My feet thundered up the stairs, still not as loud as the ringing screeching through my ears. Or even the pounding of my heart.

That was all i could hear. Ringing , high-pitched ringing only interrupted by a deep thud thud of my ever-increasing heart beat.

And the desire to flee. With each beat my brain screamed RUN.

My dog was in my arms giving me crazy eyes, but felt my rapid heart beat so stayed tuckered in my arms while I stood dumfounded in my door way.


My vision blurred all I could see was a big mushroom cloud of fiery explosion, like in the action movies when a building is blown up. Big orangery blaze inferno.

I jerked and my brain  yelled GET OUT.

Of course, it hadn’t happened. There was no explosion. Or i wouldn’t still be standing there.  But, it was gunna happen.  It was all i could see. I felt it in my bones.

More ringing in my ears.

More burning orangery haze behind my retinas.

I  placed my dog on the bed and couldn’t even muttered a” stay” I just pointed. For once in her little life, she obeyed.

My ripped my night-shirt off, with the remnants of my nice peaceful day off from work. I hurriedly grabbed the first bra I could and strapped it on. Too panicked to look for clothes i put my night-shirt back on. I grabbed a pair of socks. I had one sock on and one sock poised in position when i hear it.


I stood frozen with one foot in the air, ready to be clothed with the sock.

The sirens grew louder.

I stood still.

Then lights.

I un-froze and dropped the lone sock.

Scooped up my dog and with one sock on and one off and i rushed back down the stairs and look out the window.

My whole block was filled with two fire trucks and one of the fire truck jeeps.  I watched as the closest fire truck the doors opened and extracted from the cab of the truck were firefighters, several of them.

Oddly, like a clown car. I wondered how many were in there and how many could fit in there.


They descended upon my house like angels of retribution.

Shit just got real folks.


Okay, let’s rewind. It was my day off from work, coming to a close. It’s been stressful at work, with Easter right around the corner, and the lack of staff and security breathing down my back with helping them man the fitting room. So I’ve been doing what I have been doing for the past several weeks. Escaping to my books. Just reading. In bed, not doing shit but reading.

When i hear my mother and my dad getting into an argument. I ignore it. Go back to reading. Then 20 minutes my mother is calling for my brother and my hubby to go help my father in the basement, something about a stove.

The boys descend to the basement and i still didn’t move.  About ten minutes later, i figured I better go check on the hubby, since he is the only one that has any common sense and he’s been in a “fix it ” situation with people who don’t have common sense and he may need back up.

I enter the basement to the stove pulled out and being informed there is a gas leak from the stove.

That’s when the ringing in my ears started. I stayed, in the far corner of  the basement as I watched them trace the  specific gas line to the stove. The shut off valve for that particular line was so old and rickety. And rusted shut. I watched as they attempted to turn it.

They were in a dilemma. Try to force it. But have a risk it break. And then we would be up shit’s creak.

I couldn’t take it no more. I ran upstairs and my mother asked me who should she call. I started blabbing ” You need to call somebody!”

She tried all our usual people but none answered the phone. The ringing  in my ears got  louder.

Then she got on the phone with 311 ( NYC’s dispatch number, not the police department but they get you the numbers or people you need or just provide information)

Now, this is where I had a panic attacked and brings us to the beginning of the blog post.

I had a panic attack folks. I freaked the fuck out.

All i could see was big explosions. I swear that was all i could see , hear and FEEL.

All  i needed was to get out. I was going to go. I have no idea where the hell i was going to go. I was just going to go.

But, the fire department came and according to my brother the fire fighter turned the valve ” like slicing butter”. So the gas was shut off. And as quickly as they descended on my house they left.

Everyone was departing back to their assigned parts of the house so it was me who answered the door bell when it rung.

It was the po po.

I was immediately greeted by  a police officer sternly asking if everyone was alright.  Flabbergasted I was answering his very stern and direct questions. They got a call about  a gas leak and came to investigate if everything was resolved and everyone was alright.

When i closed the door after the officer left I finally made it back to my room.

And finally I processed everything that happened.

I was up all night processing what happened. My adrenaline did not leave me until the wee hours of the morning.

The next day, i was upset I had a panic attack. Though,now I can laugh about it. But during? I was swore I was going to die in a horrible inferno.

Well, glad to tell you, I’ll live to live another day and blog another post.


All week, I kept seeing this post pop up in my news feed on facebook.

After a blogging friend Cheri part took in answering this, i decided i wanted to answer as well. Plus, I’m curious about you all and your first experience. In the comments or on your own blogs, I would like to know. What was your first concert?


My first concert was… embarrassing to admit. Okay, I’m just going to say it. I was a boy band groupie. N’sync was my first Boy Band obsession. I was still on the young side so I didn’t get to go stalk follow them around. However, B2k came around and I was obsessed. Best part? So was my cousin. We went to every single free concert they performed all over NYC. We left 5am in the morning and froze our butts off all morning to get a front row spot all for a one or two song performance.

I remember one epic concert in front of some news station , my cousin and I stood for hours for a two song performance. The tour bus pulled up right by the stage and the boy band entered the bus. In a mass horde we all started screaming and chasing the bus. Yes, chasing the tour bus. As the bus turned the faithful corner our screams immediately changed into cries of disappointment and sorrow. Then, a beacon of light appeared at the corner. A random guy at the corner started screaming and pointing

“Red light! Red light!”

The screams erupted and we all started running again.

So yes folks, my first concert experiences were that of a boy band groupie.

However, I will never admit to this. When people ask what my first concert was i readily tell them:

Five Finger Death Punch.

Five finger death punch, 5fdp, ffdp, rock band, rock, metal


The hubby and I discovered this band together in the very beginning of our relationship. The song came on headbangers ball ( remember that show?!) and the hubby instantly recognized the lead singer from his previous band. We stopped and stared at the music video and when it was over, we got the album immediately. To this day, when I take the hubby’s ipod ( mine is broken) I always, always end up playing a loop of Five Finger songs.

For one of our anniversaries we went to a five finger concert. They are rarely in NY and when they are it’s usually around a time we cannot afford tickets.  So,  when we finally scored tickets, i ditched my college classes for the day and spent the entire late morning/afternoon pre-gaming.

In typical rock concert fashion, we had to stand through three shitty bands before 5fdp took stage. But, when they did, It was worth it all.
To me, that will always be my first REAL concert experience.


What was your first concert experience?

I’ve been feeling a bit detached lately. I decided it was time to unplug for a little while. You’ve all read about the craziness at work with inventory and if you have not you can do so here.

Work is still tiresome and I was starting to bore with my TV shows. It doesn’t help it was the season finale of Walk Dead last week. Whatever am I to do with my Sunday nights?!

True to my commitment  ( B4Peace motto to live by for this year) though, I have been coming on WordPress everyday and silently reading your blogs. I drop a comment here and there but I’m one of those I don’t like pressing “like” unless I’m leaving a lengthy comment so sometimes i may or may not “like” your post.  But, I’m there stalking your blogs in the darkness of cyberspace.

So, what have I been doing with my time?

Well, you all know I have challenged myself and joined in the Goodreads Challenge to read 100 books this year. Last year, I part took but fell short.  As I type this, I have read 31 books which Goodreads tells me is five books ahead of schedule.

So, when I decided I needed to unplug from the computer and TV, I tried to read.

If you didn’t know, my genre of reading is Paranormal/fantasy/sci-fi.  Well folks, I had to put a ban on myself from buying books until I put a dent into the book I have already bought and yet to read. And it worked. Until last week.

I hit that wall. I was sci-fied out. I started about half a dozen books, reading a chapter of each. And I just wasn’t connecting. So i sat on goodreads and was just randomly searching and one book kept popping up into the recommendations.

Reaper’s Property it was called.

Now, I’m a HUGE Son’s of Anarchy fan. I watched it before it was popular, since it first aired. Every week the hubby and I would sit down and watch it together. It was OUR show.

My man. The first time he worked on a car after surgery and treatment( this was while on a break from treatment)

My man. The first time he worked on a car after surgery and treatment( this was while on a break from treatment)

What you may or may not know… the hubby is a mechanic. Cars have been his thing since he was 5 years old. He grew up in PR in his grandfather’s garage. He’s at his happiest covered in grease.

He’s from the old school mindset and believes you should be able to build from bottom up any ride before you learn to ride it.

Naturally, he became interested in motorcycles. He started the research in going back to school to get certified  in motorcycle mechanics.  But then, as he was planning out his passions and dreams, he fell ill.

Now, that dream isn’t dead but it’s on hold. Point is, he lives out the desire of riding through shows like Sons but because he’s secretly a nerd he watches all kinds of documentaries about Biker MC’s.

And because I’m his lady, I watch them with him.

I have not known or have ever known a real life biker in the lifestyle. But, from documentaries and such I felt familiar with the lifestyle.

So, i never ever thought of picking up a biker book. I just knew I would hate it. It would not be real and nitty gritty and true to the hardcore ways and life of a biker MC.

But, then I saw the reviews for this book that kept popping up in my suggestions. It was bipolar to put it nicely.  Either people hated it, or loved it. And that’s what decided it for me. I’m a sucker for controversial reads. Before i even remembered I was on a book buying ban, I ordered the kindle book and had my kindle up and running.

I devoured the book. It was a work of fiction. It was rude and crude. At times it did read like a fan fiction. But the aspects of biker life was realistic and believable.  I didn’t put it down. And before I knew what I was doing I bought the second book. And then when i finished that series , the next Biker Book suggestion popped up and I bought that too. Then when that book was finished another series was recommended and I bought that too. I”m now on the third book of that series.

Here is a list of the time thieves books.

Reaper’s MC by Joanna Wylde

Book One: Reapers Property
Book Two: Reapers Legacy

Renegade Sons MC  by Dawn Martens
Book One: Renegade Lady

Undeniable by  Madeline Sheehan
Book One: Undeniable
Book Two: UnBeautifully
Book Three: Unattainable

So my lesson is not to judge a book by its content. I thought biker related books would be cheesy .   True some of these are more love and desire and sex  then the rough and gritty biker MC dealings. But, that’s the beauty of it. Even bad-ass bikers fall in love. The hopeless romantic in me has been practically purring this past week.

Disclaimer: If you are interested in reading these books please be aware these are mature books with many “taboo” themes that include, murder, infidelity, rape and endless cursing and sex. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but don’t let your preference judge a book for what it is, a story. It is good stories.

Edit: I added links to the Goodreads Pages for the books.


I zipped up my hoody and burrowed in its fleece trying to block out the autumn nightly chill. My feet drag and echo with each step. After working a full retail shift and staying late to clean up, my feet were ready for some TLC with my bed and be cocooned in a blanket.

Funny, i had to wait in line to leave the store, all employees rushing to head home. But, as I walk to the other side of the parking garage no one is coming and going. I am alone.

My steps continue to echo and my messenger purse bounces slightly against my side. A ghost of my breath whispers in the air. Just cold enough to give it sight, but not yet winter so it isn’t fully a cloud of smoke in the air. Just the silence of the night and emptiness of the parking lot makes it easy to hear the ever so slight exhales of my breath.

Out of the corner of my eyes i see  movement.

I whip my head around but all is still. Not even any cars left on this level (the fourth level) of the parking garage.


My feet protest but i stop crawl walking and pick up the pace. I’m about hallway to the other side of the garage, towards the exit.
That’s when i hear it. Shuffling. The faintest sound of quiet feet. Sure feet. Feet that don’t want to be heard.

I whip around again , a full 180 and come to a complete stop in walking  and fully expect to see Michael Myers or Jason  standing RIGHT in front of me.

But, nothing. I strain my eyes looking behind pillars and the the ramps going to the different levels. Looking for a sign of…anything.

Completely freaked out, i turn around and  i speed walk. I hear the shuffling more frantic. Too scared to turn around again, i dash the last few feet to the exit. It’s not a real exist really, it’s a little turn off from the wide open parking garage  a short hallway that leads to a set of stairs and then a few feet from the stairs an elevator.

I press the elevator button repeatedly, torn between running down the stairs or knowing the elevator should be at the landing or close too. Work etiquette, whoever leaves from my store and takes the elevator down would press the button to send the elevator back up to our floor.  And the stairs are closer to the garage opening. The elevator is a few precious feet back.

For a tense 10 seconds i stare at the garage opening and listen intently. The slightest whisper of movement i hear. My heart thumping , my breathing labored from anxiety.

The ding of the elevator makes me jump out of my skin.

I couldn’t help it, I look one last time and a shadow is turning the corner.

Then all of a sudden i hear


My eyes drop to the floor and i see a pigeon running at me.

I duck in the elevator and  the elevator beeps and the doors start to close. The last thing i saw was a pigeon standing before the elevator with it’s wings outspread.

With the elevator starting its descend I couldn’t help it, I started laughing right then and there. I just was stalked and chased and ran from a pigeon.

* This was written to part take in Jenni’s Weekend Funny Challenge over on Unload and Unwind*

*In response to Saturday’s (I’m a day early) Stream of Consciousness  prompt hosted by Linda over on LindaGHill

Topic: Write or right in any of it’s definitions.

The right to write immediately forms in my head.  Writing used to be my religion. As word lovers and crafters, we just want the freedom to express , no matter the venue.

In highschool, i was part co-founder of a Creative Writing group. I’ve always been more of prose writer, diary style. I did write poetry as well. I wrote alot of slam poetry( better known as spoken word).  In highschool, it was a blast. We had amazing teachers and an awesome diverse club.

Until the principle censored two poems that were going to be published in the literary magazine.

I never forget that day. The tears of my friends. Grown adults insulting the creative work of teenagers calling it smut. And I’ll never forget our mentors pulling us off school grounds and taking us to a dinner and sliding a phone number across the table.

The phone number for the New York Civil Liberties Union.

My peers and I received help for NYCLU who promptly contacted out school. We published the censor poems in a booklet and handed them out, just outside legal grounds of the school.

I wish I could say we made a real change in the school. But, it was weeks from graduation ( it was our senior year) and all that we really accomplished was the administration caving a bit and humoring us until we were out the door.  We did stand up for ourselves, for that I’ll always be proud, and we did inspire the creative writing members we left behind. Our writings are left behind too.

As I grow older, i know understand freedom of speech is such a double edged sword. Just as fierce as our young selves fought to have poems published in print, just as fiercely others fight to have their propaganda and hate printed and spread.  Even if it’s harmless, like religious pushers.

I had a lady run frantically through a crowded mall to thrust an unwanted flyer in my hand….and then run off without saying a word to me. I looked at the flyer and it said ” God’s path to Salvation from sin”

I snickered.

Guess i look a sinner.

We all just want to express ourselves. If i want to publish meaningless words, I have the right too. But then I have to stand back and let others do the same, even if it’s against my beliefs.  Even if it’s harmful and full of hatred.

The right to write. I wish it was just one sided, all the indie writers finally coming to light. But, with a door open it allows entry to anyone. We cannot be a hypocrite and pick and choose who walks through that door.

The only thing we CAN choose is how to react, or better yet, not react when we come across something different from our point of view.


Asking for a Re-Blog

Posted: March 28, 2014 in Uncategorized

Corner of Confessions:

Need a blogging consultant?

Originally posted on HarsH ReaLiTy:

I have never asked for a reblog before, but if you have the time and wouldn’t mind reblogging or sharing this I would personally appreciate it. I have decided to really go for this and try to provide some sort of marketing/blogging consulting to those wanting the help and willing to pay. It might sound silly, but there are plenty of authors, photographers, bloggers, and entrepreneurs that are horrible at marketing themselves.

I cannot guarantee views, comments, or sales. I can guarantee for a contract a subscriber number increase. The rest is really up to you. I follow a business model which I have shared HERE which shows that I use 33.3% of my time gathering followers, 33.3% of my time writing, and 33.3% of my time interacting and socializing. That is how I blog. Many people can’t afford the time to “gather followers” or don’t know how. That is…

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For anyone that has worked a franchised , multiple floor retail store in a big shopping mall, you all know about this dreaded experience . Inventory. It is that time of the year.

Being in charge of my area, I have spent the past several weeks going through every single item in search of the two tags the clothing bare. If one or the other ( or both) is missing, I have to hunt for a twin to make a new tag(s) and then enter it in the system. Then assimilate both pieces into the stock on the floor. Which might not sound too bad, but say I have 20 pair of jeans that needs a new tag(s). That then doubles because to make the tag I need the same, color, fit, and size to make the tag( a twin). So, it’s really 40 pair of jeans. 40 pair of jeans that i don’t simply just add to the shelves. I have to go to that color and remove everything, size it and fold it and put it back. All on top of my regular work load of fixing/folding/sizing , assisting customer, ringing them up and clearing out the fitting room. By myself.

I’m lonely a lot. I have two days I overlap with a co-worker for about an hour and half and one day i overlap with

another co-worker for under an hour. But majority of the time? I’m alone. I also get called to help the neighboring section and often , if working closing, I have to help that section too.

Inventory officially started Saturday. They did the stock rooms all day Saturday and Sunday. Sunday night when the doors to the store closed , inventory of the floor started and lasted all the way to when the doors to the store opened at 10am Monday morning. I declined working that overnight shift because I work Monday the closing shift and they didn’t want to adjust my schedule. Plus, you’re basically in lock down when working overnight, you cannot leave the building.  I just didn’t want the headache.

But, when i walked into work Monday i was dumbfounded. It looked like the store was looted. Or better yet, like how the store looks after Black Friday.

I walked to my section and just turned my head from side to side. Of course, the girl who usually works the morning shift wasn’t there, she had just worked the overnight. Even though i told my superiors i was free and could work extra during normal store hours, they didn’t put me on for extra hours. Thus, the mess from inventory and the mess from customers left to their own devices all morning  which resulted in bare shelves, piles on the floor and nearly half of the floor in unfolded items. I stormed into the fitting room and not to my surprise were mountain of clothes in EACH stall.

I had half a mind to walk out of work and take my butt home. In disbelief and aggravation i make my way to to the front of the store to blow of steam with some co-workers. I get it, there is a budget and only so many allotted hours and yadda yadda and half the mess was from inventory. But, it’s a business. You plan and budget for those situations. The closing shift for that side of the store was me and ONE other person. Steam was practically coming out of my ears.

Reluctantly , i head back to my area. I ignored everything. I folded. Lord, i folded. I sized, i fixed i folded non-stop. Customers be damned, i barely glanced at them.

And whoever was actually worked that night, did the same. We folded and folded late into the night.

We all left there in a real life version of The Walking Dead. Security literally said “omg, why is everyone so tired?!” upon searched when leaving for the night.

On little sleep and alot of coffee i went right back in the morning where i spent from 945am-12 noon just going through cages and

cages of clothing that was recently re-ticketed or found through inventory and needed to find a home throughout the store.

Then i went back to my section and began putting out new stock and changing the floor plan.

I came home Tuesday night and just crashed. I slept till almost noon today and stayed in bed.

The anger is gone, now that I got much-needed sleep.

And tomorrow when I return to work, I can put this inventory mess behind me and get back to normal work days.

Or, so i hope.

Let’s talk numbers.

I tend not to care about that part of WordPress much… the stats section.  I find it odd and hilarious at the same time. Like how i have  more visitors than views. Yeah, I’m bad in math but even that doesn’t add up in my head.

Or how I have more visits from different countries than amount of visitors for the day. Some of my followers must really get around…

That’s another thing, i have people who follow my blog and I’m not even sure they’re people. Which is why I don’t follow you back. If  I see you liking more than one post and commenting only THEN do i go check out your blog and then follow you back. I just have so many blogs subscribe to me that either are advertising blogs/spammers or freshly joined and give up blogging after a week or two. I can’t tell you how many inactive blogs are on my subscription list. If i follow a person, i drop a comment so you know I am real person. If i get no written confirmation of your follow and no comments on my posts how am I supposed to know you are real?

My blog has always been a small gathering. I have about 400  followers. I’ll say maybe about 100 are real people and maybe 50 are actual active bloggers but maybe 30 or so are “big bloggers” that only post on their site and never venture outside of their own posts, barely even get a response from a comment on their page.

Daily I get an average about 10-30 visitors and 10-50 views. Basically, I’m in the teens each day and it bumps up when I post a blog or comment on others blogs a lot. I use tumblr to repost posts I use here on WordPress and pinterest to pin pictures I use and links to that articles post. And i get two or three referrals from there.  I get a dozen or so likes per blog post.

I don’t really care about those numbers.

If you read my blog, cool.  I perfer actual interaction with bloggers via comments. But, I’m lucky if i get anyone to actually comment on a post.

That’s what i care most about. Comments. When i read a blog post, i comment. If I follow you, I’ll comment.

But, i don’t really care THAT much. I’m content with my little ol’ blog.  If you read it and think its cool, awesome. Thank you. You take the time to comment, i thank you via a comment. But, I”m content saying my piece and publishing it. I blog to get it out of my head….whatever it is.

I follow some great blogs and I’m happy with the little blogging ritual i have now. Checking out all my favorite blogs and investing into those blogs who interest me.

But today, I logged onto word press and noticed my “all time best” changed.

Before it was 98 views ( and not sure how many visitors it was before wordpress added that feature). It changed to 160.

I was stumped.

At first i thought something i wrote went viral.

But, I haven’t posted anything new .

And i didn’t have any notifications that were my own ( just responses to comments I’ve left on others blogs).  So i ventured over to the stats page and started investigating.

Apparently, my images was the cause of the all the ruckus.

Images I used LAST year for St Patrick’s day( a small general happy st patty’s day! post).  About 120 of the visitors and views i received was from those articles or clicks on those media images or from google images( that’s where i get all my images , image search in google using keywords and I always link back to whatever address it says when i click on ‘view image’ ).

So I did not go viral. Just the images I used are appealing to others. Others wanted to wish a Happy St. Patrick’s Day THIS year using images I used last year when last year that post barely got any views, no comments.

It’s a little nice to know I’m so cool people don’t even know it’s cool yet… my taste is a year ahead of the times.




Happy St. Patrick’s Day!

Ah, I’m in a dilemma. To go to work. Or stay home. It is a holiday…
I just want to drink this all night:

Really, I am just tried from the “Spring Cleaning” the leak in my ceiling has caused. We took it above what was required and we are going through EVERYTHING we own.  The room is so much neater and spacious. It’s worth all the hard work.

I’ll let you know if i decide to play hookie today.

But, for now, enjoy the day!

And, i saw this in the new’s this morning. Guinness pulled their participation in the St Patty’s Day parade because parade protocols doesn’t allow participants to be openly gay/lesbian and outwardly express any organization .

shamrock, three leaf clover

I want this

So while at work yesterday, I was on lunch break and texting the hubby …just random chit chat. Then i received a text from him saying

“The ceiling is leaking babe”

Uh, wait what?

And guess where the leak happen….

Over MY side of the bed.

I was ready to walk out of work right then and there but talking to the hubby he told me to wait it out. He  did a quick move of the bed so if the leak happens again we wouldn’t be swimming in our sleep.

And we just changed out sheets the day before.

Throughout my whole shift I was just MAD.  Out of the whole entire house, why my room? The roof has been fixed about two years ago too with patch work done after Sandy.

BUt then the anger burned out. As I was leaving work I was just laughing telling my co-workers I’m going to be sleeping in a water-bed tonight.

I came home and found it wasn’t THAT bad. We have a roofer coming tomorrow.  It’s just scary because we have a small attic above my room and the boys went up there and couldn’t find anything obvious. I just keep having visions of the ceiling collapsing on me.

But today, the hubby and I had to spend the day cleaning.  Before we had to move the bed, everything had a place. It was cluttered, but contained. With the bed in this new position, there is just nowhere to put everything. So we had to do the massive task of “Spring Cleaning”. We had to empty the entire closet and get rid of things to make room for things we had in corners of the room. I spent all day working on the closet and one side of the room. It’s better. We have the other side of the room left to do, but that’s for another day.

The worst part? My dog is so sad. Before, we had the bed/box spring on the floor ( because she liked to go under the bed and she was getting stuck under there) and we pushed it up against the wall. So, in the middle of the night until I wake up in the morning she would jump up on the bed and sleep on pillow. She puts her little paws against the wall and just sleeps on her side. Sometimes she wedges herself against the wall and my pillow and sleeps on her back with all four paws up in the air. When morning comes, she puts her head on my head waiting for me to wake up.

But now, with the bed moved, the bed isn’t up against the wall anymore. So she can’t sleep on the pillows anymore. She will fall right off the bed and the radiator is there so she can get really hurt. The saddest part was her waking up in the middle of the night and excitedly trooping to the head of the bed and we had to stop her. We tried to cuddle with her but when she was denied pillows she got so sad she jumped off the bed and just went to the floor sighing. She was restless all night.

Today, she went to my dad’s bed and slept most of the day curled up on his pillows.

My poor doggie.

I’m debating about calling out of work tomorrow. To stay home and finish cleaning out the room? Then Sunday i am off i can do my regular chores and relax. Sounds like a good plan right.



I should probably get off WordPress and get some sleep for work tomorrow. lol.