Like a Virgin

The boss, in full sigh mode, approaches my office door all atwitter about the cell phone bill for the cell phone he just bought is charging to the company, after having put it off of 3 years. The bill, account and everything about it is of course, wrong. Wrong as in, not as promised in the store. He is at my door because he must fax them the agreement the store salesperson made at the point of purchase. He is at my door because one of the two fax machines in office is outside my door. He is at my door because he knows just how much I enjoy his siiiiigggghhhs and his tales of woe in dealing with vendors, salepersons and billing / customer service personnel. He is at my door because it is Friday, the last day of the month and because...well, just because.

Him: So I have to fax them what they did. Does this go face up or face down?
***we've had this fax machine for 3 years, granted he doesn't fax often, still one look at the machine it is fairly obvious that in order to scan you must face copy down. He asks this every time he faxes. There IS a "how to fax" cheat sheet on a slide out tray.

Me: Face Down

Him: Oh man!!! There is a jam while it's trying to send. Oh man!

Me: --- I say nothing and I don't move for several seconds.

Him: Deb? Could you help me out?

Me: --- I clear the jam saying something about how it was loaded with too much paper.

Him: (after he sees how simple it is to clear the jam) Oh, I could have done that.

Me: --- I go back inside my office and continue with my work, but wait for the next sigh and next Oh Man, cause I know it's coming.

Him: ***sigh*** Oh man. (another jam)

Me: --- I clear the jam, stay until the machine spits out a transmission without jamming.
***it's not his receipt.

Him: Did it send? Oh, I guess I have to.... (something else is printing---I'm sitting by now, back at work)

Him: So...if it says, SEND SUCCESSFUL does that mean it was successful?

Me: Yes. (and yes, I say this without the sarcasm dripping like hot molasses).

It's Friday, did I mention that earlier? Of course I did.

Goody, Goody!!!

Mail Call

This plus This

results in late mail, wrong mail or no mail at all? Maybe not, the sight however, is disconcerting for me none-the-less. There is similar un-easiness when I see carriers gib gabbing on the phone or to the air, presumably to a device that I cannot see. When I saw the boom box in the bag of one of the local carriers in my workplace district I was not surprised when I turned to see the carrier that belonged to that box in the bag. This carrier was once our carrier. He and I had clashed on a few occasions.

Our current carrier is always courteous, professional, prompt and diligent while carrying out his duties. He doesn't carry a boombox in his bag, a phone in his hand nor have I witnessed him speaking to the air, presumably to a device that I cannot see.

Raindrops Kept Falling

Drops schnapps. It was more like sheets, buckets, cats and dogs like…(why cats and dogs by the way??? Never mind, ask and answer some other time). Where was I? Oh yes, buckets, sheets of rain and not just rain. There was wind, lots and very heavy. There was even thunder and lightening, but like the song said…"knock on wood" the damage was limited to 1 full day without power. Thankfully, that day consisted of a late weekday afternoon, overnight and into the next day. By the time I’d returned from work that next day the power had been restored.

I was lucky. Thousands more in my area were without power the entire weekend and well into Monday morning. Many more were flooded and some had damage to automobiles and other property due to fallen trees and flying debris.

D, not the most patient house mate, and I talked about what we might do during an extended outage with regard to frozen, chilled foods and entertainment. It was no surprise to me that we had very different ideas about entertainment options.

I wonder, in this electronic age, how do you amuse yourself, pass the time, cope when you don’t have the creature comfort of electricity for an extended period of time?

The Greatest

Meet Pete.
Pete is sweet.
Pete is neat.
Pete is a tre…oh, enough already!
Pete is, as is plain as the rain, a cat. More specifically, Pete is a domestic short-hair brown tabby, just a few months shy of 2 years old. Pete was for most of Tuesday evening making himself quite the nuisance at home on the dining room table.

Pete was returned to the ACL in July after having been adopted March. He arrived and as the story goes, D was instantly smitten. “Mom, you must meet Pete! He is the greatest cat!”

Stop the bus! A cat? Blow me down, a cat.

I go. I meet Pete and true to D’s word, he is one great cat. I was telling Neta that prior to this year I’ve met, been in the company of maybe three cats my entire life. I’ve met 3 (all GREAT) this year! Pete, I knew as soon as I met him, would be coming home with me and D.

He spent the first night (when not on the table) walking and talking. Checking me out, getting his bearings. As he and D were already pals she's been allowed to call him "monkey" and nuzzle him more closely. He and I are still on a more formal basis, but that won't last long. He will soon rule feel very comfortable here. Welcome Home, Pete.

It's This Day

The Only Daughters, Big D and Little D have a new addition. He's a little nervous and didn't rest very well the first night, but that will pass, we are sure.

That's all for now, except to say as well as I know my daughter she can still manage to surprise.

If Only

Abbie Cadabbie! Oh drat, that's not it! It's rolling around in this mish mosh matter that is masquerading as my brain today. Ah fudge, it doesn't matter. Even if I could come up with the words, I'm missing at least one other vital tool, a wand. Magic cannot be performed with a wand. I think you could probably skate by without the goofy headpiece, maybe even the cape, but a wand is very necessary.

What would I do with this magic if I had the tool and could find the words?

I would transport me and one TN cutie to this spot, pronto!
This, you know, is more her bailiwick than mine, as I am not at all a water baby. My baby, however is very much a lover of the water, wide open seas and beaches. Whenever we speak of places to go on a lark, possible places to live, California is nearly always first or second on her list. That being said, I'd go to the water with her right. this. minute. (I might even get in the water). If the magic worked the way I wished she'd be up and about only to be lounging with me by her side, holding hands, making all kinds of plans.

Ample Cranapple! Oh, pish, that's not it either, is it? Get well soon baby.

f-r-i-d-a-y

I’m feeling much like the middle cars, impaled and a bit squeezed on both ends. I might be exaggerating some, but still this has been an excruciatingly long week.

I’m going to spend some time thinking about supporting the cause. It won’t stop the Walgreen's from being built, a cause long over-due, but it will give me something to muse while I down some brews.

Coffee in the Bag

The coffee spilling all over my workstation, dribbling down into my bag staining my notebook / journal and the current loan from the library, gives some indication as to how the day was going to go. It got better, but not much.

Neta’s surgery was scheduled for one, I called her mom at two and there wasn’t any word, yet. Some short time later, she called back. Neta was in recovery and they were going to release her soon. About 30 minutes later Neta calls and the planets begin to re-align.

She’s staying with her parents, which puts a crimp into our dirty talking routine, but the most important thing is that she is able to rest and recuperate. That is, until mom yelling at dad, chiming clocks and the dueling tee vees drive her bat-shit.

In the meantime, perhaps I need to re-evaluate my coffee consumption.

Morning

The morning begins like many before, I’ll wake at 5:00 and by 6 I’m showered, fed with a beverage at hand, and at least partially dressed. At 6:00 the phone chimes, the tone IDs the caller as Neta. For weeks we have begun our mornings apart with a call. “Morning baby, how did you sleep? I had the weirdest dream.” And off we go. For the next 40 minutes, chattering away while we get ready for our separate work, together.

Both needing to get going, we wind down, begin our so longs. The calls usually come to an end with Neta saying she’ll e-mail when she gets to work. Not this morning. There won’t be any e-mails, no work and in fact very little, no conversation.

Neta has surgery for a torn tendon in her right knee today. I’ll be out of reach, out of touch, out of my mind for most of the day. Her mom has agreed to be my conduit, to pass me the news, to let me release. It may be just enough.

She will end the call today by telling my not to worry, that all will be well. She’ll remind me to call her mom, that mom is expecting me. I’ll get through the day by sheer force of will, anxiously awaiting word, feverishly craving the sound of her voice.

It may be several days before we are back to some semblance of our routine, with her telling me about a weird dream, chattering away while we get ready for our separate work, together. Until then I suspect I’ll be out of step, out of rhythm, out of my mind.

Wake me in the morning.

do you? would you?

I don't seem to be watcing that much tee vee these days. There was a time when the prospect of missing an entire evening of tee vee viewing would engulf me with anger. I would not be fit company. The most feral cat in my daughter's care would run and hide from a me without tee vee.


Now, however, it is a new day. Oh, I still don't go a day without some tee vee, but I know that I could and it would be just fine. The more relaxed attitude probably has more to do with the understanding that missed programs can be caught in replays, dvds and / or online than any kind of "cure."

Summertime fare being what it is, when I am watching, cooking, home improvement and gardening offerings garner most of the attention. I have, in the midst of the h & g shows, become wildly enthralled with Glenn Close in Damages.

The Logo channel is fairly new to my cable line-up and I've been giving that a few spins in the tee vee wheel. 'Tis this network that has been showing the Kinoki commercial often. Thus, the question that titles the post. Do tell.

Momma B Proud

“Teamwork is dream work” my girl D chants to her team of animal care techs. A softball, basketball, volleyball and soccer player throughout her school years D is well acquainted with the concept of team and what it takes to make a team successful.

After 5 weeks in her new job with the local animal shelter, D earned a promotion to shift supervisor. From day one she let her experience guide her and she made her thoughts known. She pointed out flaws in some systems and worked out reasonable and executable solutions.

In spite of her skittishness towards cats, she embraced the challenge of “cat intake” and though still not totally at ease, is much less afraid. Today she can be amused by a cat soiling the freshly cleaned cage and then proceeded to sit in the mess….”oh mom, she shat and sat!”

It goes without saying that she wants to bring home at least half of the mid-sized dogs that appear at the shelter. And while she won’t be eligible to adopt for several weeks, I would not be surprised to find a mid-sized canine at my front door, welcoming me home, sooner rather than later.

That’s my girl.

A Rare Dream Memory

Neta and I were in a lumber store. I can’t tell you why we were there beyond the obvious getting lumber. I don’t know why we were getting lumber. While I have assembled furniture, I’ve never built any. The only building I’ve witnessed at Neta’s is that of the fantastic omelets and…momentum.

We are in separate parts of the store. I am waiting in a line, I think to the saw. I’m not holding any wood so I’m not sure what’s going to get sawed once I get to the front. There are people milling about the store and soon I start to see people I know from my former church. Maureen, Kelly and Alice come as one and say hello. While we are talking my mother joins the group. The other ladies say their good-byes, leaving my mother and me alone.

We are talking for only a few minutes before I mention that my friend, Neta is in the store and ask mom if she would like to meet her. Mom blurts out a no, bids me a hasty farewell, stating she doesn’t want the van to leave without her, all while vanishing through the double-swinging doors.

I wake abruptly and permanently, starting this day two hours earlier than planned.

Odd Decades

Ten years ago my marriage was disintegrating. The destruction, due mostly (according to him) to my failure as a teacher; "you were supposed to teach me to be a man, father." In the midst of that miasma was my 37th birthday, barely a blip in the whole scheme of things.

I as a hard-working mother of two, 20 years ago. My five year old son was looking forward to starting kindergarten. My nearly two year old daughter was busy doing what toddlers do. We had been thrown out asked to leave our apartment because the man and the landlord got into a fight. Between working a full-time job, school orientations, chasing a toddler and looking for an apartment, the only thing I can tell you about my 27th birday was that it came and went.

My graduation from high school was 30 years ago. Much of the time immediately following was spent preparing for college and my eventual move to on-campus housing. My mother decided to rescind her permission, forcing me to cancel the move, my life as I had envisioned. I could write volumes about this decision and the subsequent affects, but I won't, today. Needless to say, my 17th birthday was met with very little fanfare.

Forty years ago my parents split. My father's erratic behavior and cruelty leading up to the split gave me cause to celebrate. Little did I understand the devastation this event would cause and how the precarious house of cards mother had formed would come tumbling down. In all likelihood there was some sort of cake for birthday number seven. Maybe.
Ten years from now when I think of my 47th birthday I'll recall having a pre-birthday cake and celebration with my lady love. I'll remember my mom taking me to lunch the Saturday before, asking me at the end, "so...what is on your agenda, for the rest of your life?" Saturday evening I met a blogger and others for dinner and had fantastic time. Hanging out with my son and having the honor of feeding him, again, graced a good part of Sunday afternoon. Sunday evening my daughter and I cheered as the Chicago Sky trounced the Houston Comets. D met Ma and Pa Berenstain, certainly a most memorable moment in her book.
Monday found me playing hooky from work to spend the day communing with nature and seals, lions, tigers, bears, birds, kids, moms, dads, nannies, tourists and...more. Neta called me early Monday morning and serenaded me. She called again late Monday night for final happy, happy wishes and to get a round-up of my day. This birthday season will be recorded as one of the happiest of the odd year birthdays due to the happiness surrounding me most days, these days.

Cheers!

for eb (and other inquiring minds)

Or...more about the trip south. Have any idea what you get when you take (2) 46 y.o. lesbians (ebony/ivory combo optional), toss in 2 cups of long distance relationship, add another 1/4 cup of mis-construed comments and mix that all together with 2 1/2 cups of emotional baggage? What you get dear friends is tears. Put me in the mind of that old O'Jays tune. To borrow a phrase, jeezie creezie!
The girlfriend and I spent some parts of our precious time together recently crying over one thing or another. The tears appearing fast and ending just as quickly. Still, we laughed more. In addition to the crying and laughing we spent the bulk of our days and nights eating, drinking, watching movies and just being together.

We took in the Nashville Zoo on probably the hottest of the hot days. Afro dude here was a big hit. I was in heat heaven. Neta, not nearly as tolerant to high heat and humidity grinned (barely) and withstood it for me. We did finish the trip with some ice cold beers and other tasty treats.

Much about this trip was the same as the previous ones. (I'll never tire of the loaded omelets or uhm..other perks, honey) and there was much that was different (Popsicle play was reeeally cool & thanks again for the b-day cake, sugar!) Neta gets a charge out of being on hand to help me experience my firsts. In the world of many things lesbian that encompasses quite a bit. How surprised was I to learn there were firsts to share on both sides? Very. How pleased? Very, very. What I've enjoyed most about my trips so far though, is the rest. I sleep like a baby when I'm with my baby.

This trip also included meet and greets; another friend, co-workers and do dee do dee do dee do deeeeeee THE PARENTS. Mom had been nagging Neta nutty about meeting me. Of course I was nervous but not worried. The meeting(s) went off without a hitch. They were both gracious, friendly and pleasant. Dad offered an explanation as to why there were two TVs running (as did Mom) and Mom talked a mile a minute. She is full of energetic verve. I enjoyed meeting them both and look forward to getting to know them better.

This trip, the longest of the three to date was also the most fun, emotionally charged, sweet and exciting. We spent every moment together, except for that last un-planned partial day and we tried very hard to keep the eventual "so long" (we don't say good-bye) out of our heads.

The first week back was always the hardest. This time was no exception. Adding to the pangs this time is the knowledge that in all likelihood we won't see each other again until December. We plan on spending the end of the year together, we will celebrate someones birthday (shhhh she's ignoring it), the anniversary of our meeting and bring in the New Year wrapped in each other's arms. We might even be awake at the stroke of midnight, doubtful, but it could happen.

In the meantime, we will try to avoid thinking about December being 5 long months away while burning up the phone lines talking each other giddy.

So.......

The plan was to fly back into Chicago on Wednesday evening, un-pack, de-compress, re-connect with D, talk with Neta, turn in for the night and prepare for work on Thursday. Talking with Neta and turning in for the night were the only un-changed parts of the plan. My flight was delayed and likely cancelled Wednesday due to weather in the Chicago area. I didn’t stay around longer than 9 p.m. to find out the ultimate disposition of flight number 4337 scheduled to depart at 6:30 p.m. After numerous delays and very little hope, I re-scheduled for Thursday afternoon. I made 3 phone calls, home, my boss and Neta. She came back to the airport some 4 hours after dropping me off, kissing me good-bye. We returned to her place, relaxed a bit and turned in for the night.

As happy as I was to spend more time with Neta it was under less than ideal conditions, I was frustrated and tired; she was tired and had to be at work early the next morning. I don’t present well in this part, so you’ll forgive me for glossing over. We talked, kissed and made nicer.

****I miss you lover girl****

Thursday morning came, after bagels and coffee, Neta went to work. I stayed “home” to keep checking the flight info. She returned at her lunch-time to take me to the airport for a 1:30 flight. We said our good-byes again and I went to check in. Thursday’s flight 4484 was delayed an hour because the Prez and Air Force One were in Nashville and at our scheduled 1:30 departure, still on the ground. Planes can’t land when Air Force One is on the ground, preparing for take-off. The plan I was scheduled to take to Chicago (and a few others) circled Nashville for nearly an hour, waiting for the Prez to split. Finally AFO took off, planes landed. My plane was emptied, cleaned and prepped. We boarded and took off towards Chicago. I called my daughter with an expected arrival time of around 4:00. Well, at 3:30 we were circling, no clearance to approach because of the weather. We were ultimately diverted to Arkansas for re-fueling and a new flight plan.

Thirty minutes later and all gassed up, the new plan was finally in place and announced. We were going to go around the weather, come into Chicago from the back-door, so to speak. We landed at 7:15 p.m. One hour and 30 minutes later, I was home. The bit more than one hour flight took 24 frustrating, tiring hours. I don’t however, want that to over-shadow the absolute joys and pleasures I had while visiting with the lovely, charming Neta and her kitties, “Kamikaze” Bobo, (up top) so named because he preys on feet and “Tail-i-tude” Lulu, who looks like she dipped her face in ink, is somewhat aloof and makes her feelings known via her tail.

I will be back honey as soon as I can. No diggity, no doubt. Thanks for the two-week early birthday celebration. You are sweeter than that ice cream mud cake. Yummy!

Say You, Say Meme

Some days eons ago, Lori tagged me to play the *8 Things We Don’t Know About You* meme game. With this game, as with others, there are rules, something about listing the rules, tagging others and telling them they’ve been tagged.
The 8 I’ll do. There must be things you don’t know about me, there are things I don’t know about me as I am still evolving. I’ll pass on the tagging. If anyone would like to play, by all means play on.

1. I am a reformed thumbsucker. My own thumbs. I sucked my thumbs from the ages of zero through 6 or 7 I made a daily meal of mostly my left thumb. Twas comforting, the sucking of the thumb especially combined with...

2. The twisty twirling of my hair. I wound my hair around my finger, usually the right index finger. I would twirl, twist, around and around until I had curlicues all over my head. My mom, not the greatest little girl hair stylist, never said a word about the twirling my hair. She didn’t like me sucking my thumb and employed many tricks and tactics to get me to stop. I did stop, in public, when I started school at four. I did continue both the thumbsucking and hair twisting in private, as private as a room shared with two brothers can be.

3. I began life as a left-hander. It didn’t come into play until it was time to learn to write. I was already by then, wielding eating utensils and the like with my left hand. When I got hold of a ball and someone commanded me to throw it, I did so with my left hand. My earliest teachers worked on me, some gently, most not, trying to convince me that life would be easier if I used my right hand. I did so, in school. Everywhere else, I was left-handed. Still today, I do most everything left-handed. I use my right when I want to write fast and in cursive. I continue to practice writing with my left. I can print very well, cursive so-so. Recently I have come to truly appreciate having near equal dexterity and strength in both the left and right hands.

4. My first name has seven letters, the middle name six and my last name five. The middle name repeats a letter and this letter appears in each name. I played with variations of the letter count and positioning when trying to decide how to sign my artwork, when I was routinely producing artwork. I wound up settling on a version that utilized letters from my middle and last name, dese ge.

5. When I was pregnant with my daughter I ate fried mushrooms from a little hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop near my job, every single day. They were made to order and thus served piping hot! They were not at all mushy from the heat lamps. I really do detest mushy mushrooms. This place served up a spicy little jalapeno dip that was just fabulous. I eat mushrooms still, though not often fried and certainly not every day.

6. There were no particular food passions while pregnant the first time. The passion was simply for food, most any food would serve. I did however, gain more weight the second time.

7. I attended seven different elementary schools; Ryerson (headstart), Morse (kindergarten, part of 1st), Biedler (the rest of 1st & 2nd), Ryder (3rd & part of 4th), Dvorak (the rest of 4th & 5th), Suder (6th and part of 8th), Skinner (rest of 8th). I remember only liking Ryerson and Skinner. Ryerson because my older brother wasn’t there and my teacher, Mrs. Stomper was really sweet. Skinner because neither brother went there and the school, with a very diverse student body which included developmentally and physically challenged kids, offered workshops in ASL.

8. I am as annoyed as this guy that my library misspelled my name on my card. I am THIS annoyed that it has taken me over a year to notice. And I am THIS annoyed that I probably won’t change it until closer to the 2008 expiration date.

Bonus: I get to see my lover girl in two days. The waiting is painful but the reward will be sweeeet!!

He says, "I just need to get back in the Bible."

“Your brother didn’t go home again Friday night and he’s taken his name and number off of the work van. What do you think that means?”

It means my brother is back to his old tricks; he is drugging, drinking, gambling, breaking & entering.

It means quite possibly inside of three months he will be in county lock-up, waiting for trial, which will result in his being sentenced to hard time-again.

It means his children, in all likihood, for better or worse, will complete their ascent to adult-hood without him.

It means I have reason to believe that it was my brother who broke into my apartment. It means that I am very reluctant to contact the detective for an update. It means that I’m hoping that when I do, he tells me the prints weren’t viable enough to run or that they didn’t match any in the system.

It means my seldom voiced predictions for his fall off the wagon were right on.

It means that I'd been hoping otherwise.

Finally, it means my mother knew all this when she asked the question, understanding that, it means the call was to spill her sadness and my role was simply to sop up the mess.

photo: (younger) brother age 13 & his dog "Queenie"

Nothing, I Got Nothing

The Wordsmiths group is back in business and I had every intention of trying my hand at the challenge for June. My story began: Hester, now hopelessly lost, has begun to question the wisdom of getting directions from the family of sea crabs she stumbled upon several miles back. She figured she didn’t have much to lose as she was already lost, just not hopelessly so. Now, of course, she no longer hopes to find her way. She’s been floating and scooting forever and a day.

The thought sprung that she might get back in the water. The traveling would go much smoother and faster in the water. She could get …nowhere, faster. No, better to stay on the sand, thinking is easier on the sand. Thinking is what Hester needs. And food, Hester needs food.

And then…blank. Poof. Every thought vanished in the wind. I haven’t been able to think, really. What with the concern mixed with glee for my newly independent son, worry over the break-in and my daughter’s reaction and recovery, frustrations following the break-in with the police, insurance agents and adjusters, and installers of locks and alarms, sorrow over the loss of a computer, joyfulness over the subsequent computer replacement, impatience with modems, noisy lines and slow arriving filters, what with all that, I haven’t been able to think, clearly.

It is quite possible though that the inability to, uhm..think may have nothing at all to do with any of those things and everything to do with visions of the South and the days and nights I will be spending there with the lovely Neta. Soon baby, soon. Boarding the plane in 10 days, whoopeee!!!!

Then again, it may not be that either. It may just be anything and every little thing these days is twisting my very short hair into itty bitty knots. Luckily, my head has left the building so I don’t have to think about what my hair looks like.

Mission: Size-Mic

One of my co-workers, I call him Mr. Arkansas, thought that I might be a good messenger to deliver the following message to my? over-weight sistahs: that they should refrain from wearing little girl panties when wearing their summer-time favorite white pants.

He would be wrong and since I am not an appropriate messenger, I thought these folks might be a better choice to talk to and about sistahs clad in, well, anything or...nothing as the case may be.

The FGF opening near our office has been the topic of choice for most of the guys in my office, Mr. Arkansas included.

And since I must included in all these conversations I thought it natural to turn Mr. Arkansas' mission for me over to FGF.

My mission was to get Mr. Arkansas (& the rest of the guys) out of my office. Mission: accomplished. For the time being.

G Rated

Picked this up from Brutal Women, who as you can see has a different rating.






Which got me to thinking; is this G good? bad? Do I live a G life? Have G experiences?

The explanation for my G rating was that lesbian was mentioned 1 x. (I'm sure the absence of a few fucks, shits and damns were a factor too.) But, lesbian only once? Really? Hmmm. This got me to thinking even more.

Is it clear to the casual reader that I'm a lesbian? Those of you who know me, have been around awhile, purged the archives know the deal. You also probably know that it was just about a year ago that I made this announcement to you (the world) and to my son and daughter. You may also know that only two other people who know me, the living, breathing me, know; my oldest friend, DB and my girlfriend.

A year ago, brand new lesbian was sans girlfriend. Hell, this brand new lesbian was sans a clue. As the (now) girlfriend stated on our first face to face meet in March, "you haven't even kissed a woman before." True that. She was understandably concerned of my "stated" lesbian status. She had run across posers and experimenters before.

After two visits and plans for at least two more before year-end, all questions have been answered, all evidence posted.

I am a lesbian. Lesbian, I am and that's all G. G for GOOD!

And oh, by the way, I am also Black. Apparently, there had been some question about that as well. Say it Loud! I am Proud!

note to Neta--Only 17 more days baby. Yowzah!!