I think that quite possibly road rage is one of my biggest pet peeves. And I'm not even talking about the dangerous out-of-control road rage. I'm talking about general anger and frustration that people feel when they drive. It really bothers me as a passenger to hear a driver complain about other drivers or get angry at others on the road.
I don't get angry when I drive. Take today for example. I was listening to the radio of course---I'm always listening to the radio in my car---and I was singing along to "Hey There Delilah," which is a nice, mellow song. And as I was driving up the I-15, minding my own business, a car almost merged into me. Then he zipped ahead slightly and cut me off, causing me to slam on my brakes. I am fairly sparing with the horn but I felt that he deserved a little blast, so I honked at him, all the while singing "Hey There Delilah." And then I saw him flip me off as he zoomed forward and started zipping in and out of traffic ahead of me. Through it all, I was singing "Hey There Delilah" and although I had some pleasant thoughts of this man possibly being pulled over by the police, I didn't think much more about the incident.
When I drive with other people I get very uncomfortable as they complain about other drivers. People yell at their fellow drivers even though they know the drivers can't hear them---they just need to voice their frustration, I guess. People complain to everyone in the car about the other drivers on the road. People call out the driving decisions that the other cars should be making. And really, it's always uncomfortable and unpleasant for me as a passenger. It's like one-sided contention. I feel that very little of what happens out on the roads and freeways is rage-worthy. As we drive along we should all be aware that we're making decisions that perhaps other drivers are unhappy with, and we can be forgiving of drivers on the road who are making decisions that we disagree with. There's no need to complain loudly or get frustrated about it.
Another Perspective
Last night, I heard El Senor's version of "The Breakup" story for the first time. And I think it's hysterical. For those concerned for my safety, I should mention again that the only reason I allowed WTB to come over to my house was that El Senor was there. And El Senor is my most protective brother (with The Boy coming in a close second).
We were actually waiting for two guests that evening. WTB was supposed to come over, and kellyroxanne was on her way over, too. It was her first time coming to visit our place and she didn't have a cell phone with her. So if my directions weren't clear, she couldn't call us to help her out. What we didn't know was that she was driving up from Mapleton, not SLCC. So after what we felt was a reasonable amount of time for her to make it to the apartment from SLCC, we started taking turns walking around our apartment complex to see if she had arrived and was looking for our apartment. In fact, it was while I was out on one of these rounds that WTB arrived. When I got back to the apartment, he was there talking with El Senor.
Initially, WTB and I were in the apartment with El Senor, but after a while El Senor felt that he should probably go outside to look for kellyroxanne again. He was torn because he didn't want to leave me in the apartment alone with WTB but felt that if he was gone for only a minute, I would probably be okay.
While El Senor was out of the apartment, WTB invited me out for a walk, which I thought was fine as long as we could stay in our gated complex. And, like I mentioned, I had my phone with me. While El Senor was out, he also found kellyroxanne. (We walked past them but they were sitting down and talking and facing the other way. I didn't want to interrupt in case they were talking about something important. Apparently El Senor was just giving her the background on WTB so that she was prepared to meet him when she came up to the apartment.)
El Senor was panicked when he returned to the apartment to find us gone! He checked the bathrooms for my massacred body or a blood trail at the very least. He checked the laundry room and our bedrooms, and our enormous walk-in closets. There was no trace of us!
He immediately went outside and called my phone and was relieved to hear me answer right away. "Where are you?" He asked.
"We've gone for a walk," I said.
"Are you okay with that?"
"Yes, I am. It's okay---we're in the complex."
At that moment, we walked around a corner and El Senor and Kellyroxanne were standing there. We waved, and I brought WTB over to meet kellyroxanne (because I knew she would want to see him and I knew that I was going to try and get him to leave without having him come back into the apartment).
So I do appreciate everyone's concern for me. I appreciate El Senor's concern most of all, and I'm glad to say that he didn't find my body in the bathrooms. I'm even gladder that I wasn't massacred in my huge walk-in closet either because I'd hate to stain the carpet in such a beautiful room. I think that I did learn a lesson this time and I do want to be more careful in the future, but this time, I figure that thanks to El Senor, I was pretty safe.
We were actually waiting for two guests that evening. WTB was supposed to come over, and kellyroxanne was on her way over, too. It was her first time coming to visit our place and she didn't have a cell phone with her. So if my directions weren't clear, she couldn't call us to help her out. What we didn't know was that she was driving up from Mapleton, not SLCC. So after what we felt was a reasonable amount of time for her to make it to the apartment from SLCC, we started taking turns walking around our apartment complex to see if she had arrived and was looking for our apartment. In fact, it was while I was out on one of these rounds that WTB arrived. When I got back to the apartment, he was there talking with El Senor.
Initially, WTB and I were in the apartment with El Senor, but after a while El Senor felt that he should probably go outside to look for kellyroxanne again. He was torn because he didn't want to leave me in the apartment alone with WTB but felt that if he was gone for only a minute, I would probably be okay.
While El Senor was out of the apartment, WTB invited me out for a walk, which I thought was fine as long as we could stay in our gated complex. And, like I mentioned, I had my phone with me. While El Senor was out, he also found kellyroxanne. (We walked past them but they were sitting down and talking and facing the other way. I didn't want to interrupt in case they were talking about something important. Apparently El Senor was just giving her the background on WTB so that she was prepared to meet him when she came up to the apartment.)
El Senor was panicked when he returned to the apartment to find us gone! He checked the bathrooms for my massacred body or a blood trail at the very least. He checked the laundry room and our bedrooms, and our enormous walk-in closets. There was no trace of us!
He immediately went outside and called my phone and was relieved to hear me answer right away. "Where are you?" He asked.
"We've gone for a walk," I said.
"Are you okay with that?"
"Yes, I am. It's okay---we're in the complex."
At that moment, we walked around a corner and El Senor and Kellyroxanne were standing there. We waved, and I brought WTB over to meet kellyroxanne (because I knew she would want to see him and I knew that I was going to try and get him to leave without having him come back into the apartment).
So I do appreciate everyone's concern for me. I appreciate El Senor's concern most of all, and I'm glad to say that he didn't find my body in the bathrooms. I'm even gladder that I wasn't massacred in my huge walk-in closet either because I'd hate to stain the carpet in such a beautiful room. I think that I did learn a lesson this time and I do want to be more careful in the future, but this time, I figure that thanks to El Senor, I was pretty safe.
The Breakup
I apologize if I'm somewhat out of sorts today. You see, I broke up with my boyfriend last night.
I know, I know, none of you knew I had a boyfriend. Let me explain. I didn't want to say anything on the Internet for fear of sharing information that was too personal. But now that things are over I feel I can use the Internet as a tool to sort through my feelings of utter heartbreak... or not really remotely of heartbreak at all.
It all started two weeks ago when I had a storage container delivered to my home. I won't mention the company, but you know these places that deliver storage containers and then store them for you and then deliver them to your new home? Well it was one of those sorts of things. The guy---we'll call him WTB (B=boyfriend, T=trash, and I won't tell you what W is, but it's a color)---called me at 6:40 a.m. to confirm the delivery of my container. I thanked him kindly and I did not go back to sleep.
He arrived promptly at 8:00 and I watched the whole ordeal of getting the container off the truck and into my driveway. It was pretty impressive and when WTB asked if I was watching to make sure he was doing it right I assured him that I was only watching to see how it was done. When WTB was done, he waved goodbye and left.
WTB returned that Saturday to pick up my container. I waved to him when he arrived, but a hired handyman arrived at our apartment at the same time, so I went to take him through the house to show him any problems. WTB called out to me, "You're not going to stick around?" I assured him that I was just going to show the handyman into my house so that he could get started on his work.
When WTB was finished loading the storage container onto his truck, he came to talk to me, as if goodbyes were somehow in order. He came, I said, "Welp. Thanks!" and he still stood there so I said, "Do you work in Salt Lake City, too, or just in Provo?" He said, "Oh, I work in Salt Lake, too." I said, "Maybe I'll see you there next week, then." He said, "Oh, I hope so." We shook hands and then I waited for Redras to get home so that I could tell her that I thought WTB had a crush on me.
This past Saturday, WTB brought my storage container to my new house. He maneuvered it into the parking lot and when he was done, came up to me. He said, "Can I ask you a question without you getting all offended or thinking I'm being unprofessional or anything?" I gave him permission and he said, "Can I take you out sometime?" And I looked at his little goatee and his earring and of course I said yes, because he had just done what apparently all BYU males are incapable of doing.
I thought it was a cute story and I really had no intentions of things going anywhere. I figured we could go on a date and it would either be mediocre or miserable and we'd end it there. On Sunday he sent me a text message. I should have known that things were soon going to come to an end when I was more annoyed than excited to receive a text message from him. Nevertheless, we had a text message conversation strung out over a few hours. He asked if he could take me out on Thursday. I still said yes.
Yesterday this texting continued until I told him that I didn't have unlimited texts and that our conversations were getting expensive. He said that he would pay me back for all my text messages and then called to ask if he could stop by my place on his way home from work. Because El Senor was home with me, I said that he could.
And what can I say? He came and immediately upon seeing him, I thought, "Crap, what have I gotten myself into?" But we sat down on the couch and had an awkward conversation (in which I found out that he's five years younger than I am) and then he invited me to go for a walk with him. I stayed within our gated community and kept one hand on my phone and the other hand in my pocket. During our romantic walk around my complex, I did my best to let him down gently. He was full of hopes about our future and I was full of hope that I could make our future as short as possible. I pointed out that I felt we had nothing in common---at all. He countered with "Well, what kind of music do you like?" I mentioned Modest Mouse, Death Cab, The Postal Service, and Dashboard Confessional. He'd heard of maybe two of those. So I guess we couldn't fall back on music to be something we had in common, either.
When I mentioned that he described himself as kindof LDS but I would describe myself as very LDS he promised me that for me, he would start going back to church. I couldn't help but wonder why he was already so attached to me. I mean, we'd had minimal interaction and he'd only ever seen me in basketball shorts and a bandana. What could he possibly be attached to?
When it came right down to it, I told him that we had nothing in common and I couldn't see us going anywhere. He said that we just needed to get to know each other better. I told him that the fact that that didn't sound exciting to me at all was a good indicator to me that I wasn't really invested in this relationship. He asked if that meant that Thursday was off. I said yes. He asked if we could hang out sometime as just friends. I said no. He asked if he could walk me to my door. I said yes because El Senor was home. He walked me to my door, we shook hands, and that's where it all ended.
And really, I felt like crap because I probably shouldn't have said yes to his invitation in the first place. Whereas a simple "no" to his asking if he could take me out sometime would have hurt a little, telling him that I wasn't excited by the idea of getting to know him probably was a lot more hurtful.
Now comes time for the discussion part. See, I didn't want to say no when he originally asked if he could ask me out because I felt that his bravery in asking me out should be rewarded. Instead, now I feel that the way I did things ended up punishing his bravery more severely. So what is the best thing to do when you're asked out by a guy you know you're probably never going to be interested in? Just say no? Give it a chance? I'd love feedback and discussion here.
I know, I know, none of you knew I had a boyfriend. Let me explain. I didn't want to say anything on the Internet for fear of sharing information that was too personal. But now that things are over I feel I can use the Internet as a tool to sort through my feelings of utter heartbreak... or not really remotely of heartbreak at all.
It all started two weeks ago when I had a storage container delivered to my home. I won't mention the company, but you know these places that deliver storage containers and then store them for you and then deliver them to your new home? Well it was one of those sorts of things. The guy---we'll call him WTB (B=boyfriend, T=trash, and I won't tell you what W is, but it's a color)---called me at 6:40 a.m. to confirm the delivery of my container. I thanked him kindly and I did not go back to sleep.
He arrived promptly at 8:00 and I watched the whole ordeal of getting the container off the truck and into my driveway. It was pretty impressive and when WTB asked if I was watching to make sure he was doing it right I assured him that I was only watching to see how it was done. When WTB was done, he waved goodbye and left.
WTB returned that Saturday to pick up my container. I waved to him when he arrived, but a hired handyman arrived at our apartment at the same time, so I went to take him through the house to show him any problems. WTB called out to me, "You're not going to stick around?" I assured him that I was just going to show the handyman into my house so that he could get started on his work.
When WTB was finished loading the storage container onto his truck, he came to talk to me, as if goodbyes were somehow in order. He came, I said, "Welp. Thanks!" and he still stood there so I said, "Do you work in Salt Lake City, too, or just in Provo?" He said, "Oh, I work in Salt Lake, too." I said, "Maybe I'll see you there next week, then." He said, "Oh, I hope so." We shook hands and then I waited for Redras to get home so that I could tell her that I thought WTB had a crush on me.
This past Saturday, WTB brought my storage container to my new house. He maneuvered it into the parking lot and when he was done, came up to me. He said, "Can I ask you a question without you getting all offended or thinking I'm being unprofessional or anything?" I gave him permission and he said, "Can I take you out sometime?" And I looked at his little goatee and his earring and of course I said yes, because he had just done what apparently all BYU males are incapable of doing.
I thought it was a cute story and I really had no intentions of things going anywhere. I figured we could go on a date and it would either be mediocre or miserable and we'd end it there. On Sunday he sent me a text message. I should have known that things were soon going to come to an end when I was more annoyed than excited to receive a text message from him. Nevertheless, we had a text message conversation strung out over a few hours. He asked if he could take me out on Thursday. I still said yes.
Yesterday this texting continued until I told him that I didn't have unlimited texts and that our conversations were getting expensive. He said that he would pay me back for all my text messages and then called to ask if he could stop by my place on his way home from work. Because El Senor was home with me, I said that he could.
And what can I say? He came and immediately upon seeing him, I thought, "Crap, what have I gotten myself into?" But we sat down on the couch and had an awkward conversation (in which I found out that he's five years younger than I am) and then he invited me to go for a walk with him. I stayed within our gated community and kept one hand on my phone and the other hand in my pocket. During our romantic walk around my complex, I did my best to let him down gently. He was full of hopes about our future and I was full of hope that I could make our future as short as possible. I pointed out that I felt we had nothing in common---at all. He countered with "Well, what kind of music do you like?" I mentioned Modest Mouse, Death Cab, The Postal Service, and Dashboard Confessional. He'd heard of maybe two of those. So I guess we couldn't fall back on music to be something we had in common, either.
When I mentioned that he described himself as kindof LDS but I would describe myself as very LDS he promised me that for me, he would start going back to church. I couldn't help but wonder why he was already so attached to me. I mean, we'd had minimal interaction and he'd only ever seen me in basketball shorts and a bandana. What could he possibly be attached to?
When it came right down to it, I told him that we had nothing in common and I couldn't see us going anywhere. He said that we just needed to get to know each other better. I told him that the fact that that didn't sound exciting to me at all was a good indicator to me that I wasn't really invested in this relationship. He asked if that meant that Thursday was off. I said yes. He asked if we could hang out sometime as just friends. I said no. He asked if he could walk me to my door. I said yes because El Senor was home. He walked me to my door, we shook hands, and that's where it all ended.
And really, I felt like crap because I probably shouldn't have said yes to his invitation in the first place. Whereas a simple "no" to his asking if he could take me out sometime would have hurt a little, telling him that I wasn't excited by the idea of getting to know him probably was a lot more hurtful.
Now comes time for the discussion part. See, I didn't want to say no when he originally asked if he could ask me out because I felt that his bravery in asking me out should be rewarded. Instead, now I feel that the way I did things ended up punishing his bravery more severely. So what is the best thing to do when you're asked out by a guy you know you're probably never going to be interested in? Just say no? Give it a chance? I'd love feedback and discussion here.
Pure Charity
A funny thing happened this morning on my commute to Provo. That's right---my commute to Provo. The fact that I'm commuting to Provo by bus is funny (pathetic) enough, but there's more. See, I'm a little low on funds right now, so commuting by bus seemed smarter than driving Clicky back and forth (I have to fill up almost two times a week if I drive Clicky to Provo and back every day). It meant, though, that I had to get up at 5:40 this morning (that was sleeping in, by the way) to get out the door by 6:00. That left me with very little time to grab any food. I stole a couple of oatmeal packets from El Senor, grabbed an apple and a Rice Krispie treat, and headed out the door.
I was planning to sleep on my commute. Truly it was the only thing that got me out of bed at 5:40---the promise that I could sleep during the two-hour ride to Provo. I think I got a total of about ten minutes of sleep between Salt Lake and Provo. Truly, truly sad.
When I got on the bus from BYU to work, my mom called and we chatted a little. She asked what I would be eating today and I gave her my list: two packs of oatmeal, an apple, and a Rice Krispie treat (truth is, I'd already eaten the Rice Krispie treat). And then we laughed and laughed at my impoverished state. And we laughed and laughed about the fact that this was all the food I had to eat until 7:00 this evening (at which point I could go back to the apartment and eat more of El Senor's food).
I got off the bus and got off the phone and was then approached by a girl who had been on the bus with me.
"I overheard that you don't have much food today. Would you like my ham and cheese sandwich? I only work till 1:30 and I always feel a little silly eating lunch right before going home."
Of course my first inclination was to say no, because it seems to me that taking someone else's lunch would either make me a vagrant or a bad person (note: vagrants are not bad people). But then I thought better of it and accepted her kind offer.
Then she brought out an ENORMOUS ham and cheese sandwich with carrot sticks and gave it to me.
It never felt so good to be so poor.
(Also, this whole incident may be the result of KARMA.)
On a Related Note:
I came into work carrying my huge ham and cheese sandwich and mentioned to a coworker who had been on the bus that talking about my relative state of poverty on the bus actually pays off. He told me that only pure charity could have motivated the girl to give me her lunch. Then I looked down on his desk and in a plastic bag, he had a teeny tiny laptop. I said, "Is that a tiny laptop?" He responded, "Oh yeah. My home teachers came over the other day and one said he had a bunch of old laptops and asked me if I wanted one. I did, but I couldn't really accept a laptop from someone, so I said no. He said okay, but later that day, he brought over a couple of laptops anyway." And he calls my ham and cheese sandwich pure charity!
I was planning to sleep on my commute. Truly it was the only thing that got me out of bed at 5:40---the promise that I could sleep during the two-hour ride to Provo. I think I got a total of about ten minutes of sleep between Salt Lake and Provo. Truly, truly sad.
When I got on the bus from BYU to work, my mom called and we chatted a little. She asked what I would be eating today and I gave her my list: two packs of oatmeal, an apple, and a Rice Krispie treat (truth is, I'd already eaten the Rice Krispie treat). And then we laughed and laughed at my impoverished state. And we laughed and laughed about the fact that this was all the food I had to eat until 7:00 this evening (at which point I could go back to the apartment and eat more of El Senor's food).
I got off the bus and got off the phone and was then approached by a girl who had been on the bus with me.
"I overheard that you don't have much food today. Would you like my ham and cheese sandwich? I only work till 1:30 and I always feel a little silly eating lunch right before going home."
Of course my first inclination was to say no, because it seems to me that taking someone else's lunch would either make me a vagrant or a bad person (note: vagrants are not bad people). But then I thought better of it and accepted her kind offer.
Then she brought out an ENORMOUS ham and cheese sandwich with carrot sticks and gave it to me.
It never felt so good to be so poor.
(Also, this whole incident may be the result of KARMA.)
On a Related Note:
I came into work carrying my huge ham and cheese sandwich and mentioned to a coworker who had been on the bus that talking about my relative state of poverty on the bus actually pays off. He told me that only pure charity could have motivated the girl to give me her lunch. Then I looked down on his desk and in a plastic bag, he had a teeny tiny laptop. I said, "Is that a tiny laptop?" He responded, "Oh yeah. My home teachers came over the other day and one said he had a bunch of old laptops and asked me if I wanted one. I did, but I couldn't really accept a laptop from someone, so I said no. He said okay, but later that day, he brought over a couple of laptops anyway." And he calls my ham and cheese sandwich pure charity!
Can't Afford to Be Good
I've been filling out a lot of job applications lately. Every time I fill out an application, I get to confidently check the NO box when asked if I've ever been convicted of a crime. But then, as I skip past all the portions that I don't have to fill out (specifying what crime, etc.) I take a moment to feel bad for those who have to check YES. And I wonder how they can possibly get hired if on every job application they fill out, they have to disclose that they've committed a crime and paid their debt to society.
I've been staying at Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom's house while I'm semi-unemployed (I'm allowed to work at my old job for the next six months) and semi-homeless (El Senor and I move into the new condo on Saturday). So yesterday when the doorbell rang, I answered the door. There was a pleasant man standing a good six feet away from the door who looked like he wanted to sell me something.
He explained to me that he had made some bad choices in his life and broke the law. He had spent time in jail and now that he was released, he was trying to get work but employers do not readily employ those who have to disclose that they have been found guilty of a crime. So he was taking part in a program where he could earn work "credits" to show that he's been working hard and to give him experience he needs to find employment again. He was selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door.
I was thrilled to find out that there was a program to help him out and thrilled that I could actually do something to help. Although I have very little in the bank, I thought I could at least afford the $14 to renew my Shape subscription. I told him that I would go ahead and subscribe to Shape. He handed me a packet of papers that listed all the magazine subscriptions they offered and included an explanation of how my contribution would count as work credits for him.
Apparently I had to subscribe to six different magazines. But there was a section that said students could subscribe to three magazines and it would still count. So I thought that although I didn't have much in the bank, I would have about $50 to pay for three subscriptions (besides---I'll be employed soon anyway, right?).
So he and I sat down on the front steps of the house as I looked through all my options. We chatted about where he was from (Alabama) and about what I got my degree in (he seems to think that because I'm in publishing, I'll soon be meeting many famous people). When I came by The New Yorker on the list, I thought that maybe it was about time I started reading it, so I asked how much a subscription to The New Yorker would cost me. He looked it up and showed me: $70. That was certainly out of my price range. I asked how much my Shape subscription would cost me: $48 for a two-year subscription. Suddenly my idea of being a good person wasn't panning out so much. I explained that I had not much in the bank to get me from my current job to my next job, and that I couldn't afford one $48 magazine subscription, let alone three.
He assured me that anything I could do would help---that oatmeal was better than no meal. So I asked what I could do to help if I couldn't afford any of the subscriptions. He thought for a second as sweat dripped off his face and he said, "Could I get a coupla paper towels?" I said I'd get them right away and offered him a glass of water. "No thanks," he said. "I just got finished with the juice!" (Another neighbor had offered him juice."
I brought him out three paper towels. He wiped his face and thanked me kindly for my time. Three paper towels. That's all I had to give to the jobless ex-convict and they weren't even mine. They belonged to Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom.
I've been staying at Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom's house while I'm semi-unemployed (I'm allowed to work at my old job for the next six months) and semi-homeless (El Senor and I move into the new condo on Saturday). So yesterday when the doorbell rang, I answered the door. There was a pleasant man standing a good six feet away from the door who looked like he wanted to sell me something.
He explained to me that he had made some bad choices in his life and broke the law. He had spent time in jail and now that he was released, he was trying to get work but employers do not readily employ those who have to disclose that they have been found guilty of a crime. So he was taking part in a program where he could earn work "credits" to show that he's been working hard and to give him experience he needs to find employment again. He was selling magazine subscriptions door-to-door.
I was thrilled to find out that there was a program to help him out and thrilled that I could actually do something to help. Although I have very little in the bank, I thought I could at least afford the $14 to renew my Shape subscription. I told him that I would go ahead and subscribe to Shape. He handed me a packet of papers that listed all the magazine subscriptions they offered and included an explanation of how my contribution would count as work credits for him.
Apparently I had to subscribe to six different magazines. But there was a section that said students could subscribe to three magazines and it would still count. So I thought that although I didn't have much in the bank, I would have about $50 to pay for three subscriptions (besides---I'll be employed soon anyway, right?).
So he and I sat down on the front steps of the house as I looked through all my options. We chatted about where he was from (Alabama) and about what I got my degree in (he seems to think that because I'm in publishing, I'll soon be meeting many famous people). When I came by The New Yorker on the list, I thought that maybe it was about time I started reading it, so I asked how much a subscription to The New Yorker would cost me. He looked it up and showed me: $70. That was certainly out of my price range. I asked how much my Shape subscription would cost me: $48 for a two-year subscription. Suddenly my idea of being a good person wasn't panning out so much. I explained that I had not much in the bank to get me from my current job to my next job, and that I couldn't afford one $48 magazine subscription, let alone three.
He assured me that anything I could do would help---that oatmeal was better than no meal. So I asked what I could do to help if I couldn't afford any of the subscriptions. He thought for a second as sweat dripped off his face and he said, "Could I get a coupla paper towels?" I said I'd get them right away and offered him a glass of water. "No thanks," he said. "I just got finished with the juice!" (Another neighbor had offered him juice."
I brought him out three paper towels. He wiped his face and thanked me kindly for my time. Three paper towels. That's all I had to give to the jobless ex-convict and they weren't even mine. They belonged to Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom.
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