Once in a while things work out ok, no matter how much you think they wouldn’t.
Jes’ so ya know…
Every now and then a particular person’s daughter can be true to her word and actually behave in the manner she promised she would.
Jes’ so ya know…
And on occasion a certain person’s girl child might surprise you by adhering to a few agreed-upon pre-decided things.
Jes’ so ya know…
But then there comes a few realizations that simply cannot be denied.
Jes’ so ya know?
She still smokes. She still cusses in a manner that would make a sailor blush, enough that she keeps getting into trouble at school (even though I think that’s a really stupid thing to be worried about).
And? She still will NOT take her meds EVAR!! again.
And? She absa-tively-poso-lutely?
Haytes?
You.
Totally, totally and like all nine kinds of totally haytes, haytes, haytes everything you stand for, everything you believe in, and oh? Everything that you are/love/wanna be/hope for/ pray for and think that maybe one day? ONE day? You might wanna be able to accomplish?
She haytes it. She haytes it right down to the very core of her adolescent little self-centered being.
And that?
Hurts like a mo’ fo’.
Jes’ so ya know…
But one evening, when you least expect it, she will be funny and sweet and actually talk to you like the human being that you are and laugh and giggle and share goofy stuff that might make you think you were both 14 together at the same time and then the next moment you might be a little bit bewildered at what the hell just happened.
Jes’ so ya know…
It could happen.
And you might be glad about it.
You will smile.
At least for now.
“NO.MORE.MEDS!” she says. She is determined that she will.not.take.them.anymore. It is 5 am and I am blind from my lack of contact lenses, attempting to wake her up and give her the pills that keep her (and me) temporarily sane. I am sleepy, and like a pusher I say, “Come on, just take them, please, and then it will be done with. You’ll feel better.”
(Does anyone else see the irony of how we spent the better part of the year getting Kelly *off* drugs and then the latter part of the year getting her *on* drugs? Anyone? Anyone? Meh.)
“NOOOOOO! I don’t want them!!!” she asserts again.
How she has the energy to be so exquisitely bitchy that early in the morning I do not know.
So I plead again.
“Baby, you need them, now come on, you really have to get going, it’s getting late.” I tap my foot madly as I watch the clock tick by. I am NOT going to be late to work again because I have to take her to school because she missed the bus due to this game of chicken she likes to play.
But she won’t budge. She yells at me, I yell back at her, and it goes on and on. She calls me names my mother would have seriously murdered me over and then thought nothing of it had I been so stupid to say them to her back when I was 14 ::shudder::
This lasts for fifteen long minutes, and then I can take no more. I am done. I am srsly DONE.
In a knee-jerk reaction to her hatefulness I toss at her the contents of the cup of cold water I am holding. I am not proud of this, nor do I think it is the right thing to do, but as she is looking back at me – incredulous, sopping wet, blinking and angry – it gives me some satisfaction.
“You WILL respect your mother, child. You WILL. It’s just that simple. I have given you *everything* and I deserve at least the dignity of your careful words and a little bit of kindness,” I hear myself say. “THERE’S your literal wake-up call, dammit!”
A moment of silence ensues in that cold early morning as we stare at each other in disbelief. I can feel her hatred of me oozing from her every pore, and at that very moment, I feel embarrassed that I almost feel the same way about her, my child, and I know I shouldn’t.
Suddenly she starts screaming profanities at me again and starts throwing stuff around her bedroom in unmitigated anger. I wave my hand, tell her I am DONE, already!, turn a deaf ear and walk away to the safety of my sanctuary. I crawl back under the covers with My Beloved, hold him, and cry as he sleeps, blissfully unaware of anything.
Ten minutes later she gets up, strides out of the house with a flourish and goes off to school.
We haven’t spoken of it since, but things have changed, that’s a given.
Not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing yet.
And this “Mom Gig”? Is a bitch.
I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone.
Apparently crayons are now harbingers of evil (who knew?) ~ think twice before you doodle
I will be the first to admit that The Divine Mz. K has been less than stellar in her behavior at school this year (and last, dammit); however no one there seems to have given a rat’s ass thought to exactly what all was going on with her and yes, no one has seemed to notice (and/or cared about) the progress she has made. Meds are a wonderful thing in the bi-polar universe.
So, when K handed me this Notice of Detention paper from a particular teacher whom I happen to know is especially a doofus – and the paper was sans signature from K, as the *teach* is ‘posed to let the kid know beforehand that he/she is being disciplined and get his/her signature, well now, the Mother Tiger in me reared up.
In defense of my younger progeny, and because we have been through so much, and because I know the GD Winfield School District is full of nothing more than a bunch of rednecks, Good Ol’ Boys, and Old Money Fams hell-bent on keeping their place in high-falutin’ Lincoln County society, I shall share with you the email I finally had the courage to send to her eff-ing principal, assistant principal, and the upid-stay teacher who had a busy freak-out because K “colored with a crayon on an envelope that wasn’t hers”.
Did I mention that Kelly is 14?
Geez.
*****
Dear Mz Bizzy Pants…
I am writing to let you know Kelly will *not* be serving her 1/28/10 detention for “vandalism”. I have read the “report” sent home and heard Kelly’s story. I am sorry, but I do not think anything like that in any way deserves a detention.
Vandalism? Seriously? Vandalism is damaging property which cannot be repaired, such as a school wall or other property, but a piece of paper? Really? What was so instrinsically important about that particular packet which made it so valuable as to warrant the “vandalism” label.
Let’s check our dictionary, shall we?
van⋅dal⋅ism
/ˈvæn
dlˌɪzəm/ 
Show Spelled Pronunciation [van-dl-iz-uhm]
| 1. | deliberately mischievous or malicious destruction or damage of property: vandalism of public buildings. |
| 2. | the conduct or spirit characteristic of the Vandals. |
| 3. | willful or ignorant destruction of artistic or literary treasures. |
| 4. | a vandalic act. |
Point out to me, please, which of these definitions Kelly committed against that poor, helpless piece of paper. I had no idea crayons and/or colored pencils could be so destructive.
Puh-lease!
And I am curious. Why were the other students who were doing the same thing not given detention as well? I am so tired of Winfield’s inconsistent and over-reactive “discipline”; I continue to see punishment meted out subjectively. I constantly hear stories from my son about kids who bully and intimidate and yes, even injure other students, and yet they are barely admonished most of the time, let alone punished. Winfield needs to spend a bit more time on those real discipline problems and focus less on the piddly stuff. Coloring on paper? Honestly?
Trust me, if I had any other options, my son and daughter would have long since been attending a better school. The stories I am told by my children and other children from there make me mad. Some of the teachers there act more like kids than a lot of the kids do, and I have witnessed this in person.
And just so you know? I used to be a teacher in the Intermediate back in 2000 so I am not completely without knowledge of the inner workings of that school district. It’s the reason I quit there to homeschool. Unfortunately my husband lost his job so we had to put the kids back in that horrible school two years later. It was one of the worst days of my life.
I realize Kelly has had some behavior issues in the past, and I have supported her punishment when I felt it was truly warranted. But this time? Nope. Not gonna do it. She will *not* be in detention on Thursday 1/28/10.
Not for that silly reason, anyway.
****
K read it and thought it was grand, however she was concerned the “teacher” (and I use that term lightly) would think it had come from her. I pointed out that she (Kelly) didn’t even understand all the “big words” in there and that the email would clearly come from my school-registered email ::shudder::
I resisted the urge to include a link to an online dictionary so the upid-stay eacher-tay could mebbe fathom what I was trying to get across. (Yay me for that.) But trust me ~ I wanted to. I really, really wanted to.
This is the sort of crap that passes for school here in our humble universe.
Blech.
Can’t wait for the reply. heh
*****
Editor’s note 1/20/10 : Just read the entire thing to Hawk Daddy who LHAO all over the place so I am totally at peace with this. Jes’ so ya know. 
She looked frail and small, this woman in her late 30’s maybe, or early 40’s. She was with her husband and teenage children. The older boy had on this hat with dangly ear pieces and a tassle on the top. He was especially hovering around mom. Daughter and dad were milling about the shop elsewhere and seemingly happy. Mom sat alone on a chair looking sad and dejected. Teen boy danced around her like a wild jester, in an attempt to cheer her. I watched, looking on with keen interest at the story they were playing out for all to witness while the Christian rock music played softly in the background.
It was Caturday and we were at Budget Boutique, which is required, as you know, on a Caturday. We were shopping, and I met another “fabric hound” who had picked up these couple of freaky hand-made dresses that had been there like, FOREVER!, as she thought the fabric was awesome (she was correct). I helped her find a belt for one of the dresses and she tried them on and we both remarked how truly kewlness that thing was if you just had the right boots and such and such.
Joshua and I went to check out our purchases and there was that same woman from earlier sitting on that chair by the counter with Jester Boy beside her. I remarked something about his groovy hat and she smiled weakly and he just laughed. I couldn’t help thinking there must have been something bad going on their lives ~ the energy was just so weird there.
We all went outside about the same time. They were walking to their car ~ a Buick Skylark, the kind my grandpa had back in the 70’s, and the plates were expired. Joshua shouted out to the dad how neato that car was (’cause he likes old cars like that) and the dad smiled and gave him a shout out back. Mom didn’t say or do anything, but the kids waved at both of us and then they all got into the vehicle and left.
Oddly they ended up at the same Taco Bell Joshua and I were already going to.
And there? Same deal – sad mom, cheery hubby, jester-y son, oblivious daughter.
They ordered and got their food. They sat not far from us. I could hear their conversation. It was muddled but I could hear it mostly. Sickness, I heard. Cancer, I heard. Dad tried to keep it light. Son tried to make it All Good. Daughter just ate her food. I felt so sad for them.
Then they got back in their ancient car with the expired plates and drove away.
I still can’t stop thinking about it.
I want to tell you how much I love you. I love you to the ends of the earth, dear man. You are a person who has shaped my entire life in more ways than you can imagine. I can barely put this into words, but I will try.
Your music is the music of my life. Yours was the first music my son heard the minute he 
was out of my body. Yours was the music I continue to sing and play to this day and teach to that very same “baby” boy. He hears it all the time. I make him listen to it. I point it out to him and gesture wildly and say “Here! This is the kind of stuff that is good!!!”
And he listens. He learns. He loves. He picks up that guitar of his and he plays. And he rocks out in my living room with me and my Taylor Big Baby and he with his Ibanez hollow-body Artcore and we strum strum strum that A, F#m, E, D and then that Bm somethingsomething bridge in your song “Someday”.
You would love him, my boy, Bren. I know you would. I know you would.
“Someday.” That song from way back when. “Someday.” That song I can listen to and become 22 again and all is right with with world and I am made whole. Back to when I wasn’t wounded and life was awesome. Back to when things were easy and life was just a no-brainer.
I look at those old videos and I go wow. How could we ever have been that young or that free? I look at them and you with your shaggy hair and I ponder and wonder and gasp and think, wow, just wow.
And then Tuesday. The 29th?
Tuesday? I got to be 22 again.
I got to hear your b
eautiful music all over again at a very most awesome show and hang out with my most fantabulous ladies I haven’t seen for years and years. I felt complete once more. You have no idea. There was this portion of myself that simply hadn’t existed for so long.
But I got it back right there on the dance floor of The Pageant.
I got it back. I never would have believed it.
I cried like crazy when I saw Katie and Jenn. I cried for so many reasons. I cried for the loss of who I had been, but mostly for the goodness of me finding Me again.
Funny. Turns out? I was right where I had left me. I was right there in your songs with the same couple of chicks who were just as amazing as I remember they ever were and they were perhaps as equally bewildered as I am by all those weird-ass things life tosses at you when you get older.
Shtuff happens.
It just took a few old friends to help me find my way back home. And I love them dearly for it. My Stranded Lasses are forever, in my book.
Anyhoo, all of which is to say?
Thank you, Andy-Drew. Thank you. I am pretty sure you have no idea what your tunes have meant to me over the years, so just so ya know, it’s more than you could imagine. You have given me a song-writer’s greatest gift. Your gift of music.
Thank you in so many ways.
I love you,
Maria
My Top 10 Reasons ‘09 Sucked:
1. The economy tanked big time.
2. Drugs.
3. More drugs.
4. Kelly went to rehab.
5. Driving to Kirksville in an April rainstorm to drop Kelly off at rehab.
6. Driving back home in said rainstorm after taking Kelly to rehab.
7. Kelly going back to rehab in September.
8. No trash pick up. Yuck.
9. My daughter’s mental illness diagnosis.
10. My daughter’s mental illness diagnosis (no, I didn’t type that twice, I just typed that twice, because it sux that much it needed two entries)
Top 10 reasons ‘10 WON’T suck:
1. We will win the lottery (shut up, it could happen!)
2. Kelly won’t go back to rehab (we hope).
3. Brendan will outake The Jonas Brothers as the MOST awesome new kid on the block with his song-writing and guitar playing, beautiful man. He is sitting right across from me here and getting all flamenco and what not. Dude!
4. Joshua will get the most amazing job and we will live happily ever after and never, ever want for anything again. Yup.
5. Shay will win the Doggie Olympics in House Gnawing, Gold Medal. Because she’s just that kewl. Only she won’t be able to go all Michael Phelps on us because she doesn’t have thumbs and I am pretty sure she doesn’t smoke Mary Jane…she just rips up bathroom floors, and I can live with that.
6. All our cats will become potty-trained, thereby removing the need for us to ever have to scoop litter again.
7. Beer will become free.
8. Bacon will also become free.
9. Sex will be a daily event, yummy yummy. Hehehee!
10. Blogging? Will become my new paying job. (Hey now. A girl can dream, can’t she?)
Mwaahhhhaaaaahhh!
ok ok ok ok…
I love you all and thanks for listening.
Happy ‘10 
Twas the night after Christmas, when all through the world
Nary a creature was stirring, save our quaint attic squirrels.
The stockings were tossed on the carpet with care,
In hopes that someone would soon do laundry there.
The child-girl was nestled all snug in her bed,
While visions of deh interwebs danced in her head.
And Beloved with his Xbox and I with my blog
Had just settled our brains with some heady eggnog.
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like a flash,
Grabbed the dog in and fended off the cats.
The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow
Gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my blurry-ass eyes should appear,
But our garden gnome dancing, and swilling a beer.
With a wink from his eye, he flirted and courted
I knew in a flash just what he had snorted.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!
“Now Moxy! Now, Pole-Dancer! Now, Moonchild and Vixen!
On, Mercury! On, Eros! On Donner and Bitchen’!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!”
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,
With a wheelbarrow of mushrooms, and Mary Jane too!
And then, in a twinkling, the sound promptly grew
I heard footsteps and prancing of each little shoe.
As I drew in my head, and was turning around,
Down the chimney that crazy gnome came with a bound.
He was dressed all in blue, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot.
A great big ol’ keg he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler, just opening his 12-pack.
His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His drunk little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow.
The stump of a crack pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath.
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old gnome,
And I laughed when I saw him, right there in my home!
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
He snorted a line and up the chimney he rose!
He sprang back to the garden, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he drove out of sight,
“Happy Fesitivus to all, and to all a good-night!”
**************
*Disclaimer: No, I don’t really do drugs. And neither do my garden gnomes. At least that’s what they tell me.
On another note, here is what I was writing about last year. Take a peek. It’s where I get profound and all.
Tonight I went to Kelly’s Christmas choir concert. I was harried and tired and really didn’t want to go much, save for getting to see the Spawn of my Loins belt out her croaky sicko alto voice for all to truly heart like nobody’s business and cough all barky-like for our personal enjoyments, but I went. Who could resist something like *that*?
And who could resist the insane amount of fun to be had sitting on butt-killing bleacher seats listening to high school choirs and bands attempt to murder various and sundry Christmas songs? I was all a-twitter (and I don’t mean I was Twittering, although I did manage to Facebook a note or two, my bad).
FTR, Let it be known I am not the biggest fan of Christmas, and this isn’t entirely because I am Pagan. I have many reasons to explain why I am a Grinch-incarnate, none of which I shall go into here and now, but suffice it to say, I could do without this once-a-year Bacchanalia of over-spending and mourning of the lack of presents.
Come on people. Think about it. Do “things” really matter all that much? Ask anyone who has lost a loved one which they would prefer: a Wii, a brand new Audi, or their mom/dad/child/sibling back in their arms and sitting around the kitchen table bitching about the price of eggs in China.
I rest my case.
So off to the concert I hurried. There I sat amid my redneck country neighbors. I arrived just in the nick of time for the start. The concert choir began and I found myself truly in awe of the sounds emanating from that stage. Those kids were stunning, complete with Dickens-onian caroling costumes. As a singer myself, I must say, I was impressed.
Choir after choir got up there until it was Kelly’s turn, and after listening to her for weeks on end go on and on complaining about how EVERYTHING IS GOING TO SUCK AND OMG I DON’T WANNA GO AND OMG IMMA SCREEEEEEM!!!??! I was blissfully shocked at what I heard.
It was beautiful.
It was awesome and breathtakingly beautiful.
That’s all I can say.
Her 9th grade choir sang “Carol of the Bells”, which K stressed the most over. Now, I have performed this particular song myself and can personally attest to how difficult it can be to sing, mainly because there is simply *no* place to get a breath in! But they did it like true pro’s. Afterwards everyone in the audience stood up and clapped and hooted and hollared and did their best pig “SOOOOOIIIEEEE!” calls, ’cause hey, it’s Winfield, after all.
At the end of the concert, when everyone thought it was over and a lot of people were 
(rudely) leaving and most folks were putting on their coats, they had all of the kids from the various choirs come back onstage, including the (awesome!) band kids.
Suddenly the lights were turned off and there in the darkness a lone girl began to sing “Silent Night”, holding in her hand a lit candle. As she sang (in German, no less), the light was passed to right, then to left, and shared on down the line. As each candle was set aflame, that person began to hum. Harmonies and melodies swelled, the darkness grew brighter, until each candle burned, every voice sang out (including some in the audience), and the place was Who-ville all over again, save for the Roast Beast.
This Grinch’s heart “grew three sizes” right then and there. I’m glad it was dark so no one would see the big sloppy tears spilling over from my eyes. I wanted to hold up my cell phone like a lighter at a rock concert.
For that one beautiful moment in time, everything was right with the world, and the better part of Winfield — in all our sucky glory — sat watching something special unfold before us.
Ask anyone there and they will prolly spit their tobakky out and tell you “Yup, it sure was purty, all right”. But we all know what went down there this evening and I can vouch for the fact that it was most definitely awesome.
I drove home while Kelly chatted up a storm beside me, and I listened and smiled and nodded and felt all warm inside. Sometimes? Yeah. It’s good like that. Those moments don’t come along every day, ya know, so I was lapping up that “mommy/daughter sharing time” like it was mother’s milk laced with Jameson whiskey. Heh.
All in all, it was a wonderful evening, to say the least.
But tonight is Solstice, Yule — the shortest day and the longest night, the promise of growing light and sweet springtime ahead. It is “Mid-Winter” ~ not The First Day of Winter. It is *our* night of celebration and joy. The Holly King has been vanquished, and the Oak King is victorious. And just for tonight? I realize I am happy.
The Light is returning, in so many ways.
Blessed Be.
…if you have 8 minutes to spare and watch, there is also an explanation of our Yule celebration — don’t miss reading this person’s wonderful thoughts on “why we just all need to get along”
******************
Silent night, Solstice Night
All is calm, all is bright
Nature slumbers in forest and glen
Till in Springtime She wakens again
Sleeping spirits grow strong!
Sleeping spirits grow strong!
Silent night, Solstice night
Silver moon shining bright
Snowfall blankets the slumbering Earth
Yule fires welcome the Sun’s rebirth
Hark, the Light is reborn!
Hark, the Light is reborn!
Silent night, Solstice night
Quiet rest till the Light
Turning ever the rolling Wheel
Brings the Winter to comfort and heal
Rest your spirit in peace!
Rest your spirit in peace!
She came out of the bathroom tonight in a fit, claiming there was someone who had grabbed hold of her hair while she was in there. In the tiny bathroom. With the locked door. With no window.
“Someone” grabbed her hair, she insisted, and was sure of it. She was scared to death.
Now she says she won’t go back in there. To the bathroom.
“Are you going to pee in the yard now?” I said, half joking, half meaning, mostly encouraging her to do as mommy does when the water gets cut off. Worry seems to be my constant state these days, but I was attempting to make light of it all and talk her down from her scary horse.
“NOOOO!” she screams. “Of course not! But there was someone in there, I know it!!”
I look at her with her brown eyes rimmed with the messy eyeliner she didn’t exactly clean off entirely during her shower and she is sitting there on the couch with dripping wet hair and clasping her face in her hands and I know that she truly believes whatever she thought just happened? Just happened.
“I’m going CRAZY!” she insists. She buries her face again in her hand again, massaging her brow.
I try to reassure her but all I can think about is how she couldn’t sleep that one time not long ago when she thought the tree outside might break through her window and “get her” and how she stayed awake all night and wouldn’t venture to even wake me up to tell me she was scared.
I want to hold her but I remember how she can’t stand being touched (at least not by me, anyways) and I am left feeling helpless and I don’t know what to do. Every fiber of my being wants to scoop her up and embrace her, but I know she would only freak out if I did.
So I tell her everything is gonna be ok, and I do that lame-ass thing I always do when I just can’t cope anymore:
I walk away.
Bad Mom Me, I walk away.
Then I wait. I wait until I know she is sleeping out in the living room on the recliner which is where she wants to be right now as for some reason she feels ok there and I tiptoe out and sit next to her.
I touch her hair, her hand, her leg, being ever so careful not to disturb her hard-won slumber and awaken her demons.
I smile. She looks so small, so precious, like my little baby I once squeezed out of my body.
And she looks so…
Normal
She looks like any other 14 yo girl asleep in anyone’s Mid-Western small-town living room.
And therein lies the pain.
Ah well.
Who needs “normal” anyway?
Little Miss Shay
Some of you may remember that way back in July we acquired our sweeeeet lil’ black Lab, Mz Shayneequa (as Kelly dubbed her, but we just calls her “Shay”).
She was small and cute and ever so precious and she coyed us into bringing her home and allowing her access to our body parts and bathroom flooring.
We were so naive back then. Tsk tsk. Such fools we were.
Little did we know.
It wasn’t that we weren’t aware she would get bigger…and larger…and bigger (did I say “bigger”? I meant HUGE!). But I don’t think that in a million years any of us fully grasped the possibility that she just might suddenly morph one day into a Vorpal Puppy, capable of horrors no one could have fathomed.
So imagine my shock when I stumbled into the loo this morning and beheld THIS lovely sight…
'dis the corner of my bathroom, sans most of its linoleum
It looked as though some primal beast had been locked in there for days with only its instincts and a seriously sharp set of teeth to help it to escape to the safety of the Front Yard Where The Pit Bulls Taunt And Roam Free.
I was aghast.
Wait, that’s not quite the word for it.
It’s more like,
“HOLY CRAP! THE DOG IS EATING MY BATHROOM AND EVERYTHING IN IT!!!!!!! WTF?!1!!?”
I do believe that accurately describes my reaction, pretty much. And I do think I reacted rather tamely, FTR. Considering that the ex had just awoken me at the craptastic hour of 5:30 am to beg me to come get him and take him to work as his car would not start in the single-digit cold, well then, yeah ~ I was being pretty tame when I kicked some Vorpal doggie butt out into the dark frigid morning and proceeded to scold the beloved hell outta that bitch (hey, I can say that, because she is, after all…a female dog, right?).
I was decidedly Not. Amused.
The anger in me only proceeded to grow when I noticed the chewed-up door bottom…
damn...it's not like we don't feed her! WTF?
…aaaaaaaandddd….
….the chewed-up vanity……
Yeah.
Nice.
I never liked that vanity or that flooring or that door much anyway.
::sigh::
MRRREEEEPP!!! MREEEEP!!! MREEEEEEEP!!!! RUN!!!!!
