As much as Conker drives me completely nuts, he has several little quirks that just make you wanna pick him up and squeeze him til his little head pops off he's so cute. So, one of his quirks is to follow me everywhere I go. He doesn't necessarily stay w/ me all the time, but if I'm on the move then so is he.
This comes into play most often when I go to the bathroom, there he is keeping step right behind me. Occasionally he's not fast enough to squirt through the bathroom door before it closes and it shuts in his little face. At which point he tries to "muscle" the door open, b/c clearly there has been a mistake and I didn't mean to shut him out (I did), and when that fails (as it most certainly always does) he sits outside the door and whimpers (pathetically) until I open the door again (I'm a sucker I know).
He does this when I go to take a shower or bath as well. Usually when I'm in the shower he quickly loses interest and leaves to go make trouble somewhere while I'm occupied. But when I'm in the bath he has a little routine. First, he watches the tub fill up. Then he puts his paws on the outside of the tub to check everything out and make sure I'm ok. Then he sets up camp just outside the tub. Sometimes balling up my dirty clothes just left on the floor into a little Conker sized nest and other times, upon the rare occasion that my clothes make it to the hamper before I get into the bath, he just curls up on the rug. It's really freakin cute.
I have no idea why he does this, especially since as soon as that water starts running in the tub the other two dogs make themselves scarce. He used to try and get into the tub w/ me at step two. And I would always tell him no, try to explain that there was water in here and he didn't like water, and the fact that I didn't want to share my bath w/ a dog. Until one time, I said, "Fine, you want in here so bad . . . ." And I lifted him into the tub w/ me placing his back paws on my knees and front paws on my stomach. He looked around, taking it all in, but not really freakin out like I was going for. So, I slowly lowered my knees. The water began to come up over his paws, and he nonchalantly leans down to take a drink! Then I lower my knees even more, and there he goes lapping up water just as fast as he can to keep from getting wet!!! Laughingly, I placed him back onto the bathroom rug, where he calmly proceeded to set up his little Conker campsite. I mean, really, how much more adorable could the little bugger get???
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Caution: Makes Frequent Stops
So, this past year my brother got divorced. In the divorce settlement he got his car back. Translation: Amber got his car. Woohoo! My bro told me that as long as I took car of the oil changes and replaced to filter so as not to void the warranty I could drive it as much as I wanted til he got a chance to fly down and drive it back.
I can't even tell you how awesome this was. Of course, this summer I didn't have a job, but it was still nice to have a second car. And my brother ok'd my trips to my parents' (8 hour drive), as well as back and forth to job interviews (is he great or what!?)
It was a great car, the Toyota Highlander, but I will say it had to touchiest brakes on any car that I've ever driven. When I arranged to pick it up, the ex-wifey had left it in the parking lot of her workplace w/ the key under a mat. Jamie dropped me off, and I jumped in for my first drive in the 'new' car. Change the radio, adjust the mirrors, buckle the seat belt, and I'm off. Getting out of the parking lot, I must've looked like a student driver. I'd be going give or take 4mph and gently depress the brake pedal, only to get slammed to a dead halt. So, other than a little whiplash getting out of the parking lot I'm doing good.
Then I turn onto the road, and notice that a magical leprechaun clearly drove this car previously b/c I'm sitting so close to the steering wheel I'm fairly certain I could touch it w/ my tongue. No worries I'll merely adjust the seat. Coming to a stop light, I lean down w/ my left hand reaching in between my legs to pull up the bar to release the seat. Only when I go to push back on the released seat I inadvertently push on the brake pedal, as I'm slowing for the stoplight. SCREECH, SLAM!!! Not only does the SUV stop on a dime, but of course the seat isn't locked and comes flying forward into the steering wheel at what, I'm going to hazard a guess to say, is near the speed I was just traveling only seconds prior.
So, here I am stopped randomly thirty yards from the stoplight, pinned awkwardly to the steering wheel by the seat which has now conveniently locked into place. The seat is so far forward that I can barely breath let alone move, and at this point I could actually lick the wheel b/c my face is awkwardly smashed into it at about two o'clock, with my left arm stuck (yes, you guessed it) between my body and the steering wheel still reaching between my legs. Sigh. Placed the car in park, flipped on my flashers w/ my free hand, and then I start to shimmy my arm downward trying to reach the bar to once again release the seat.
This is about the time the bicycle cop knocked on my driver's side window . . . needless to say I got the seat released, and then set about the task of convincing him that I had, in fact, not been drinking. No easy task since understandably he "doesn't often encounter people who get into car accidents w/ themselves, other cars, other people, even trees, but not usually themselves" . . . his words not mine.
I can't even tell you how awesome this was. Of course, this summer I didn't have a job, but it was still nice to have a second car. And my brother ok'd my trips to my parents' (8 hour drive), as well as back and forth to job interviews (is he great or what!?)
It was a great car, the Toyota Highlander, but I will say it had to touchiest brakes on any car that I've ever driven. When I arranged to pick it up, the ex-wifey had left it in the parking lot of her workplace w/ the key under a mat. Jamie dropped me off, and I jumped in for my first drive in the 'new' car. Change the radio, adjust the mirrors, buckle the seat belt, and I'm off. Getting out of the parking lot, I must've looked like a student driver. I'd be going give or take 4mph and gently depress the brake pedal, only to get slammed to a dead halt. So, other than a little whiplash getting out of the parking lot I'm doing good.
Then I turn onto the road, and notice that a magical leprechaun clearly drove this car previously b/c I'm sitting so close to the steering wheel I'm fairly certain I could touch it w/ my tongue. No worries I'll merely adjust the seat. Coming to a stop light, I lean down w/ my left hand reaching in between my legs to pull up the bar to release the seat. Only when I go to push back on the released seat I inadvertently push on the brake pedal, as I'm slowing for the stoplight. SCREECH, SLAM!!! Not only does the SUV stop on a dime, but of course the seat isn't locked and comes flying forward into the steering wheel at what, I'm going to hazard a guess to say, is near the speed I was just traveling only seconds prior.
So, here I am stopped randomly thirty yards from the stoplight, pinned awkwardly to the steering wheel by the seat which has now conveniently locked into place. The seat is so far forward that I can barely breath let alone move, and at this point I could actually lick the wheel b/c my face is awkwardly smashed into it at about two o'clock, with my left arm stuck (yes, you guessed it) between my body and the steering wheel still reaching between my legs. Sigh. Placed the car in park, flipped on my flashers w/ my free hand, and then I start to shimmy my arm downward trying to reach the bar to once again release the seat.
This is about the time the bicycle cop knocked on my driver's side window . . . needless to say I got the seat released, and then set about the task of convincing him that I had, in fact, not been drinking. No easy task since understandably he "doesn't often encounter people who get into car accidents w/ themselves, other cars, other people, even trees, but not usually themselves" . . . his words not mine.
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| What Amber got in the divorce! |
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Complaint Reel
So, I'm feelin a little vaporish this morning. I know I have like a billion things to be thankful for, but I'm not irritated about those things so here come the complaints:
1. It is abominably cold in Roanoke, VA. And they tell me it only gets colder: ugh. (on the bright side I did purchase the most outrageous woolly hat ever! and I actually get to wear it here)
2. Dear Men, Please cool it w/ the cologne/after shave. If there is a dense cloud of smell surrounding you, if you walk through a park and birds drop dead out of the trees around you, or if my eyes well up w/ tears just being on the same grocery aisle as you - YOU HAVE TOO MUCH SMELLY CRAP ON!!! I would call you gay, but even gay dudes know better! You want just an enticing hint of manly smell, leave the women wanting more, instead of just wanting you to vacate the premises. Sheesh!
3. If you have to go on WIC or some other welfare program b/c you can't afford your food/health care here's an idea: STOP PROCREATING! I got behind a women at the grocery yesterday who was paying w/ WIC (insert groan here), and she had three kids. I find the whole WIC program utterly obnoxious. It takes forever to use those stupid little checks they hand out, the people have to make separate purchases, and the items have to match the check description exactly. Ex. WIC check says: 1 gal whole milk. There are no substitutions, no half-gallons, no 2%, no organic.
While this women was not flaunting her inability to pay, occasionally I get behind those using WIC or EBT to pay who do. The other day I got behind a women whose WIC check wouldn't clear b/c she had crumpled it up in her sweaty little hand for too long making it illegible. Translation: I had to wait 30 minutes in line behind her while she made the cashier run it through 18 times til the computer finally gave up and took it.
All the while I'm getting more and more annoyed thinking, "Not only as a tax paying citizen am I paying for your food, but now I am made to suffer/wait excruciatingly long times in line behind you, while my irritation builds." This just gives me more time to examine her person: designer jeans, fake french nails, and dyed hair (ok, admittedly, I wouldn't have paid money for the hair job, so it was prolly an at home kit), but still! I do not own a pair of designer jeans nor can I afford to get my nails done at a minimum price of $35 a pop, but apparently I can afford to buy her food necessities! Grrrrrr.
I just got out of college where I lived off of overage $5,700 a year! So, I could make myself better, and support my future family as well as those who can't support their own freakin families. So, I get a little irritated (understatement). I no longer frequent either of these groceries as I find the my increase in blood pressure not worth it.
And that my friends concludes my complaint reel . . . I already feel soooo much better after getting that off my chest!
1. It is abominably cold in Roanoke, VA. And they tell me it only gets colder: ugh. (on the bright side I did purchase the most outrageous woolly hat ever! and I actually get to wear it here)
2. Dear Men, Please cool it w/ the cologne/after shave. If there is a dense cloud of smell surrounding you, if you walk through a park and birds drop dead out of the trees around you, or if my eyes well up w/ tears just being on the same grocery aisle as you - YOU HAVE TOO MUCH SMELLY CRAP ON!!! I would call you gay, but even gay dudes know better! You want just an enticing hint of manly smell, leave the women wanting more, instead of just wanting you to vacate the premises. Sheesh!
3. If you have to go on WIC or some other welfare program b/c you can't afford your food/health care here's an idea: STOP PROCREATING! I got behind a women at the grocery yesterday who was paying w/ WIC (insert groan here), and she had three kids. I find the whole WIC program utterly obnoxious. It takes forever to use those stupid little checks they hand out, the people have to make separate purchases, and the items have to match the check description exactly. Ex. WIC check says: 1 gal whole milk. There are no substitutions, no half-gallons, no 2%, no organic.
While this women was not flaunting her inability to pay, occasionally I get behind those using WIC or EBT to pay who do. The other day I got behind a women whose WIC check wouldn't clear b/c she had crumpled it up in her sweaty little hand for too long making it illegible. Translation: I had to wait 30 minutes in line behind her while she made the cashier run it through 18 times til the computer finally gave up and took it.
All the while I'm getting more and more annoyed thinking, "Not only as a tax paying citizen am I paying for your food, but now I am made to suffer/wait excruciatingly long times in line behind you, while my irritation builds." This just gives me more time to examine her person: designer jeans, fake french nails, and dyed hair (ok, admittedly, I wouldn't have paid money for the hair job, so it was prolly an at home kit), but still! I do not own a pair of designer jeans nor can I afford to get my nails done at a minimum price of $35 a pop, but apparently I can afford to buy her food necessities! Grrrrrr.
I just got out of college where I lived off of overage $5,700 a year! So, I could make myself better, and support my future family as well as those who can't support their own freakin families. So, I get a little irritated (understatement). I no longer frequent either of these groceries as I find the my increase in blood pressure not worth it.
And that my friends concludes my complaint reel . . . I already feel soooo much better after getting that off my chest!
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Canoodle My Noodle
I've mentioned before that I allow Moxi to eat with me. I know this is a terrible idea, but up until today I worked out a few tricks to make it easier. If I'm eating something that she could have a bite of like a lean cuisine w/ veggies and noodles I'll pull something out for her make sure it's cool enough and then give it to her to have her merry way with. She takes an inordinate amount of time to eat just about anything so she never gets more that one or two bites usually.
When she first came home I tried to feed her all kinds of goodies I had purchased for her fresh fruits and veggies, and much to my disappointment she was not interested in taking food from my hand. Fast forward to today and she'll take just about anything from my hand, taste it, and then either eat it or throw it down. I'm always interested to see what she likes and doesn't like. I eat a canned vegetable soup and she likes just about every veggie out of it except for the celery. So, if I give a piece of celery she usually gives it to the dogs and comes right back for something else. She really likes the peas out of the soup, and I find it interesting that even though they are cooked she still won't eat the thin layer of skin on the outside of the pea. She very carefully peals the pea and eats the inside only.
If I sit down to eat something that she can't have any of like chocolate or something, I usually try to plan ahead and have one of her treats available to keep her busy and make her think she is getting some, like a piece of pretzel.
When I eat spaghetti, which is often cuz it's super easy, I always pull out a couple of noodles before I add the sauce to give Moxi. She really likes noodles and I use the organic, all wheat noodles. She does have a little bit more trouble with the spaghetti noodles than something bigger like linguini I think because she ends up biting straight through it and most of it ends up going to the dogs.
So, I'd just given Moxi one of her plain noodles and I started to dig into my spaghetti. I was reading an intriguing article about forensic pharmacy which is why I didn't notice that the dogs had gotten Moxi's noodle and not Moxi. She started to sidle down my left arm toward the spaghetti and she was at my wrist before I knew it.
"Well, hello." Too late did I realize she was coming for another noodle . . . she dipped her head onto the plate and grabbed not one but three noodles all covered in red spaghetti sauce. What followed was an excellent example of her 'snatch and run.'
"Noooo!" Ugh . . . There she went: a little green blur racing up my arm w/ three noodles covered in red marinara sauce flapping wildly behind her - o the horror. Both bird and owner are now much "bloodier" looking that just minutes prior, w/ the trail beginning at my wrist, through my hair, and ending on the couch behind my neck. Sheesh. And just FYI, apparently red sauce does, in fact, stain a birds feathers PERMANENTLY!
When she first came home I tried to feed her all kinds of goodies I had purchased for her fresh fruits and veggies, and much to my disappointment she was not interested in taking food from my hand. Fast forward to today and she'll take just about anything from my hand, taste it, and then either eat it or throw it down. I'm always interested to see what she likes and doesn't like. I eat a canned vegetable soup and she likes just about every veggie out of it except for the celery. So, if I give a piece of celery she usually gives it to the dogs and comes right back for something else. She really likes the peas out of the soup, and I find it interesting that even though they are cooked she still won't eat the thin layer of skin on the outside of the pea. She very carefully peals the pea and eats the inside only.
If I sit down to eat something that she can't have any of like chocolate or something, I usually try to plan ahead and have one of her treats available to keep her busy and make her think she is getting some, like a piece of pretzel.
When I eat spaghetti, which is often cuz it's super easy, I always pull out a couple of noodles before I add the sauce to give Moxi. She really likes noodles and I use the organic, all wheat noodles. She does have a little bit more trouble with the spaghetti noodles than something bigger like linguini I think because she ends up biting straight through it and most of it ends up going to the dogs.
So, I'd just given Moxi one of her plain noodles and I started to dig into my spaghetti. I was reading an intriguing article about forensic pharmacy which is why I didn't notice that the dogs had gotten Moxi's noodle and not Moxi. She started to sidle down my left arm toward the spaghetti and she was at my wrist before I knew it.
"Well, hello." Too late did I realize she was coming for another noodle . . . she dipped her head onto the plate and grabbed not one but three noodles all covered in red spaghetti sauce. What followed was an excellent example of her 'snatch and run.'
"Noooo!" Ugh . . . There she went: a little green blur racing up my arm w/ three noodles covered in red marinara sauce flapping wildly behind her - o the horror. Both bird and owner are now much "bloodier" looking that just minutes prior, w/ the trail beginning at my wrist, through my hair, and ending on the couch behind my neck. Sheesh. And just FYI, apparently red sauce does, in fact, stain a birds feathers PERMANENTLY!
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| Cutest bird EVER! |
Monday, December 6, 2010
The Rundown
I know, I know I'm a terrible blogger. Clearly I have a responsibility to my adoring fans, and over the past two and half months I've really left you hangin. Please accept my sincerest apologies, and know that it's probably not the last time I'll take an unexpected leave of absence. I have just been super busy lately, SO much has happened that I need to fill you in about. After going to countless job interviews I finally got a job, YAY! So, here's a quick rundown of what the last couple of months have been like:
May:
Graduate w/ PharmD
Get house ready to sell.
Put house on market.
June:
Study.
Apply for jobs.
July:
Study.
Apply for more jobs.
Pass Pharmacy Boards.
August:
Apply for jobs.
Interview for jobs.
Get turned down for jobs.
September:
See August.
October:
Get HIRED!!!
Find rental house.
Move.
Start work/training.
Need to pass Virginia Law: Study
Get furniture moved in.
Study.
November:
Work/train.
Study.
Jamie interviews for jobs.
Study.
Jamie gets job.
Study.
Jamie moves.
Pass VA Law. (Yay, no more studying!)
Get VA Pharmer's license.
Buy transportation.
Celebrate Turkey Day w/ the fam!
Give Adam car back/meet the girl
December:
Work.
Apply to get vaccination certified: comes w/ 121 page study manual: crap.
Study.
Needless to say I am really loving my new job! I'm part time in a store and part time floater, so I have my first 12 hour shift on Tuesday which is gonna be super fun b/c it also happens to be a 2 hour drive from home making it a 16 hour day, phew! Rinse and repeat again on Friday. I'll let you know if I still love my job so much after that!
May:
Graduate w/ PharmD
Get house ready to sell.
Put house on market.
June:
Study.
Apply for jobs.
July:
Study.
Apply for more jobs.
Pass Pharmacy Boards.
August:
Apply for jobs.
Interview for jobs.
Get turned down for jobs.
September:
See August.
October:
Get HIRED!!!
Find rental house.
Move.
Start work/training.
Need to pass Virginia Law: Study
Get furniture moved in.
Study.
November:
Work/train.
Study.
Jamie interviews for jobs.
Study.
Jamie gets job.
Study.
Jamie moves.
Pass VA Law. (Yay, no more studying!)
Get VA Pharmer's license.
Buy transportation.
Celebrate Turkey Day w/ the fam!
Give Adam car back/meet the girl
December:
Work.
Apply to get vaccination certified: comes w/ 121 page study manual: crap.
Study.
Needless to say I am really loving my new job! I'm part time in a store and part time floater, so I have my first 12 hour shift on Tuesday which is gonna be super fun b/c it also happens to be a 2 hour drive from home making it a 16 hour day, phew! Rinse and repeat again on Friday. I'll let you know if I still love my job so much after that!
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Moxi Goes Nite, Nite
I absolutely HATE Moxi's bedtime. I have read countless articles and done an abundance of research on parrots to know that they need anywhere from 8-12 hours of good sleep each night.
Being jobless, my schedule is not always very firm, but I try to keep the animals on somewhat of a schedule. And Moxi's bedtime is around 11:00p. This is when I can tell she's getting tired. She gets a little ancy sometimes pacing back and forth on the couch or fluttering down to the floor repeatedly and then she'll settle into one spot. I'll take her to her room put a piece of a pretzel in the brim of the big yellow cowboy hat she sleeps with in her cage, turn off the light and say, "Nite, nite. I love you!" Then I shut the door for the night and I make it a firm practice not to enter her room until I wake up (usually late) the next morning.
I've read a number of horror stories about people putting their birds (and/or toddlers) to bed who will shriek and carry on refusing to go calmly to bed, and seriously I don't get any of that from Moxi. Typically she is ready for her 'nite-nite treat' and she lets me calmly place her on her comfy perch, where she side-steps over obtain her treat. But the reason I hate bedtime, is b/c I know that I am going to be up for several hours after she goes to bed. And I can't help but miss her. Sad I know, but she is just soooo sweet at night. After her little agitated phase, she'll hop down on my shoulder, burrow into my thick hair, and snuggle up next to my neck softly cooing. As if I'm not hooked already???
Being jobless, my schedule is not always very firm, but I try to keep the animals on somewhat of a schedule. And Moxi's bedtime is around 11:00p. This is when I can tell she's getting tired. She gets a little ancy sometimes pacing back and forth on the couch or fluttering down to the floor repeatedly and then she'll settle into one spot. I'll take her to her room put a piece of a pretzel in the brim of the big yellow cowboy hat she sleeps with in her cage, turn off the light and say, "Nite, nite. I love you!" Then I shut the door for the night and I make it a firm practice not to enter her room until I wake up (usually late) the next morning.
I've read a number of horror stories about people putting their birds (and/or toddlers) to bed who will shriek and carry on refusing to go calmly to bed, and seriously I don't get any of that from Moxi. Typically she is ready for her 'nite-nite treat' and she lets me calmly place her on her comfy perch, where she side-steps over obtain her treat. But the reason I hate bedtime, is b/c I know that I am going to be up for several hours after she goes to bed. And I can't help but miss her. Sad I know, but she is just soooo sweet at night. After her little agitated phase, she'll hop down on my shoulder, burrow into my thick hair, and snuggle up next to my neck softly cooing. As if I'm not hooked already???
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| I think it's so cute when she tucks her little beak behind her wing for a lil nap |
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Hit Woman for Hire
Jamie is under the misconception that I am trying to kill him. Well, that's just blatantly false. Not only to I love him, but I NEED him . . . I mean who else is gonna suffer through all of my eccentricities, be willing to eat Mexican food nearly every day of the week, rush back to the market for a bottle of wine after a rough day, make me laugh so hard that I get hiccups almost every day, and sprint through the house and up a flight of stairs when I scream, "BUG!" (As you've been made aware, the dogs are completely useless in this arena.)
But, never the less, he thinks I'm out to kill him. One might wonder what would give him this horrific idea? Am I perhaps trying to poison him? (Easy on the cooking jokes here!) No. Am I trying to electrocute him? No. Am I trying to stab, shoot, or strangle him? No, no, and no. (Although, occasionally he does make me wanna strangle him . . .)
No folks, the method I'm apparently using to do him in is: shoes. Shoes, bookbag, roller skates . . . sometimes the vacuum, just depends. I have a terrible tendency to leave shoes most likely on the bathroom floor or in the bedroom at the end of the bed . . . and since Jamie usually goes to bed after me, it can be a little treacherous for him to make it to his side of the bed in the dark. It's no picnic for me either to awaken from a dead sleep to a to a tall, dark figure lurking around my bedroom: THUD, stumble, stumble, EXPLETIVE! I tried to help him out with a nightlight, but he kept unplugging it saying he couldn't sleep w/ it on, and I have gotten much better since I've gotten rid of so much clutter to move.
But then the other night all of the lights are on and Jamie is walking through the TV room when he kicks the dog bowl (which lay empty and had been shoved toward the middle of the floor by the dogs), and trips forward. He turns around to look at the bowl, then gives me a glare: "Are you trying to kill me?" First, the dogs put that bowl there. Second, there are so many lights on right now you could probably see that bowl from the Hubble. Third, I have some theories of my own: I'm kindof thinking that maybe you're just a little clumsy or perhaps too tall to actually see all the way down to the floor, or my personal fav theory your feet are just clownishly large . . . Whatever the reason, it is my solemn vow that I'm not trying to kill Jamie. I mean I watch CSI, I would never get away with it. How would I hide the body? I mean I can't even lift an 80lbs bag of concrete!
But, never the less, he thinks I'm out to kill him. One might wonder what would give him this horrific idea? Am I perhaps trying to poison him? (Easy on the cooking jokes here!) No. Am I trying to electrocute him? No. Am I trying to stab, shoot, or strangle him? No, no, and no. (Although, occasionally he does make me wanna strangle him . . .)
No folks, the method I'm apparently using to do him in is: shoes. Shoes, bookbag, roller skates . . . sometimes the vacuum, just depends. I have a terrible tendency to leave shoes most likely on the bathroom floor or in the bedroom at the end of the bed . . . and since Jamie usually goes to bed after me, it can be a little treacherous for him to make it to his side of the bed in the dark. It's no picnic for me either to awaken from a dead sleep to a to a tall, dark figure lurking around my bedroom: THUD, stumble, stumble, EXPLETIVE! I tried to help him out with a nightlight, but he kept unplugging it saying he couldn't sleep w/ it on, and I have gotten much better since I've gotten rid of so much clutter to move.
But then the other night all of the lights are on and Jamie is walking through the TV room when he kicks the dog bowl (which lay empty and had been shoved toward the middle of the floor by the dogs), and trips forward. He turns around to look at the bowl, then gives me a glare: "Are you trying to kill me?" First, the dogs put that bowl there. Second, there are so many lights on right now you could probably see that bowl from the Hubble. Third, I have some theories of my own: I'm kindof thinking that maybe you're just a little clumsy or perhaps too tall to actually see all the way down to the floor, or my personal fav theory your feet are just clownishly large . . . Whatever the reason, it is my solemn vow that I'm not trying to kill Jamie. I mean I watch CSI, I would never get away with it. How would I hide the body? I mean I can't even lift an 80lbs bag of concrete!
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| Jamie and Me |
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