Oh God. Oh fuck.

I said I didn't care that much about this election-- then the returns started coming in. And here I sit, with 5 tabs open in Firefox (CNN's BlogParty, Cnn.com, Wonkette, The Huffington Post and Blogger) hitting refresh until my fingers bleed.

I guess I lied. My spirit's not broken. Now I remembered why I wanted to report on politics--the orgasmic rush of he-said, she-said, the high of election night. I thought I was off the stuff, but turns out I'm a political junkie for life.

Sidebar: Excellent work CNN. So many infographics, continuing to run the returns through commercial breaks, having an options where I can customize the races I want to watch on your homepage. ALSO- as of 8:58 things look good!

1:17 AM update- No more Santorum. Democratic house (and at least a much closer Senate). Female speaker of the house. Hopefully, chaos on Capitol Hill and Democrats taking on the state of things in manner that shows they have something resembling fortitude.

I seem to have discovered something

Oh hey. A blog. The place where I verbally masturbate onto a computer screen and you come and read it, then tell me what a clever girl I am. Because what I read, think and like is so goddamn important.

So, today is election day. I've already voted absentee, so I get to ignore all this hullabaloo with a send of self-righteous amusement. As I've been saying for the past few weeks, I used to be so political- there was a time when I would be hanging on every state and race in this election with bated breath. The way things turned out, however, was that my spirit was crumpled by the clusterfuck that was the 2000 election, and then when its disasterous (fake) results failed to right themselves in the 2004 election, I pretty much lost my faith in the public at large to ever make an informed, rational decision about who is qualified to lead this country and who is not. Do I want the Democrats to take the House? Absofuckinglutely, but if they don't, I will probably just throw up my hands and say "typical."

I suppose this is what comes with "growing up"- the realization that politics, in general are a crock. I used to campaign and feel really good about trying to make a difference, when the fact of the matter is that all campaigning is is trying to up one candidate or party's exposure. Elections aren't about ideals or issues, they're about whose team picked a better tie, who sweat less under the studio lights, whose smile looks better plastered across a four-foot-tall billboard. Now, I view politics as something individual and more global. I care about issues/things, not parties/people. If the Republicans were to come up with a comprehensive plan tomorrow for alternative energy and then immediately began putting it into motion, I would be behind it 100%.

I have my beliefs and personal concerns about our government-but I don't feel like anyone represents them fully except me. Thus the reason this election is only of moderate interest to me, rather than the earth-shattering event it was four years ago. I wonder if everyone in this generation feels like this-were two elections where we were told our votes mattered most, but ended meaning nothing at all, enough to break our collective backs with the weight of political futility?

I'd like to hope not. I'd like to hope that there are people out there with more zeal and optomism than me, less selfish, more dedicated. I'd like someone to rally behind, but I'm just not interested enough to be that person.


This is my boom stick


Now that the Necronomicon has been found, you know it's only a matter of time before someone records that garbage and unleashes an army of the undead on us all. I for one, will be purchasing a shotgun, brushing up on my neck-snapping skills and possibly calling Michigan native Bruce Campbell for a zombie-slaying consult.



Everyone else is really dumb

Jokes about Polaks being stupid can suck it.

Reason #485,000 why most men should not talk about issues of gender

This is a story of men behaving badly in groups.

Excuses, excuses, excuses. In column on espn.com's Page 2, Jason Whitlock says that the Duke lacross rape incident ( Here if you have no idea what I'm talking about.) shouldn't be viewed through a racial filter, rather one of gender. If he would have just stopped there, we might have been okay. After all, rape is a male-on-female crime in a far larger proportion that it is a one-color-on-another-color crime.

However, Jason is a professional columnist and has somewhere around 1,000 words to back this statement up. Which he does, beautifully, with the classic argument that "boys will be boys" and that's why this is a crime of gender-not because men in society are raised to have little respect for women in general, and no respect for women who may happen to strip for a living, but because they just can't help themselves.

Some highlights:

Men behaving badly in groups -- especially under the influence of alcohol -- cuts across all social, economic and racial demographics.

I always have contended, somewhat jokingly, that there should be rules outlawing men from gathering in groups of three or more without a woman as chaperone or serious surveillance equipment. Whitlock's law: A man's intelligence, maturity and decision-making skills decrease as the number of men within earshot of his voice increases.

Whitlock's law is a product of a youth spent sucking on beer bongs and zig zags, hosting and attending bachelor parties, growing up on the barstools inside my father's tavern and planning debauchery and lewd behavior with teammates and friends of all races.

I can honestly say that I don't have a male friend who could avoid saying, "There go I but for the grace of God" when thinking about the Duke lacrosse players.

Disgusting, utter bullshit and excuses, excuses, excuses. You can't treat a woman like a human being because of some societal constructs associated with being male? You can't understand the word "no" because you're around your buddies?

Whitlock isn't all bad here-he does suggest an education program, but what he suggests "...what constitutes sexual harassment, sexual assault, the dangers of alcoholism and drugs, unwanted and unwed pregnancy, how to respectfully socialize with people outside your race, etc." isn't anything the average college freshman hasn't heard a million times before. The problem here lies much, much deeper, mostly with Whitlocks male community excuse and his contention that strippers deserve no respect, just because they happen to take their clothes off for a living. His contention that alcohol and "planning lewd behavior" from an early age in a whacked out form of "male-bonding" is an excuse for the way these snotty Duke brats treated that woman is incredibly misguided.

Bottom line: Teach men how to view a woman as a human being, not as something they can degrade, ridicule and control and then maybe we'll talk. Jason and I agree on one point however-boys aren't raised to become men, they're raised to become idiots and sexists and that's probably where the problem lies.

(Note-I know this does not apply to all men. I know several who are respectful and gracious and lovely. Please hold off on thinking me a crazy man-hater, because I'm not.)


Don't get it twisted

So, Cynthia McKinney. You know who she is right? The Georgia congresswoman (D, of course) who's playing a game of "who-assaulted-whom" with Capitol Hill police who claim they didn't recognize her when she tried to bypass security and enter the Capitol Building. (FYI- Members of the House do not have to go through the security rigamarole, but are asked to wear special Congress pins. McKinney was not wearing hers at the time of the incident.)

Capitol Hill police are seeking a warrant for her arrest, charges as yet undisclosed. She is crying racism/sexism. A picture, for reference.

I'm fairly certain her claims of racism are justified-if she was a white woman, or a white man for that matter, chances are Capitol Hill police wouldn't have given a second thought as to her validity as a member of Congress.

At any rate, Cynthia was on Wolf Blitzer last night. Some highlights.

BLITZER: … you were talking earlier about racial profiling, and that there was racism involved in stopping you for questioning because you weren’t wearing your congressional pin.
MCKINNEY: Now, Wolf, you know I didn’t say that, so, don’t twist my words. BLITZER: Well, tell us what you said.
MCKINNEY: Don’t even begin to twist my words.

Wolf-this woman tangled with Capitol police. She will not hesitate to lay the smack down on you.

BLITZER: When did you — when did you change your hairstyle?
MCKINNEY: In January of this year. But don’t you think it’s really frivolous? And, really, I — I can’t even describe — if the security of the House of Representatives of the United States is based on how members of Congress wear their hair, Wolf, I think this is really ridiculous.

The contention here is, that McKinney changed her hair from the braided style in the photo above to a more free-flowing, mini-fro kind of deal and police are claiming they didn't recognize her because of her hair. Which is outrageous This woman has been in Congress for 11 years. Her hair has been changed for several months. This is seriously ridiculous, but it doesn't change the fact that Cynthia McKinney is still a Grade-A badass.

Also-I'm not certain about this and have no way of confirming, but I think she may have been the Congress member who is shown saying "We would like to call on the Senate, but the Senate is absent." in Farenheit 9-11.

At any rate-Well played Cynthia. Well played, indeed.


I've seen the needle and the damage done

I can't believe this is still shock to people. Heroin was huge when I was in high school, and I'm sure it's still huge three years later. For that matter, drugs of any kind in Westmoreland County are ridiculously hard to get ahold of. You name it, I know someone who did it on a regular basis.

It's times like this when I'm reminded of what a totally different world Western Pennsylvania is. Weird, crazy things happen there-Confederate flags, people who know how to shoot guns, etc, etc, etc. None of that exists here and I've yet to determine if that's about location or culture or economics or just a weird anomaly.

Oh Westmoreland County. You are a strange beast.



Sir, you are under arrest for being a jagoff.

Only in Pittsburgh. Pigeons beware.


This is the story of Johnny Rotten

So fucking punk rock.


Deconstruction of textual convention, gender and agency, implications of language and useage

Where is the job market for being a pretentious literary asshole? I would like to be a part of that.

However, I cannot just walk into an advising office and say "Hey, I'm an arrogant, academic jerk who likes books. What should I do with my life?"

But really, writing ridiculous analytical papers is my only marketable skill.


Calling out the lurkers.


Who are you and why are you here?

Jane Austen is rolling in her grave somewhere

I just saw a trailer for the movie version of Pride and Prejudice starring Kiera Knightly. The music scoring it? Fucking "Collide" by Howie Day.

Oh yes. Because when I think 19th century British comedy of manners novels, I think of shitty, sacchrine, acoustic pop-rock from 2005.

We are not amused.


Bad blogger, bad!

Sorry. I suck at blogging lately. Someday, I will get back to being political and updating everyday, I swear. Probably after midterms/when I get my legal issues worked out.

To placate you, here is a picture of a cat drinking Yueng-ling


If you'd like to know why I'm a feminist...

...it's because men like this continue to exist.

Also, I keep waking up every hour or so and it sucks ass.


Relax-This won't hurt.

We had all the momentum; we were riding the crest of a high and beautiful wave. So now, less than five years later, you can go up on a steep hill in Las Vegas and look West, and with the right kind of eyes you can almost see the high-water mark — the place where the wave finally broke and rolled back.


Four dead in Ohio

Rules for a Kent Weekend
1) Don't follow Angry. Ever.
2) Don't drive into the lake
3) "Not it," in fact, did not end when you left middle school
4) It's possible to live for three days eating nothing but caramel Ho-Hos, Ruffles and other Hostess products.

I had a great weekend. In other news, they're baaaaaaack

For real? Shut up and die and GET A LIFE, you pathetic waste. Actually, no, you know what? IM me. Ask me whatever it is you're so desperate to know, because I'm getting sick of you turning up just when I'd forgotten all about you.


Happy excuse to sell chocolate, cards, roses and diamonds (things that no one needs, ever) in the name of love Day.



Peace out.

See ya later, Michelle Kwan. Now, we all felt bad for you when Tara took your gold in Nagano (8 years ago). We really did. But when you totally fucked up four years ago and got bronze, behind Sara Hughes and that Russian chick, we all started to think it was time for you to hang it up. Then, when you only skated in one qualifying event for these Olympics, but somehow still managed to get there, we were all a little pissed at you. Face it 'Chelle. You're too old to still be looking for your first gold. No one thinks you're endearing or inspiring any more. You didn't even win the last World Championship you skated in (2005, bronze medal). You're too old (I know, harsh when you're only 26) Gold medals aren't won by women any more, they're won by little girls who are light and tiny and freakishly creepy.

But really, how much does it suck that the little sister of the girl who beat your ass four years ago is taking your place? Michelle Kwan probably has a voodoo alter devoted to the Hughes sisters.

All of that being said, Team Sasha, FTW!


Thank you ESPN

All your life, you were only waiting for this moment to arrive

Oh, and by the way...we won the Superbowl. Despite all the hateration, it's still probably the best thing to ever happen.

Now, let's start on that other hand.


Dear Sportswriters of the world-

Your behavior today, the morning after the Superbowl, has confirmed my suspiscion that you are the lowest, vilest form of humanity alive. You talk up the Steelers, then say they have no mo' going into the Big Game because YOU have hyped them to. effing. death.

I will say this once and that will be the goddamn end of it. The Seattle Seahawks were not robbed. They had every bit as much chance to win that game as we did. If Mike Holmgren knew how to manage a clock or coach, your kicker would have made at least one of those field goals. If Jeremy Stevens had spent more time practicing and less time grooming his disgusting facial hair and thinking of clever ways to insult Joey Porter, you probably would have had two more touchdowns.

Referees make bad calls. But please do not diminish the accomplishments of the Steelers because of it. If Seattle was a team worthy of the Lombardi trophy, they would have overcome the bad calls...you know. Like the Steelers did against the Colts.

In short, fuck off Skip Bayless, Mark Schlerett and almost everyone else who writes/announces for ESPN.

Oh yeah-And when a reciever extends his arm the whole way pushing off a defender THAT IS OFFENSIVE PASS INTERFERENCE. SHUT UP. Just because most of the time the reciever gets away with it, does not make it ANY LESS pass interference. Same with that "controversial" holding call. When you fuck up, in front of a ref, in the Superbowl, expect to get your ass flagged for it AND STOP CRYING INTO YOUR GODDAMN HALF-CAF, DOUBLE FOAM, NON-FAT SOY LATTES, YOU BIG CRYBABIES.


Best headline ever

Dominatrix beats murder wrap

Oh Jesus-there are pictures of the prosecuter wearing a bondage mask, trying to demonstrate something or other.


This just in

- I love hearing Bill Hillgrove on ESPN
-The Senate straight up sucks.
-I just want to go home
-How is the Bettis fumble/Ben tackle NOT the top play of the playoffs?

Oh. Because it's Vanderjackass missing the field goal "Call up the travel agent, remake those reservations, we're going to Denver!"


Tiny cities made of ashes

So, I just got an invitation to write for Love is Not an Orgasm

Also-If you haven't heard about it already, check out my blog Overheard at MSU

I'd really like to get that off the ground, but I need so much help/submissions. I can't just put in funny shit my friends say. Well, I guess I could to get it started.

Something I'll decide today, I guess.

Seriously folks

Please go here and sign this petition to encourage Senators to not confirm Alito for the Supreme Court.

Here's the text of the petition.

Dear Senators,
The Senate must reject President Bush's attempt to reward right-wing special interests by nominating Judge Samuel Alito to the Supreme Court of the United States. Alito's record as an ideological activist would make his confirmation a threat to civil rights protections, reproductive and privacy rights, environmental protections, religious liberty, and laws safeguarding workers.
I urge you to vote not to confirm Samuel Alito to a lifetime position on the Supreme Court of the United States.

Also Daily Kos has an excellent article about the confirmation/fillibuster, that also has a link to the petition.

It takes four seconds-just fill in your info and hit submit. If you're really feeling daring, you can call some of the on-the-fence Democrats and Republicans, as well as Democrats supporting Alito and ask them not to confirm.

I already talked with Carl Levin (D-Mich.)'s office. Duh, it's Sunday, but I left a message.


Horse-faced bride of the devil.

You know, sometimes when I want to be whipped into a raging frenzy over the amount of stupidity, hate and blind, misguided faith in the world - I read Ann Coulter.

Her Jan. 25 column "How abortion stopped a bleeding heart" is seriously ridiculous.

What a bitch.


Oh God, Oh God, this is the funniest thing I saw today.

K-Fed attacks!!

Questions that need to be answered:
1) Who taped this?
2) How did it get on the internet?
3)Whoever taped it, are they aware that Kevin Federline is high as a kite?
4) Does K-Fed realize, that he is in fact white?
5) Or that this is quite possibly, the worst song in the history of music?
6) Britney Spears married this dude... why?

The world may never know. I promise you-watch that video. It will be the funniest thing you see today.



The inevitable backlash .

Every woman in America would sell her soul to have a milk shake with that motherf*cker

John Cusak, that is. Ever since seeing/reading High Fidelity, I've complied Top Five lists in great numbers. These lists are not to be taken lightly — a lot of thought goes into their compliation.

Top Five Guilty Pleasure Songs
1.Since U Been Gone-Kelly Clarkson
2.This Time Around-Hanson
3.Toxic-Britney Spears
4.Breakfast at Tiffany's-Deep Blue Something
5.Tempted by the Fruit of Another-Squeeze

My Top Five Favorite Songs, 2000-2001
1.London Calling-The Clash
2.Anachy in the UK- The Sex Pistols
3.Chick Magnet-MxPx
4.Great American Sharpshooter-Less Than Jake
5.My Evil Plan to Save the World-Five Iron Frenzy

(No, seriously.)

So-your lists, please! These things interest me.


Good Old Ben

In a word: awesome

Video here, thanks to Daily Kos.


Thredless-an update


I would also accept this.

One more.

Enough has been said already.


Do-doo doo-do doo-POLAMALU

As much as I had sports casters, I'm sitting here reading every. single. thing. about the Broncos/Steelers game on Sunday on espn. com, while watching Sports Center.

My stomach is going to be in a constant state of knots from now until the game is over on Sunday.

Also-ESPN's Daily Quickie Top 5 QBs left in the NFL playoffs

1. Jake Delhomme
2. Ben Roethlisberger (would be first on the list if tackling mattered)
3. Matt Hassleback
4. Antwann Randle-El
5. Jake Plummer

I might have Hassleback and Delhomme backwards...they've changed it since I read it this morning. The important thing is that Randle-El is on the list before Jake the Snake.

Rock on, ESPN.


Dear Ben Roethlisberger-

While I appreciate your improved play in the playoffs, I do not appreciate your chinstrap beard. Gah, it's hideous. If we make it to the big show, can you please shave it? Pretty, pretty please? I just cannot look at the horrible thing any more. At least you don't have a neckbeard. And don't grow one.

Love, Sarah


Get it

The song on this is annoying, but it's a sweet highlight reel from the game. The montage of "He missed it" shots is the best.


Joey Porter: trying to be the next Greg Lloyd

The NFL said the referee made a mistake: Troy Polamalu caught the ball.
After the game, Pittsburgh linebacker Joey Porter said of the ruling: "I know they wanted Indy to win this game; the whole world loves Peyton Manning. But come on, man, don't take the game away from us like that."
NFL spokesman Greg Aiello had no comment on Porter's statement.
In the past, players who have made such statements have been subject to fines.

Thanks Joey, for saying what we were all thinking and what is probably true. Also-if he doesn't get fined, I will laugh my ass off...because it means he was right.

The two most beautiful words in the English language: Wide right.

Yesterday, the Pittsburgh Steelers torn out my heart and my guts and left them splattered all over a dorm room floor somewhere in Mid-Michigan. They left me shaken, shocked, nervous and absolutely, purely elated. For what seems like the millionth time in the 20 years that I've been a Steeler fan, they're going to the AFC championship game.

The first chance at missed glory I can recall came on my father's 39th birthday, in 1995 against the San Diego Chargers. After the slaughter, my family and I sad in a dark, sad restaraunt, haunted with waitresses in their black and gold, sporting faces of false happiness. The bar was deserted, an air of hopelessness and doom hung somewhere just above our heads and just below the haze of cigarette smoke. I was nine.

That year, I watched the 49ers descimate the Chargers. I saw Montana and Rice in the confetti and flashbulbs. I saw some hulking linebacker holding his daughter screaming "We're going to Disney World!" That's the first time I really grasped what it means to win a Superbowl.

The Pittsburgh Steelers have four SuperBowl rings. The last came in 1980, almost seven years before I was born.

The next year, 1996, the year of Superbowl 40 was the year I learned at some base level about what it meant to be a Steeler fan. I come from a family of wildly temperamental sports fans, led by my father, who will storm out out of a room, take a walk, drive his John Deere around the backyard in the middle of the night (That one happened when the Pirates dropped game seven of the NL championship against the Braves in '92. He'll still curse the name of Sid Bream vehemently to this day. He was OUT, goddammit.) My mother is a relatively calm fan during the regular season, but come playoff time, she is that rabid Pittsburgh woman, screaming, wearing her black and gold Mardi Gras beads, clutching the rosary of her Terrible Towel to her chest.

She was born and bred in Pittsburgh, a product of the city and the school system, and everything I learned about being a part of the Steeler Nation came from her side of the family. When I was 10, I learned what it was to twist a towel through 4th and inches, to curse inept safties who blew their coverage, to scream and howl through close, close, close final minutes of a fourth quarter.

I remember that year's championship game against the Colts probably more vividly than anything from my early childhood. We were celebrating my father's 40th on the day of the game. The fourth quarter lasted an eternity. Gregg Lloyd, the aggressive, jacked linebacking machine that he was, praying atop a Terrible Towel on the sidelines When that final Hail Mary was launched through the air, I went through 30 seconds of blind terror before it was swatted to the ground in the endzone.

And then...Cowher was hoisting that AFC Championship trophy in the air, the iron jaw gone, all smiles. He'd finally gotten there.

In the promised land of Tempe, the Dallas Cowboys sauntered out of their little tunnel onto the field with a swagger and cool confidence that boiled my little-girl blood.Remember, these were the mid-90s Cowboys, the Aikman-Irvin, Jimmy Johnson Cowboys, the embodiment of pure evil and purebred football perfection. The Steelers, on the other hand, charged down that white vault, bouncing off its sides like pinballs, slamming helments, bashing shoulder pads. That forever defined my vision of the Steelers — passion, heart, cohones . No star power, not a well oiled machine of marketing and slick proccessed image, not Michael Irvin in his thousand dollar suits, not the most massive offensive line ever put together. Just Neil, some crazy kid we liked to call "Slash" and a running back named Bam and several of the most fierce linebackers 90s football ever saw. (Really, Lloyd was pure defensive poetry in motion. Forget Chuck Norris jokes. Greg Lloyd's tears cure cancer. Too bad he has never cried.)

Three times that night, Neil O'Donnell broke my heart in the waning Arizona sun. Despite Cowher's onside kick brilliance, despite everything my Steelers did to unseat those unholy Texan monsters, when your QB throws three ridiculous interceptions, directly to the same safety, there's no amount of heart that can get you out of the hole he's dug. I didn't know what had just happened. That was my first introduction to blinding disappointment.

I learned the Steeler fan's mantra: There's always next year.

For the past ten years, I've learned. I learned about the glory days, the rings, the Immaculate Reception. I learned about the game, about our weak secondary and indominatable line. I learned to be able to curse and swear at the screen, through years of Kordell, through the loss to the Broncos in '97, through the rebuilding years, to the 2000 and 2001 seasons when the God awful New England Patriots came to my town and again, boiled my blood-this time not with their arrogant confidence, but with their terrible luck and the leg of the world's most clutch fieldgoal kicker. See also-2005.

But yesterday, on my father's 50th birthday, far from the Steeler faithful, the black and gold marched in the hated and reverred RCA Dome and stumbled out with a win. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just a win. A shot at a continued season. Something to bring me another week of Steeler football. And really, I can't ask for anything more from the team who's brought me so much elation and so much misery for the past eleven years.

I heard that when it looked like it was over-when Harper was streaking towards the endzone, my 13 and 16-year-old brothers both stormed out of the room. They never even saw Big Ben stretch and grab with infinite hope for his season, hinged on the ankle of a DB who'd been stabbed in the leg 24 hours prior.

The cycle goes on. Someday, my brothers will drive tractors in their backyards after the much maligned city that made them has let them down. I will dress my children in black and gold and take them to Heinz Field and I'll take them to the statue of Jerome Bettis outside and say "Mommy was here the day this man stopped play because the crowd was chanting his name. The thought of his leaving the city brought some 65,000 people to their feet." I'll teach them about the glory days and how to spot a blitz and how to be able to understand the game that I love so much.

I don't know if that was Jerome's last game. I don't know if the black and gold will make it to a city, much like the one they came from, that's only an hour away from where I now live my life. What I do know is that yesterday, they played a game that will go down in history books and highlight reels.

When this week is over, when all the talking heads and athletic pundits have finished running their mouths, there will be just one thing. Two things actually-a winner and a loser. Someone going to Detroit and someone who's not.

Regardless of who is who, I do know one thing. Pittsburgh will still ring and will always ring with one of the greatest sounds that can errupt from a crowd of people.

"Here we go Steelers, here we go..."



Hoge always picks the Stillers

Things are looking up.

Either happiness or bitter disappointment after the game. Stay tuned.

Despite their best efforts to give me a coronary, the Stillers emerged triumphant. And I give all the credit to this man, the man, Bill Cowher.

Mile High? All I have to say about that: Jake Plummer v. Peyton Manning. The Colts gave us a good, solid run for our money. I have nothing but respect for them as a football team.

One final question: If this was supposed to be Indy's year...whose year is it now?



Cy, short for Cyclops is a kitten born with one eye and no nose (AP photo.) I'm going to have nightmares about this. Seriously. What the hell. That thing is straight from Satan.

Aw. I just found out it died after only living a day. That's kind of sad. But still...::shudder::


We dey, we dey, we dey who think they gon' beat them Bungles.

Dear Cincinnatti Bengals Fans, The "Who Dey?" chant was annoying the first time around and its resurgence only reiterates the fact that it's been forever since you actually had a decent team. To answer your question, the PittsburghmotherfuckingSteelers. Bengals, please. As I said after the first meeting of the season between the Bungles and my Stillers, the AFC North is Pittsburgh Stiller territory. You were only renting your time here...We'll take back what's ours now. Love, Sarah.