Pooping At Work

Okay, now tears are running down my face for another reason altogether. Holy shit this is funny:

How to Poop at Work

We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our cubicles and suddenly felt something brew down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK POOP is inevitable. For those who hate pooping at work, following is the Survival Guide for taking a dump at work. Memorize these definitions and pooping at work will become a pure pleasure.

ESCAPEE
Definition: a fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a poop in a stall. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of panic embarrassment. This is similar to the hot flash you receive when passing an unseen police car and speeding. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee, it is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy.

JAILBREAK (Used in conjunction with ESCAPEE)
Definition: When forcing poop, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the stall until everyone has left the bathroom so to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.

COURTESY FLUSH
Definition: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the nose cone of the poop log hits the water and the poop is whisked away to an undisclosed location. This reduces the amount of air time the poop has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.

WALK OF SHAME
Definition: Walking from the stall, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with all farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the COURTESY FLUSH.

OUT OF THE CLOSET POOPER
Definition: A colleague who poops at work and damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet Pooper enter the bathroom with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet Pooper before entering the bathroom.

THE POOPING FRIENDS NETWORK (PFN)
Definition: A group of coworkers who band together to ensure emergency pooping goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet Poopers, and identify SAFE HAVENS.

SAFE HAVENS
Definition: A seldom used bathroom somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly of the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a pooper of your sex entering the bathroom.

TURD BURGLAR
Definition: A pooper who does not realize that you are in the stall and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the stall until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.

CAMO-COUGH
Definition: A phony cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a stall. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.

ASTAIRE
Definition: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a stall. This will remove all doubt that the stall is occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the pooper can poop in peace.

WATERMELON
Definition: A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.

HAVANA OMELET
Definition: A load of diarrhea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough with an Astaire.

UNCLE TED
Definition: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the pot. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.

FLY BY
Definition: The act of scouting out a bathroom before pooping. Walk in and check for other poopers. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.

Why I Am Still Crying

1. Will is gone and I am feeling lonely and slightly helpless.
1.5 I am pathetic.
2. Spencer is seeing a shrink (not related to #1).
3. My house is a wreck.
4. The toilet broke last night.
5. The ominous "CHECK OIL" light on my car is glowing brightly despite the fact that there is oil in the car.
6. I have black circles under my eyes.
7. The carpet has not yet been replaced.
8. It is getting cold at night.
9. I can't eat!
10. I am hating my job way too much.
11. I am too lazy to look for a new job.
12. My self-esteem is shot.
13. My cell phone is broken.
14. I have no social life.
15. I am angry with ME for allowing all this shit into my life and for letting it all bug me so much.

Fergie Dashes

Miss Girly Girl Fergalicious the First has finally realized that outside is NOT very fun after all. Sometime between last night and this morning at 8, she made her escape. Not sure, really, when it was, but I was much more alert this morning than I was last night, and I didn't see her sneak out the door in the twelve seconds that it took Spencer and I to get out. This may mean that she has ripped a hole in a screen, but I doubt it (she's not that smart). More likely is that she got out last night, which means that she was out in the pouring rain all night and morning, and boy howdy was she ready to come in at 9:15! Spencer and I heard a cat meowing when we left for school but figured that it was the neighbor's earless wonder cat. Her being out all night would explain the freakage of Death Row, who was losing his mind this morning when I got home. Anyhoo, Fergie's back in the house now and very content to stay there as far as I can tell!

You know what sucks?

Being single. I guess I should have taken MUCH more advantage of the willing, naked man in my bed when I had the chance.
I have realized, much to my chagrin, that being a horndog is directly proportional to how many guys are waiting in line to sleep with you! This must be rectified ASAP.

I was driving home and thought of something funny that happened at work, and remembered that I have no one at home to share it with, and the waterworks have not stopped yet. This being lonely thing can suck it.

Hundred Dollar Bills, Y'All

TGIF. Shit, I have had a hard week.

Good News First:

1. I am not so sad. I'm waiting for the point when I can say, "I have got a date - Friday night at eight - I hardly wait - I cannot be late!" (Nutty Professor, paraphrased)

2. Spencer's leg, aside from some fluid build-up, is fine, as per Dr Koch and an MRI. What they originally thought was a break is actually a bone contusion (aka BRUISE), and the ligaments were stretched but no tears. Hence, no surgery, no cast, no crutches. I swear, if any of the aforementioned options had been fact, I would be running down the street looking for a brick wall to slam my head into.

3. My dad bought tickets for Spencer and I to NYC in December. We're not going for Christmas because a) it's too expensive, b) I hate travelling over holidays, and c) I am not a fan of Christmas. I mean, really, why the hell am I going to spend good money to buy gifts for people I rarely see, just because someone ELSE'S kid was born 2008 years ago? In the immortal words of one fabulous Miss Kathy Griffin, "Jesus can suck it."

4. My meeting with my archenemy co-worker went really well and we are friends again. It's amazing what a little calm, reasonable communication does for a relationship of any sort.

Bad News:

1. I am still sad. Better, but still sad. It's hard to lose your best friend.

2. I just paid all the fucking bills and rent is due in two weeks.

3. The carpet installers never showed up this morning, so there is nasty carpet in my empty living room and all the furniture is jammed into the kitchen. This would be bearable except that I HAVE PEOPLE COMING OVER TOMORROW, GODDAMNIT. I guess we can sit outside. I just called the company and they said that they had to wait because the landlord wanted to get an estimate for cleaning before spending the money for new carpet. Are you FUCKING KIDDING ME??
This is old, white (formerly) carpet we're talking about here, that the previous tenant's dog must have soiled everywhere because there are black stains that have seeped through even after repeated cleanings, and paint spots where they painted the wall -- maroon (yes, they were lesbians). I sent him an email outlining the details of carpet maintenance, and how one cleans it when there is PISS fermenting on the floor below it -- ONE DOESN'T!!! You replace it, and you shut the fuck up because your tenant, who is loyal and has made your yard look better than any other on the block FOR FREE, has been paying $1200 a month since May 2006, and she deserves one damned nice thing in the stupid slum-partment. (post: he just authorized them to replace the carpet. I win.)

4. Spencer is still having issues at school. I am not so convinced that his teacher isn't a little bit menopausal, or PMSal, because she said on Wednesday that he was having a great week, and then yesterday afternoon said (in front of a lot of other kids) that he is so bad that he can't go on their field trip on Monday unless his dad or I chaperone. She also said, "if he spoils it, then they won't let us come back and that will ruin it for all future 5th graders." IN FRONT OF HIS CLASSMATES she said this. Well, it embarrassed poor Spencer to no end, to the point that he was crying by the time we got to the car, and this morning I sent an email to the principal telling him about the situation. I can't fathom that my son is SO BAD that he will ruin things for everyone to the point that King Soopers will never allow a group of schoolchildren to visit their facility again. Damn.

5. CU is playing Miami (OH) in football tomorrow (which is good news) and I don't want to go (that's the bad news). I am emotionally drained and tired, and my Tylenol PM buzzed me out instead of knocking me out last night. I really don't need to see a bunch of old friends when I look like this. I'm sure that they've seen me look worse, but not in the past few years. Ugh. Of course, I must go, and I must go EARLY because Big D is getting into Denver at some ridiculous hour like 7 am, and then we must commence to partying. Tonight is going to be spent shaving, grooming, whitening, digging through the closet, and fighting a sick feeling in my stomach. I haven't been drinking at all (!) because I'm afraid that, just like eating, it will make me puke. Puking = no good, very bad, yucky. So tomorrow should be interesting. Pictures to follow.

Cheerier

Okay, well, THIS ARTICLE just cheered me right the hell up. In a sick and twisted kind of way, but still.

Revelation

I slept exactly 0.0 minutes last night. My blood pressure was too high, and I kept thinking about things like: I must clean the storage area! I need to stop drinking because I have to save money! I have no one to help me with Spencer! I have no one to sleep with! I have no one to have sex with! I am fat, ugly and stupid! I need to finish painting the kitchen! The whole house needs to be cleaned by Saturday! I have so much work to do - oh, that's right, must order furniture for the intern house, make an Office Depot order, enter that new project, research more data storage options! and on and on and on....every time I closed my eyes, I would see something, and they would shoot back open again. I even had songs running through my head and was reading mental blog posts with my eyes closed, my most recent post included.

SO, this morning at 8:00 I took Spencer to school and came home and slept for an hour. I had the weirdest dream. I woke up like, WOW...well, I hadn't thought about that before. But that short and simple dream made me recognize the point in my life when I started thinking that I wasn't good enough for anyone, and when I started accepting anything that was thrown at me, no matter how much it smashed my self-esteem. I realize that it's no one's fault but my own, for taking everything so personally and assuming that I deserve to be treated that way. I think, back then, I wanted the drama. Now it's a habit.

The dream: I was in my old bedroom. My parents were in another room of the house. Out of nowhere, my bedroom door shot open, and in fell (literally) my first and former boyfriend, Paul. He was naked. I laughed and said that he needed to put some damned clothes on because my parents were right there. He was smoking a cigarette, but for some reason that didn't bother me. Paul handed me a folder, and it was filled with things he wrote/painted for me. One of them was a purple piece of construction paper, with a bright yellow/red/orange sun painted in the middle and said, in silver marker, CYNDY IS #1!! #1 WOMAN!!, all over it. There were other things, like poems, in the folder, but that's what I recall most vividly. He sat there smoking and drunk, and asked me when we were going to get married. And, in my dream, I got very very sad because I realized that he didn't really mean any of it at all, just like in real life.

Here's some Paul history: we met when I was 17 and he was 21, and I thought he was SO CUTE. And I thought he thought that *I* was SO CUTE, but really he was on drugs and I could have been Phyllis Diller for all it mattered. I went to his friend's house with him and we made out all night. Nothing more, though he did do something that evening that I have never seen before or again (no, I'm not telling). I thought he was the shit. Too bad that he was married (briefly, he got her pregnant) and lived far away (25 miles is far when you have to ask to borrow the car from your mom and then pay for gas).
In the spring when I was 22, I ran into him again at a bar, and we hooked up that night. We continued seeing each other for a while, but I had to go back to college...he came with me. After about three weeks of witnessing his childish behavior and dealing with his obvious and scary addiction(s), and feeling uncomfortable in my own home, I kicked him out.

I should have known better when I think back on the fact that, at 26, he had no car, no job and his parents gave him money and bought him shirts for job interviews. He never once looked for a job when we lived together. All he did was sit around the house drinking cheap beer and watching talk shows. If he went out, he made inappropriate comments and hit on other women right in front of me. When I made him leave my house, I had to drive him to his mom's house in Michigan and drop him off with all his stuff. I felt such relief driving back home, but also guilt. It was as if I blamed myself for his situation because I couldn't make him "better." I started thinking about when I would see him again -- and I wasn't even home yet from dropping his worthless ass off!

A couple years after that, I sent him a birthday card. What I got in response was a nasty letter from his current girlfriend, saying that he didn't remember me, and that I should never attempt to contact him again. Of course, that was bullshit, but whatever. I went on my way, lived with another alcoholic, had Spencer, etc.

Some ten years later, I received an email from Paul. Ahhh, technology. We started talking on the phone and he would tell me about his kids and impending divorce and talk to me in a way that we had never communicated before. I even talked to his wife a few times; they were merely living together at that point and were more friends than anything. He began talking about how miserable he was in Michigan and how he would love to be in Boulder. He said that he had really cleaned up his act, and he sounded sincere. I told him that he could stay with me if he moved here, until he found his own place. I was so excited to have my cute boyfriend back -- yeah, the one who had previously shown no respect for me at all!

Well (even though it's too late now), to make a long story short, he came to Boulder that summer. He planned to arrive on a specific day but didn't show up. He called the next day, saying something about a delayed flight. When I picked him up at the airport, I could see immediately that I wasn't ready for this. His eyes were bright yellow from jaundice, all his wordly possessions were in two bags, and he reeked. I found out later that he had had an alcoholic seizure in the Dallas airport, and that's why he was late...they took him to the indigent hospital overnight for tests (I found the results in a closet one day - "severe alcoholism, cirrhosis, seizure disease due to alcoholism"...at 40 years old...scary). The second day he was in Boulder, I went to work and he got drunk. DRUNK drunk. Thank God that Spencer was with his dad. Paul was passed out on the couch when I got home, and I couldn't wake him up, so I called an ambulance. In the meantime, I located a garbage bag full of beer cans and an empty fifth of vodka in the kitchen. He drank a CASE of beer and a pint of vodka in ONE DAY. The cops came, the ambulance came, the fire truck came...and they took him out of my house. While an officer was asking me some questions, Paul spat on me. And, still, I packed up his stuff and drove it to the detox center they took him to because I didn't want him to feel lost. The officer wouldn't let me bring the stuff in the building, because he thought that Paul was a danger to me.

Two days later, he was sitting on my doorstep. He had gotten out of detox the day before and immediately got drunk. In the process, he lost his luggage and wallet. I let him in the house and helped make arrangements for him to leave on the bus for another ex's place in Florida (I told her the facts and she still wanted him back and I thought she was SO stupid). I have never seen him again, though his ex-wife sent Christmas cards for a while. I guess she felt bad about sending him my way, but I understand why she did. She wanted him gone and I wanted him back, same as the chick in Florida. Patterns, patterns...

My point in all this blather is that my dream helped me recognize that my pattern of unhealthy relationships started a long, long time ago with Paul. He was the most severe case, but it has always been basically the same. I will do almost anything to keep a partner around, mainly because I'm afraid I will not find anyone else. There has never been a case in my life when I have had a partner who would do anything for me, to make things work out and really TRY. Never. Every single one of them has been dysfunctional to the point that communication is basically a non-issue unless I instigate it, and when I do is when I get hurt, so I avoid doing it. That's saying something really harsh about me, and I see that. Until now, I have always thought that I was being a nice person, doing things for people who treat me like shit, but now I see it's just pathetic on my part. It's time for me to start over again, with a new attitude and respect for myself.

Well, Now I Know...

...what it feels like a) to be treated like complete shit, and b) the true meaning of "he's really just not that into you." And it is sickening and very, very painful to realize that someone for whom you still care deeply JUST DOESN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT YOU. I thought long and hard before typing that sentence, mostly because it hurts a lot to see it in print. I need to remember to not take it personally.

I have a big pile of his stuff sitting by my back door that keeps me on the verge of tears and reminds me just how horribly I have been treated and simply put up with it. Can you believe I packed for him --and washed his dirty clothes in the process -- because he wouldn't come home to face the situation? He just didn't come home. We're on Night Four.

This is NOT how love is supposed to be, but I can see now how people end up in emotionally abusive relationships (no, there was not *intentional* abuse in our relationship). I just kept letting him hurt me and disrespect me, because I obviously have no respect for myself. I am a goddamned doormat. As I sit here with my blood pressure through the ceiling and my stomach aching and tears in my eyes, I see it all very clearly, and it sucks major ass for me. I believe that I wrote almost exactly the same thing not so long ago, so obviously the fact that I was being treated like shit didn't matter enough to me.

I can't believe that I kept trying, that I offered to talk so many times, but he either came home drunk or simply avoided me. Or both. What was I thinking by dragging it out??? I guess I was hoping that it would work, that he would change, that something would be different the next day, because I truly love this guy -- for who I *know* he can be, not the person who came home drunk and was rude and acted like a child. Therefore, I did my part in avoiding, too, but for different reasons.

I should have ended it all in August 2005, when we were first dating, when he came home on drugs, or when (on two different occasions) he left pot in the living room and porn in the DVD player, both of which were found by Spencer. Or on any number of the days when he avoided me because it was easier that way. But no, instead I let him move in with us because he was in a bad roommate situation. And I have been enabling and getting my heart stomped on ever since. See earlier posts for specific examples.

Also, I see now that something is seriously wrong with him, and he's avoiding that, too...not sure if it's depression, but it certainly has much to do with the drinking. As someone who over-imbibes on a regular basis myself yet manages to keep my shit together, and knowing many others who do the same, I can see that his issue is not just the booze. Something is making him behave this way. Maybe it's me. Regardless, it's painful and sad and stressful to watch, and even more so to be on the receiving end of the frustration. I would love to see him function as a grown-up and take responsibility for himself, but I'm pretty sure that it's not going to happen soon. I don't have the energy to drown myself in anger any longer by letting him stay in my life the way he is right now.

I wish that he could love himself, mostly, because there's a great guy in there. It's just that the layers on top have gotten so thick that he's going to have to work really hard to cut through them, and it is very apparent that he isn't ready. And this hurts my heart a LOT, for him and me. And for the lawn, which will suffer indeed. I would be willing to be friends when he's healthier. I would be willing to be more, probably, if the situation were different. But, since I doubt that will happen, I will miss forever the way our bodies fit together and the perfect spooning.

When I told Spencer this afternoon that it's just the two of us now, he asked me if I found any drugs or dirty magazines in the closet. Sigh.

My email to a friend this morning:

"Will and I went to dinner on Friday and had a relatively good time. Then we made the mistake of going to the Pub. About a half hour after he went downstairs to play pool, a mutual friend came upstairs and told that I ought to know that Will was down there talking about how happy he is to be free of me, and how now he can chase chicks (Will was much ruder than that, apparently, but I can’t bring myself to type it or I’ll cry). Whether or not he means it is beside the point...I read him the riot act, and went home. He hasn’t been home since. I was meeting some friends at the Pub the next day and saw him but we didn’t speak. Same for Sunday, when I met a friend to watch the Broncos game. I brought Will his phone and toothbrush, but just set them down and walked away. He didn’t make a move to speak to me. One thing he’s not going to do is make it uncomfortable for me to go to the Pub, and I guess he knows that now! I have no idea where he’s been staying or how he’s finding clean clothes....my guess is that he will pick up his stuff when I’m not home, and that we will never speak to each other again."

Bad day

So, after a lovely day at work during which a co-worker, notorious for her complete lack of social skills, yelled at me and made me cry...and I couldn't stop until this morning...Will and I had a talk last night...actually, I had the talk and he stared at the Food Network, except for when he was telling me that I was wrong. He didn't respond when I told him that I would still be willing to work on things -- but, once he walks out that door with his belongings, that's the end. I don't do "back together" because it ends up being "apart again" soon enough and it adds that much more pain to the already feeble heart.

He said he wants to remain friends, and I said that I will remain friendly, but not friends. I will give him a nice smile when I see him and I will be polite to his dates, should I run into that situation. And then I will probably turn around, go home, and cry, at least for a while. Time heals, right?

Who knew how painful this would be, especially considering how pissed I have been at him and how relieved I know I will be when he’s out of the house and I can stop worrying about his drunken, disrespectful, hurtful behavior? I will certainly miss his company a lot of the time, and it will be hard to not wait for him for dinner, and the bed will be very big and cold.

And now I'm crying again. Too much stress at one time...kid with an injury and a bad attitude at school, feeling pulled all directions at work and hence feeling miserably incompetent at all of it, and now a break-up of a 2+ year relationship and pseudo-engagement (yes, I had ringS. I gave them back last spring because I realized that he never meant to marry me. I figured it out when my pregnancy scare turned out to be just that, and he did tequila shots in celebration while I cried).

At least I should lose some weight out of the deal, given that I have had about two bites of food since Monday and I walk all the time to burn off some heartache. I haven't felt hungry. Mostly all I've felt is sadness and anger and stress and pain, which is really not very healthy. The only thing that would help -- right this minute -- is if Mr Perfect came out of the woodwork declaring love and bestowing gratitude for my existance, which would be such a stark comparison that I wouldn't be able to help cheering up on the spot. And I am NOT saying that I need a man. I just need to be shown the light in such a humongous way that it's like a slap in the face -- I DESERVE BETTER.

Oh WOW

Now THIS is a lovely and talented bunch. I'm guessing the mean IQ of all six of them is about 45. Jesus H. And WTF is up with MSN using the term "N-word" a million times and reporting that it "might be a hate crime?" NO FUCKING DUH it was a hate crime! How do people like that exist in this world? I think we should bring back lynching but reverse the roles -- let's make it legal for Black people to put on black robes with pointy hats and chase down ignorant redneck hillbillies, and string them up from trees and then cut their balls off and stuff them in their mouths, before pulling the bench out from underneath their feet. Paybacks are a bitch.

News, briefly...

1. Spencer fractured his tibia last week at football practice. Season over. No cast, but he's on crutches and isn't supposed to put weight on the leg. More x-rays in 10 days; if it isn't healing, then they will cast it. Pictures to follow.
2. Spencer has been rude to his teacher lately and hence has been put on a daily behavior rating scale of 1 (bad) to 5 (best). If he gets three 1's between now and the end of the school year, she's kicking him out of her class. His dad and I have been discussing moving him down there for school. He's seeing a shrink (we all are) next Weds.
3. Will is moving out on Friday.
4. I am facing about $1100 a month more in bills.
5. My blood pressure is through the roof.

Time to give up the license!

I have often seen THIS WOMAN driving around my neighborhood and thought to myself, "that woman in the Subaru is a terrible driver...she needs to start taking the bus!" Apparently, she was really creative in her reckless driving, because the utility box she hit is in between two trees, both of which she missed with her car. Yet another reason why I won't let Spencer bike to school.

Country Grammar

This note from a lovely man named Ali was among my MySpace messages this morning:

"hi cynthia and how you doing you looking sweet cute beautiful lady so i,m fun easy going guy funy person i,m interest to get to know you and hang out have fun and good time so if you interest to go for date dance movie walk talk etc we can have alot fun take care bye . "

Just perfect. Dude knows how to woo the bitches, TRUE DAT.

Have You Ever....

read the blog of someone who is, to put it very nicely, A BIG PUSSY? There is a blog that I follow written by a person who absolutely has ZERO control over his/her life. Constant complaining about the job, the asshole with whom this person lives, how everyone is out to get him/her and there is nothing he/she can do about it. I have said it before and I'll say it again -- READ THE FOUR AGREEMENTS AND GET A FUCKING GRIP. GEEEEEEEEEzus. I mean, yeah, we all complain and bitch about our lives and situations, but at least most of us accept some or all of the blame. No one can live your life but yourself, and if you spend 99% of the time saying how much everything sucks and yet do nothing to change it, then fuck you. Go ahead and ACTUALLY FOLLOW THROUGH with your threats to off yourself. I think it's pretty funny (not ha-ha funny) when people "try to kill" themselves by doing some lame shit like swallowing a bottle of aspirin or slitting their wrists the wrong direction. Are they so incredibly lazy that they can't even do the research beforehand? NOOOOOOOOOO, it's just that they don't REALLY want to get dead. And the rest of us hope that they don't, but there's only so much self-pitying annoying griping that we can stand, so please, if you are one of those persons who are really serious about being dead and you're such a dumbass that you can't accept responsibility for yourself, then please get it right and allow us to be sad for the three seconds during which we aren't thinking what a moron you were, and be done with it.