Category Archives: batshit crazy

Halloween is scary for many reasons


Last night, we went to our small town’s Halloween Parade. Before it starts, the local businesses hold a Trick or Treat and the library has activities, so my friend and I headed down early to the girls could enjoy themselves before meeting up with their cheer squad to ride along in the float.

There is nothing like Halloween to bring out the crazy. We saw our fair share of skanky costumes, pushy parents, misbehaving kids, and general impoliteness, of course, but the kids had fun. At one point, as we were making our way down a crowded sidewalk, we noticed a woman standing there wearing the most hideous, pants that you have ever seen – they were possibly pajamas – pink and furry and tight. We saw her a few times over the course of the evening and every time, she looked crazier and nastier than the last. But when we passed her on the sidewalk, she was talking – both to the person on her cell phone and a person standing next to her and taking up valuable space on the already crowded walk. I remember thinking that people without kids should really try to get the hell out of the way and let the kids through.

Shortly after we passed her, I noticed a little boy walking very close to me. It was so crowded that I didn’t really think anything of it – just assumed his parents were behind me. That is, until we walked about a block further and away from the main area. We went to sit down on a bench and noticed that Buzz Lightyear had joined us. I realized that this little boy had just sort of attached himself to me. I asked him if he was lost and he said yes. He told me his name was Andrew. He seemed a little vacant, but I assumed it was because he was scared. So I asked him who he was there with and he didn’t answer. I asked if he was with his mom and he said no. The same for his dad. I asked who he was with again and he said his dad. It became clear pretty quickly that this little boy was special needs. So I took his hand and led him back into the fray, hoping to find a frantic parent looking for him. Otherwise, I figured I’d pass him on to the first police officer I came across.

He wasn’t afraid of me at all – he willingly took my hand as we walked around. Because he wasn’t able to communicate much, I had no idea of a last name, who we were looking for, what they looked like. I tried to jest walk slowly to give the parents a chance to spot him. And hoo-boy, did they. I heard a screeching, “Where were you!?! “ and looked up to see none other than Miss Crazy Playboy Bunny Pants heading towards us.

I could tell that she was CRAZY AS SHIT a little upset, so I tried to greet her kindly and say that he got mixed up with our group, but she cut me off by screaming at the poor thing about how he’s “not supposed to run away.” I spoke up and tried to shoulder the blame, claiming that we had stepped between him and her as we walked by and he got pulled along with the crowd (which isn’t really what happened, but I was trying to divert her ire a little). But it took everything in my power to not scream right back at her and tell her 1) that he ended up separated from her while she was completely distracted and talking on the phone, 2) that while we teach our kids not to wander off, when they are that little, their safety is ultimately OUR responsibility, and 3) that as a special needs child, he obviously needs even more supervision, especially given his trusting and willingness to take a strangers hand and walk away with them. Not that I would have had a chance to say all that anyway, since she grabbed his hand from me (the poor thing was hanging on to me for dear life) and dragged him away, still yelling. People really suck sometimes.

Oh – and totally unrelated, but I have to share: When I went to meet up with the boy after the parade (he marched with the band), he was holding hands with a girl!!!! And I don’t care how much burghbaby hates multiple exclamation points – sometimes they are needed. Like when your baby boy is HOLDING HANDS WITH A GIRL!!!!!


I really did want to beat her with my baton


Growing up, I spent a ton of time at my grandparents house. And next door to them was another older couple whose granddaughter I went to school with. Let’s call her Tammy Sue. That’s not her real name, but I had to come up with something that could express how annoying it was when her mother or grandmother would call for her in their high pitched, screechy voices, “Tammy Sue, sweetie! Tammy Sue!” See, Tammy Sue’s mother was possibly the most annoying person that ever lived. Except maybe for Tammy Sue’s grandmother, who treated her daughter, Peggy Lynn, the exact same way that both she and Peggy Lynn treated Tammy Sue – like she was the bestest, greatest, most wonderful, popular thing that ever was.

Now, don’t get me wrong – we all think our kids are great. But while most of us will show up at our kids soccer game or dance recital and take some photos and videos, Tammy Sue’s family would all pack up and go to every practice, with full-on photographic and video equipment, staging and restaging things – putting Tammy Sue in front. Peggy Lynn is the stereotypical pushy pageant mother, only without the pageants, though in her defense, she seemed to have gotten it straight from her own crazy mother.

Once, when I was very young, I was playing with TS at her grandparents’ house, a neighbor girl named Kelly came by and asked if she could play with us. That’s it – just, “Can I play?” I said yes, but before Kelly could even open the front gate, Tammy Sue had run inside and told her grandma and grandma came running out of the house with a big wooden spoon and chased Kelly home. I left immediately, went to Kelly’s and never played with TS again. Because even at age 6, I knew a crazy fucker when I saw one.

But I always felt a little bad for TS. Her mother was always pushing her into the spotlight, whether she wanted it or not. TS was a reasonably popular girl – she was a cheerleader and seemingly had lots of friends. But no one was really a friend, because she (or her family) would scare people off – they were pushy and competitive and crazy.

Normal parents would send some cookies or candy to school for the Halloween party. I remember Peggy Lynn delivering Tammy Sue’s treats to our 4th or 5th grade Halloween party dressed as Daisy Mae from Li’l Abner. Now, most of you are too young to know what I am talking about, but she was dressed almost exactly like this (only with shorter shorts):

We were young, but not too young to know that it was totally inappropriate. I remember telling my friend Carol about it afterward, and describing Peggy Lynn’s look as “An H-O-A-R” (my spelling has since improved). The thing is – Peggy Lynn wasn’t a skank – but she thought (and acted like) she was Tammy Sue’s sister rather than mother, and she needed attention – for both her and for her daughter. I can remember thinking – even as a child – that Tammy Sue wouldn’t have been nearly as bad if it weren’t for her mother and grandmother.

Everything with her mother is a competition – and not a subtle one, either. She’s the type that will ask straight out what you paid for your house or how much you make. Then (if you are stupid enough to tell her), she will proceed to tell you how much more she (or her kids, or husband) paid or makes. Once, when we first built the addition on our house, we were both in the hair salon. Someone mentioned how nice our house looked, and Peggy Lynn almost went ballistic, pulling out photos and dropping measurements and prices about HER recent addition. As three or four people came in and out of the salon and made comments to me about our house (we live in a small town, but on a well-travelled road), she would just get madder and madder, and shove her own room addition photos in their face. This is a 60 year old woman, people!

Aaaaanyway, there is a point to this story. On Friday, I joined the alumni marching band on the field for the final game at our town’s 70+ year old football stadium, and when I showed up for practice before the game (yes – practice – the majorette coach actually made us learn and perform a routine, which was a delight), I heard the voice – that screechy voice. Yes – Peggy Lynn was an alumni majorette and I had to spend the evening with her. Yay me.

From the first moment of practice, when they lined us up to learn the routine, I watched this crazy ass bitch push and shove her way to the front (and center). Every. Single. Time. Every run through – every photo, for the pre-game festivities and the postgame festivities. The worst was when we were lining up to march across the field for the post game routine. We didn’t have assigned spaces – it was just get on a yard line, stand at attention and do it quick. Well, as we were spreading out, she ended up getting pushed further down toward the end zone. And she was NOT happy about it.

I could hear her screeching from 25 yards away, “But I was on the 45 yard line in practice! I need to be on the 45 yard line!!!” And although people were telling her to shut up and not worry about it – it didn’t matter where we were lined up, she just kept at it, “Hey! You! Move down – I’m supposed to be on TH 45 YARD LINE!!! “ Since no one was listening, she decided to start yelling at the only person she knew – me. “Gina! Move down! I’m supposed to be there (I was on the 45). I yelled back that I had nowhere to move (we were spread almost the entire length of the field -everyone was in place and at attention – we weren’t going to rearrange our positions seconds before the cadence, just so some crazy bitch could put her big face front and center. Everyone ignored her (most rolled their eyes). And then, she took a full on tantrum on the field, stomped up to where I was and shoved her way in between me and the woman who was standing on the 40 yard line! So now – she is the only person not on a yard line and she refused to move. Everyone else was forced to shift positions so she could be front and center.

And then I beat her to death with my baton. Or maybe I just vividly imagined it. One of those.

Nothing to See Here…


I have been super crabby these past few days. I’m always on the go and it is wearing me down. mr b is self-employed and self-employed means long hours – working late & working weekends. Which means everything else falls to me – the cleaning, the carting kids around, the cooking – everything. And while I understand that he has to work that way if we want to get paid (which – duh – we do), I can’t help but feel a little resentful.

I find myself unable to keep up physically or emotionally – I forget things, I run late, I am exhausted. And I can’t get everything done – so the housework gets pushed aside, which only makes more work for me down the road, which I still can’t do because I don’t have time to do it in the first place much less extra catching up stuff. Which makes me more exhausted and forgetful and distracted and so on and so on and so on until I explode. or at least feel like I am going to. So I end up crabby and mean and find myself barking at people when I don’t even really mean it and yet can’t seem to stop myself. Seriously – I can be bitchily ranting at someone when in my head I am thinking, “OMG stop it already” and want to hug them, but I literally CAN NOT STOP.

Even though I know it’s hard on mr b working like he does, I can’t help but to occasionally start thinking that he does it on purpose – to get out of things. I mean, what better excuse for not helping out than “I have to work because we need money to buy food TO STAY ALIVE”? So I get resentful and I feel like I can’t complain about it because then OMG I don’t even care if we don’t have money to pay for food TO STAY ALIVE – how irresponsible and selfish of me! And then I waver between getting passive-aggressive and mean and being disgusted with myself for being that way. Which makes me feel worse. And crazy. It’s a vicious cycle.

And when I’m like this I read non-existent meaning into everything. Person A didn’t return my text: SHE HATES ME! Person B ignored my tweet: HE HATES ME! I forgot to send a school form in: TERRIBLE MOTHER! My cat died: It’s my fault!

Don’t I sound like a real delight to be around these days?

No really – this is how crazy I am lately – yesterday I was driving home and a pretty little butterfly flew in the window of my moving car and landed on my shoulder. He sat there the entire hour-long drive home and then when I got home and got out of the car, he lifted up off my shoulder, flew around me a few times and then flew away.

For a few minutes, I had the reaction of a normal (or medicated) person and thought, “Oh, how sweet! What a nice reminder that life is good and I need to stop feeling so bad!” and then a minute later, I had the crazy person’s reaction of “OH NO – now he’ll never be able to find his home again because I drove him miles and miles away from it and OMG – what if he was some sort of sign and someone in my family IS DEAD?!?!?!?!?!”

Yes, my friends – I am that crazy!

I need a hug. Or a drink. Or some prozac. Maybe all three.

Do any of you ever get crazy like this or is it just me?

Yes, I know I hate the cold…so what??


When I was a kid, our school district was broken down into small neighborhood elementary schools. I went to one in my neighborhood that had kindergarten through 3rd grade. It was a great way to go to school as a child – we all walked together in big groups, sometimes we walked home for lunch (how on earth did we have the time for that?) often bringing friend along.

It was a brand new school building. Actually, my kindergarten year it was still the “old” school – the building where many of our parents went to high school – big and ornate, with stairs that ran all along the hallways so the rooms were elevated. That summer they built the new sleek, modern school, with new desks and fold-up cafeteria tables, so it could more easily convert to a gymnasium.

I was happy there – we had recess and long lunches and art classes more than just once a week. And the teachers were great. There was my kindergarten teacher, who was also the principal. She was a kind older lady, who still understood young children. Even the next year – when my friend Tammy and I got caught carving Gina and Tammy love Donny Osmond in a door with a pop-top (remember those?) – and we ended up in her office, she knew that we really didn’t get it and treated us gently, just wanting us to understand why it was wrong, instead of worrying about punishment.

There was my beloved first grade teacher, who rarely had to raise her voice at anyone – she was so sweet, you just wanted to please her. I remember the last day of school, when I forgot to bring her gift and I cried and cried, so my mom took me to her house that afternoon to drop it off. She invited us I and gave us tea and cookies. If I hadn’t already loved her unconditionally, I would have then.

There was my second grade teacher, who…will, OK, my second grade teacher was kind of a douche – I still remember my friend Marsha and I getting in trouble for something we didn’t do and she simply wouldn’t listen.

But my third grade teacher? Oh my god did she ever make up for any ill will I picked up the year before. I credit her for my love of books. She read to us every day – long chapter books that left you crazy with anticipation for the next day’s installment. And if she saw that you took to reading, she did everything she could to encourage you – like she did for me. She took us on imaginary trips to far off places – we’d get out airline wings on and fly. Then we’d listen to the music and eat the foods and learn so much more than if we had just learned it from a lesson plan.

Plus, we had a great support staff at the school – the gentle nurse, who was forever getting my long eyelashes out of my eyes, the office ladies who knew you by name, and the librarian who made sure we had the greatest books available to us.

But the first person I think of when I think about that school is our custodian, Gus. Gus was the friendliest, sweetest, most caring person. He was always smiling, and always had time for you. When a kid had a problem, or was feeling down about something, they’d go to Gus before they’d go to anyone else. He was as likely as the nurse to put a band-aid on, and quicker than a teacher to break up any hallway squabbles. He knew everyone’s name and their parents’ names and their grandparents’ names too.

His “office” was the supply closet. Any time the classroom needed something, we kids would climb all over each other to raise our hand the highest – everyone wanted to be picked to be the one to go visit Gus. Because you knew that you would be getting more than some colored paper or crayons – you’d get a cheery hello, a compliment on what you were wearing or your latest artwork hanging in the hall. You’d have a real conversation with a grown-up who treated you like you mattered – like you had something important to say. And sometimes, you’d even get a candy to take home and eat later. Gus was everyone’s best friend.

It was a few years before we all found out that Gus was famous. We already adored him as much as humanly possible, but knowing this thrilled us. Our Gus was an even bigger hero in our eyes.

His name was Gus Br1ckner, and he was a swimmer. Not just any swimmer, though – he was best known for long, LONG distance swimming and very cold water swims. He was the original Human Polar Bear. He started the tradition of jumping into the city’s icy rivers on New Year’s Day in 1949 (though he didn’t limit his own activities to just one day a year). He would bring old filmstrips in for us to watch of him swimming in the icy rivers and rolling around in the snow. He held Guinness World Records for cold swims (6 minutes 22 seconds in -18 degree water) and total lifetime distance swim (38,512 miles – the last of these miles were recorded at age 75). He attempted to swim the English Channel 2 times – each time making it mere yards from shore (after swimming 34 miles and 15 hours) before having health issues that required he be pulled out. He wanted to try again in 1960, but it was called off by the authorities because of the conditions.

When I joined the swim team in high school, I was a diver, but being in a small district meant a small team and my coach didn’t like to see empty lanes. So I sometimes was called on to swim backstroke or in the freestyle relay. I took to the backstroke pretty well, but freestyle – Oh My God, I thought I would die. And while I was barely struggling along hating every minute of it (while Gus’ son was serving as an official) I would think of Gus – and how he swam way longer when he was way older. When we’d have to show up for practice at 5:30 in the morning in the freezing Pennsylvania winter, I’d think of Gus rolling around in the snow in those old movies. And I’d make it. He never knew how he inspired me.

When I heard he died back in the winter of 1991, I cried for the sweet, caring, kind man I used to know – even though I hadn’t seen him in many, many years. And I thought that someday I’d like to be a Polar Bear just like Gus was. Last year, I was a relatively new reader of Uncle Crappy’s blog, and when I saw his post on his New Year’s Day plunge, of course, I thought of Gus. I found myself wishing I had known Uncle Crappy better or sooner, because maybe I could have gone (actually, I wished I had known him sooner because he’s awesome). Well, kids – I know him longer and better this time around. And I have met some of the others planning to go. So by god, I’m doing it. On New Year’s Day, I am jumping in the icy cold Mon. And just before you hear my girly scream upon hitting the cold water, you’ll most likely hear me yell, “This is for you, Gus!”

Anonymous Can Go Suck It (aka the one where I say some very bad words and then move on to blather about nothing of consequence)


Hey – I got another hate comment! This time, instead of racist garbage, it was this gem:

“Ey Gina, you look like a fat cow yourself, so what´s your fucking problem ugly bitch”

Isn’t that awesome?

You know, I’ll admit – at first I thought, “Ouch- that hurts.” but then I realized that Anonymous is a bitch ass fucking cunt and I felt better. I can’t help but wonder, though, what goes on in the mind of a person who leaves a comment like that on the blog of a person they (presumably) don’t even know, that they definitely don’t have to read. I think about how sad and pathetic an existence it must be to have to take pleasure from something like that. And I think about how I am, in fact, a fat cow, but that I can do something about it while unfortunately for Anonymous (and moreso, everyone around him/her), there is no cure for pathetic bitch ass fucking cunt.


So, anyway.

Oh – and while we’re on the subject of assholes – two words: Sharon Stone. Seriously? I mean – do you really think that, given the number of innocent people – children – affected by the quake? Because I think I’d watch out for karma myself, if I were you.


Also in the asshole files – did you hear about the Rachel Ray ad that got pulled? Apparently, in her latest commercial for Dunkin Donuts, she wore a scarf that Michelle Malkin and other crazy assholes thought looks like a kaffiyeh. So Dunkin Donuts won’t be airing the ad. Now, I don’t give a rat’s ass about Dunkin Donuts or Rachel Ray, so I don’t really care one way or another about the ad. But I do know that the reaction of some people over a scarf – a scarf – is way the hell overboard. It’s a scarf! And to decide that it represents all thing evil and anti-American and demand that it not be shown to the American public for fear we will all be killed in some sort of Dunkin Donuts Terrorist Uprising, is a little on the ultra-sensitive batshit crazy side. I mean, if you really want something to be offended by, here are a few no-brainers: George Bush, Racism, 46 million without health insurance, the boy who was voted out of his class by an asshole teacher, Iraq, the price of gas, the fact that women still only make about 77 cents to a mans dollar, the lack of affordable and acceptable care for the elderly, the earthquake victims, the still displaced Katrina victims, the 13 million American children going to bed hungry every night, the 300 million worldwide doing the same, the economy, the hundreds of thousands of people living in shelters or on the streets of one of the richest nations in the world, global warming, and once more for good measure – George Bush.


Tomorrow is my first short Friday – yay! Actually, it will be even shorter, since I am taking off at 9:30 to go to the boy’s 5th grade awards ceremony. I wasn’t really planning on going, since – to be honest – I didn’t think he’d be getting anything. Because I am an awesome low expectations-having mom like that. So pony up that Super Supportive Mom of the Year Award right away, bitches! Actually, I really didn’t want to figure out how to swing work and getting there on time. But now that I have been offered the opportunity to work from home on summer Fridays, it’s a lot easier. As it turns out, he will actually get some awards – don’t get excited – most likely the generic, participation type and not the 5th Grade Genius kind. But I will be happy and proud anyway. Because I still display my Class Clown, Most Likely to Drive a College Professor Crazy and Most Talkative awards proudly.


This weekend, my mom and aunt are having a yard sale. They do it every year and every year, my mom tries to get me to go and get rid of stuff, and every year, my laziness, pack-ratty-ness, and busy schedule prevent me from doing so. But this year, I have decided to gather up some stuff and go. I have some baby-type items, like a stroller and a toddler bed that are just taking up space and I have about a hundred billion books. My problem with books is that I don’t want to sell them cheap and people don’t want to pay more than $1. I mean – I love to read, so if I saw a $12 book for $5, I’d be all over that shit. But most folks aren’t like me (irrational and crazy). So, I’ll have to give in a little just to get my household out from under the mountain of books. The funny thing is that I have no problem giving them away. I’m just cheap if I try and sell them. I plan on taking my camera, because yard sales are a virtual weirdo carnival.

Besides, if I make a few bucks, it will help with a little vacation I have coming up. I am going to Virginia Beach for abut 5 days for my cousin’s graduation. And God help me – my mother is riding with me. And staying in the room with me. And I can definitely use some extra money for drinks.

How NOT to Get the Job


Hedge sent me an email yesterday telling me that she was sitting at her desk, looking at a man who was waiting for an interview with her company. Sitting beside him was his wife. On her lap was their dog. Who does that?? What on earth would have made this guy think that bringing his wife and dog on an interview would be a good thing.

You know, I can almost forgive the dog. Because although bringing your dog on the interview is clearly a sign of batshittery, there’s always the possibility of you actually being able to function in the job. But bringing your wife? This says to me that you may or may not be batshit crazy, but your wife is most definitely batshit crazy and the only thing worse than a batshit crazy employee is an employee with a batshit crazy wife. And a wife who feels it’s appropriate to accompany her husband right into the office on a job interview, dog in tow, is the poster child for the Batshit Crazy Wives Association of America.

I can tell you from experience (not that I have or have been a batshit crazy wife, but I have witnessed it), that a batshit crazy wife will result in the employee getting 238 calls a day, 197 of which will be dire emergencies like “I can’t find the coffee filters” or “How do you work the DVD player?” The other 41 will just be plain old batshit crazy conversation. Also – batshit crazy wives will result in the employee being late or absent often, because of emergencies such as the one I mentioned, as well as rampant hypochondria, paranoia, and the inability to function as an adult.

Needless to say, this man will not be getting the job. So, just in case you were on your way out the door for an interview and your wife or husband or dog thinks it’s a good idea to come along – it’s not.


In other news, the boy has his crossover ceremony from cub scouts to boy scouts on Saturday and I know that I am going to cry and look like a blubbering fool in all the photos. I had a hard time deciding to let him join scouts because their policy on gays makes me want to vomit. But he really wanted to join, plus the fact that he’s not a huge athlete and the fact that there’s not a whole lot of options in a small town made me rethink it. The biggest deciding factor was a conversation I had with an openly gay woman who was a scout leader, who encouraged me to let him join.

I decided that the benefits of joining scouts were many, in that he would be learning outdoor skills, leadership and citizenship. I figured that I could teach him about acceptance and you never know – maybe someday he would be involved in helping to make a change in an offensive and ridiculous policy. In the meantime, he’s participated on activities that have honored and helped veterans, the mentally challenged, the hungry, the elderly and the environment. And that is always a good thing. In a few years, he’ll have to do his Eagle Scout project and since his won personal “cause” has always seemed to be homelessness and hunger, maybe he’ll have a chance to make a real impact. So while I still feel a little like a hypocrite for participating in an organization that has some views that I can’t get behind, I am also very proud of my son for sticking with it for five years and achieving what he has.


And in super good happy news, Weenie came down this weekend and we worked like working dogs who work for 34,926 hours (OK, we actually drank lots of rum for some of thse hours, but still), and I am happy to announce that my kids finally have rooms. There are still a few odds and ends to be tied up, but thank Jeebus, we finally, finally, can all get a little space. It feel as good as you would expect it to feel when three people, a dog and a cat and crawl out of each your ass.


"It’s rough and tumble. It’s wild and woolly. It’s a blast."


I discovered the Crazy-ass Tom Cruise Scientology Rox! video today. Oh thank you, thank you, THANK YOU, Internet! My nemesis – on film – looking even more crazy than his famous jumping of the couch. It’s the Best Day Ever! I mean, at least on Jump the Couch Day, you could understand – he was crazy in love! She was magnificent! We’ve all been a little coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs over a new relationship before, right? But this…this…is magical!

Some of the highlights:

We are the authorities on the mind…we are the way to happiness. [Really? I thought it was money. I’ll take money.]

I think about those people every day that are depending on “us”. [I’m not sure who those people are…the homeless…the hungry…Britney Spears? If only he spoke actual non-batshit-crazy English, maybe I could understand.] It does make me feel like…man I got…I got…there’s more work…I need more help…you know, get those spectators and you’re in the playing field or out of the arena. [The Arena of Crazy, apparently]

Crush these guys! I’ve had it! Psychiatry doesn’t work. No mercy! None! Go to guns! [Well, of course the crazy guy doesn’t believe in psychiatry. Psychiatry would ruin all of his fun.]

I do what I can…and I do it the way I do everything…HAHAHAHAHA…there’s nothing part of the way for me…HAHAHAHAHAHA…it’s just whoosh…HAHAHAHAHA! [I’d have to agree with him on this one – there’s no half-way crazy for him, He is ALL IN. In the Crazy Arena.]

When you’re a Scientologist, and you drive by an accident, you know you have to do something about it…you’re the only one who can really help. [So, the rest of you out there – good samaritans, doctors, nurses, firefighters, EMTs – just keep going. There’s nothing you can do about it anyway. Hey! I have an idea! Maybe Tom should give us all his phone number so we can call him in case of an accident.]

You can just see it – the look in their eyes…you know the ones that are doing it, you know, and you know the spectators, who are the ones that are going, ‘well it’s easy for you’ or ‘what am I doing’ and it’s just…that thing is us…I’ve cancelled that in my…area…HAHAHAHAHAHA! [WTF?? Your area? W?T?F?]

And my very favorite…

I’d like the world to be a different place. [OK, with you] I’d like to go on vacation…and go and romp and play and just…do that. [huh?] You know what I mean? [um…no] I mean…thhhhat’s what I want it to be…ok? [ooookay] That’s how I…you know…there’s times I’d like to do that …*insert thoughtful, emotional pause*…but I can’t…because…I know[???????] *intense, meaningful stare*…I know…[You know what?]…so……I.I.I…you know, but you…you just…I have to do something about it. [About what? Seriously – what do you know??]