent trying to find the perfect neutral lipstick? Let's put it this way..you should be addressing me as "Dr. Cain", as I should have a doctorate in Cosmetic Sourcing.
That said...there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I found ONE website that has ONE tube of (I'm practically bouncing from my seat as I write this)...Almay #42!!!!
So. I'm safe for now. And I have a few months to find a viable substitution.
So if you see me out--NO biatch--you CANNOT use my lipstick.
Why?
My, my, my...someone didn't read the title, did they?
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