A Dog Shaped Hole In My Heart

I got Daisy when I was 31. I was living with one of, if not the best abusers on the face of the earth. He happened to be a police officer which made him that much better at it. He knew how not to leave marks. Every day was an interrogation, a trial, which I inevitably failed at. I lost 20 pounds in less than 6 months. I didn’t eat. I barely slept. Panic attacks became my reality and I started to shake when I knew he’d be coming home. He decided to move us out to the country. I believe it was just to have more control over me and less prying eyes.  At that time, I decided I needed a dog, as an alarm, as protection from cougars and bears.To let me know when he was coming home. And of course because I needed company.

My parents had come to visit and while they didn’t know precisely what was going on, I think on some level my dad knew how bad it all was. Without any forethought and with the abusive ratbastard beside him, my Dad bought me a puppy.

He handed it to me as if it  were a gold-plated sapphire. “It’s a female! There was some guy selling them outside of a tire shop! She was only 50 bucks! She peed on me on the way here but that’s okay. She seemed like the quietest one.” And lo, I had a dog.

I found out within a few days why she was the “quietest one”. She was sick. So, so sick. Didn’t eat, wouldn’t drink. I made 3 trips to the vet, Daisy staying overnight with an I.V., just to bring that poor sick little puppy around. Abusive ratbastard kept raging about how a bullet would be cheaper than that fucking dog. I didn’t care. In less than 2 months, she went from a $50 dog to a $900 dog. But she was mine. The more he tried to crush me, the more I loved the dog. When I thought about ending me, I stayed here for the dog.

I think I’d had Daisy 3 months when I left. She gave me the strength and love to move on. After that, it became “love me, love my dog”. Two years later, she went on the second date I had with my hubby. He passed the test.

Daisy was with me through our courtship, baby and marriage. She was treated as a member of our family. My hubby bonded with her when Daisy went fishing with him and had to lick every fish he caught. When she greeted him at the door at the end of the day. And when we brought our new baby son home, she sniffed him head to toe and wagged her tail, as she finally had her own child to play with.

I kept her here for maybe 2 years longer than I should have. Her hips were gone, to the point that she had to be helped up a couple of steps to get into the house. She was losing her bladder control. Her breath. I made the decision last Saturday. I knew. She knew. We were both very brave as we took our final walk and car ride. She had chicken for breakfast and a hot fudge sundae as a treat. Chocolate is bad for dogs but on their last day here exceptions can be made. I held her and thanked her for all she’d meant. She butted foreheads with me, which was her “I love you and I get it” sign. It was peaceful. And my heart broke.

We went away for a few days this week as a distraction from our grief. When we got home I checked messages. The vet had phoned and Daisy’s ashes had arrived at the office. I dropped everything and told my boys,”I’m going to pick up our girl and bring her home.” They both got teary and nodded.

Tonight is a blue moon and we sprinkled her ashes around the yard she loved so much. How perfect. How fitting for my rare dog.

Until one has loved an animal, a part of one’s soul remains unawakened. ~Anatole France 

Bye, Daisy. Good girl!

I’m Bored and Sad So Let’s Play (Maybe NSFW or Grandmas)

I was on twitter the other day. Found my friend, Detrimental Beauty. She is prolific, kind of cranky and I’m certain her beauty is not a detriment. But her mouth could be, which is why I love her madly.

This is verbatim.

Db: well aren’t you a friendly fuck

Me: Is that like a fuck that chit chats during the whole thing? Waving and high-fiving? S’plain…

DB: no way-I like where your head is at so I’m going to let you keep running with it…

Okay then…

Me: It can’t be worse than a crazy fuck. Busy talking to the voices in their head while doing the deed. So confusing.

DB: you amaze me.

(Thank you. I amaze myself sometimes. Like now, for instance, by writing this out on my blog for the world to see.)

Me: Or a self-centered fuck. Duct tapes a mirror to your head so they can see themselves!

BD: hahahahahaha… Going to be thinking about that later. (I’m thinking Mr. Beauty is in for a surprise.)

Me: Cheap fuck. Tries to get your wallet while banging.

DB: love you. wish we were neighbors.

Hear that? Even she wants in my bunker! (That is not a vaginal euphemism. It’s my zombie bunker. Which is not even real. Yet.) (On second thought, zombie bunker sounds like a good name for my hoo-hoo-dilly. In an “it’s come back from the dead!” sort of way.)(And it’s not dead. Just kind of sleepy.)

Me: I think I’m out now. Will let you know if I get anymore.

3 seconds later…

Me: Dumb fuck. Gets lost in the middle of the act. Leaves the room, forgets whats going on.

Me: Funny fuck. Tells jokes, makes balloon animals and weird accents.

Me: I am really out now. But I just described my hubby and my sex life in detail. Not saying who does which!

Db: *whispers* i think i know.

This shit just writes itself.

You folks got anymore? Now remember, I used the word but kept it clean(ish).

Comments open. Let fly, my Ducks.

(And go click on my blogroll to Beauty’s site. She’s crafty, gorgeous and fun.)

You Lovely Bunch

I reached out a couple of weeks ago to some bloggers and writers I know for advice on applying for writing gigs. Paid ones. Not all this *flipping hand around* free stuff I do. Don’t get me wrong. This is one of the best things I’ve done in my life. I’ve had my words received by you folks in a good light. I get to (read those words: GET TO) make you smile, laugh (hopefully), maybe even think a bit. You make me feel less alone. I hope I do the same for you.

I love it. We interact. I learn from you all. This group, you guys, the bloggers, the writers, the commenters, well, it just stuns me that you take the time to come over here. I’m honoured. I thank you for taking the time while I learn this *hand flip*. I thank you for accepting me into your (in)box. I thank you for reading about my pms, tampons and disturbed, problematic, I’m-going-to-shit-my-self-to-death colon journeys. Wow. Really, if I’d talked about this with a group of strangers, I’m sure they would have done the wooden, wide-eyed OMG smile and ran away. But you, you tenacious little bunch, you listen and share your own shit stuff.

I’ve had a couple of moments where I thought I might quit this. Stop. Get a “real” job. Stop all this dreaming. Stop the nonsensical bullshit (I should get that tattooed somewhere). Then you guys *wagging finger with a smile*, you guys gallop in and read me! How can I leave you? Who would I talk to?

Well. It’s Desperately Grateful Thank You time. In no particular order,

Jewels at www.accordingtojewels.com. A cheerleader, a source of writing advice, a friend. She writes what she feels with no apologies. Her fiction is brilliant. She’s funny, whip-smart and you’ll love her. She gets a spot in my bunker when the Apocalypse happens. I can see us now, shoulder to shoulder, shooting zombies while the men folk cook and clean…sigh.

The Rev.Paperboy at http://kevinswoodshed.blogspot.ca . This man took the time to read everything I’ve written, in one night. I think he was drunk. But I asked for his help, and bang! There he was. He couldn’t make up his mind what posts he liked best, so he was sort of useless to me, but I’ll always be grateful. I’ll buy Cuba for us to start a new country someday.

Nicole at www.ninjamomblog.com. You think I’m funny? You.are.drunk. Now sober up and go read her. She is hilarious, and so witty you’ll never come back here. She also sent me her advice and good wishes on applying for that job. And she has four kids! When does she sleep? She might be on crack but I love her.

Kevin at http://theater-of-cruelty.blogspot.ca . He’s a dry wit and a damn fine writer. He’s also a master of logic. I’m having a hat made that holds a couple of beer for him that says that so everyone will know. (And he won’t need to go to the fridge so often. Logic, see?)

Bea Schooled at www.justmakingconvo.com. She makes me snort laugh every time I read her. I can’t even explain the humour and wit and the scary good Photoshop skills she has. And she’s always helpful and promotive. Just go there. Run! You’ll thank me.

I have nothing to give you, except a big old bear hug atwixt my boobs!

Oh wait. There’s this.

The First EVAH One Odd Duck Award for not being a cut-throat bitch! Because NONE of you are. I don’t think so. I guess you might be but you’re not to me so YOU GET AN AWARD!!!

Grab it, put it on your blog if you want, Facebook, make a purse (I’m thinking one of those fake tattoos, right in the middle of my forehead so everyone will know). Or just leave it here, to come and bask in the awesomeness of it all. *Sigh* Thanks, Kathy! http://www.stringbeandesign.ca

Oh and this:

Just so you know, I had this EXACT outfit when I was 13. Same hair, too. So it’s almost like I’m singing to you. Yes, let’s go with that.

I love you all. Thanks.

Mofo Cancer

Everywhere I turn, everyone I talk to lately has the motherfucking cancer. Yes. Let’s call it that. Motherfucking cancer.

One of my cousins, an aunt, my friend’s MIL, my Dad. (Quick aside: Dad has a squamous cell carcinoma on his ear. Needs more surgery and then we’ll know what next. Wear sunscreen!!! Please! And a hat!) If you’ve noticed, I have a scar on my right cheek where my John Boy Walton mole was. I was 25 when it started to get all cancerous on me. At that point I was pissed off, I was so used to it. But I had 3 docs tell me it would be melanoma within a few years. I count myself lucky.

My blog and twitter friend Dee-Anne Barker starts chemo tomorrow. Her blog is  http://cancercancerbo-bancer.blogspot.com.  All she asked is that I make her laugh. (She loved my Boobs and Birthdays post. It made her laugh after her mastectomy. We always find exactly what we need, don’t we?) So in honour of her, and the fact that all this MOTHERFUCKING cancer is driving me to distraction, I’m going to share with you some of my search engine terms. Again. Because I tell you, NOTHING makes me laugh harder than what people find this blog with! (I left all the errors in for you to see. My god.)

“Dee Anne Barker”

Seriously. Twice. Spelled wrong both times.

“i’m brialliant” meme

Umm, where do I start with this one? Oh yeah! Fucking SPELL CHECK!

divorce and icefishing

Looking at husband, doing the ‘I’m watching you eyeball finger point thinger.’ Please read Grounds For Divorce. Maggots. In the fridge. *finger point thinger again*

vagina dress

Okay, so. Were you looking for a dress for your vagina, or a dress that looks like a vagina? I suppose I could understand the first one, if it was a special occasion but the second? Sister, NO ONE needs to wear a dress that looks like a shmooshed ham sandwich. There is no call for that.

mouth widener porn

What? Oh…What? I….What? Oh…I…please don’t come back here. I don’t know what that is but it scares the ever-loving shit out of me!

licking armpit hair

Gross! Goddamnit! Why? Just why? Tangled armpit hair I can understand but this? Blech! No hairballs! (The Husband Doesn’t Believe)

i hit a parked car and broke their bumper/cracked front bumper while parking

*cough* Nope. Never. Don’t know what you are talking about. Move along now. (Broken Bumpers.)

joke thought person said thumb tacks tampons

I know, RIGHT!!!!!! That one kills me. Sigh. Smiling…(Just aTampon)

your duckness

That sounds so much like Your Highness or Your Holiness I feel all special. *adjusts tiara*

i have no idea what i’m doing duck/ducks don’t give a shit/i am one odd duck

Fuck yeah!!! Rock on! All things duck coming my way! And any of the above? Baby, you have shown up in the right place! Welcome. Leave your shoes on. It’s hellishly messy in here. Beer?

In Order: duck testicles/do duck penis fall off/sad animal/sad duck/sad ninja

I don’t know where to begin. If I was a duck and this was what you were thinking about my junk, yes. I would be sad. Is the ninja sad about this too?

pain from falling on ice – around labia

Oh my god, girl! You broke your vagina!!! Put a bag of frozen peas on that thing!!! Get to a doc and get a sling!!! ( And don’t ever use the word labia here again.)

meow

Meow back at ya, you crazy freak! Wait. Is this my cat again? BAD KITTY!

get off my property/stop looking at me

Dearest friend. You may have a bit of a stalker problem. Thanks for reading but you may want to call the cops now. Love, Me.

people beautiful

Always.

And my favorite: oh fuck the internet is here

Yes. I finally have a home!!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Those are the ones that I hope make you laugh. They say it’s the best medicine and it sure as hell can’t hurt. And FYI, this is National Cancer Awareness Month. Buy daffodils.

(I’m thinking of you all and wishing you strength, bravery and health. If you need to talk, as ever, I’m here.)

Love your way. xxoo

December-Part 2

The week before christmas was oh so hard on me.

First, the bairn ended up with Strep throat. I do believe we ran on about 4 hours sleep for a couple of days, which means I lost a couple of days. Not good when you are the Planner Of Everything, particularly at Christmas time. I have a tendency to plot my days to the hour. It’s bad, I know, but it comes from almost 20 years of being a hairdresser (aka self-appointed Coiffeurist to the Stars)(and their dogs) and having ran late ONE time early in my career with a client that reamed me out and said he could never come back because “his time was too precious to sit and wait.” Read that as self-important prick that scarred 23-year-old me forever. Not really, but thanks, famous old-time CBC news anchor! So the boy went on antibiotics to cure that up. All good.

 At the same time, my friend… Well, I really need to tell you about my friend. I was a bridesmaid for her and about a year later, my hubby and I decided to get married. I didn’t want her to fuss and it was a private affair, so I phoned her and said “Will you be my witness?” Without a beat she said, “Yes!!! What did you do?” Now, there are friends, and then there are friends who will cover for you without thinking about it. She’s one of those. We’ve wept together, cheered each other, and held hands when it felt like no one else was there. She and her hubby tried for a long time to get pregnant and this year, lo and behold, they did. They have a small, impatient little boy, named Noah. He kicked the door open to get out 14 weeks early. He’s very tiny, but he’s a fighter. This is one of those times when I feel so powerless and I know there is nothing I can say or do to make it better. But, my dear ducks, I know how good-hearted you all are. I know you all have hearts as big as anything. So please pray for this baby and his family for me, will you? Take one minute, and send all the energy you can muster. He has great parents and he is much-loved. I can’t wait to see them all at home and happy and healthy.

On to Christmas day. Lots of fun for us to watch the boy with his gifts. Until about four o’clock, when he decided to try to turn inside out. For eight hours. I guess we’re lucky, this being our first vomitous christmas and all. I’ve heard some children actually seem to plan on getting puking sick at every family get together. Just to get attention. And to be assholes.

Sadly, my mother and I both got it on the 28th. Now I don’t know about you, but I personally think that vomiting anywhere but in your own home is best left to teenaged binge drinkers. I like my own toilet, with my own bed nearby. Because I don’t like spewing. It pisses me off. And hearing my mother retch did not help matters any. I lay limply in the bed that night, thinking “This is the shittiest christmas ever and I would like to kill everyone now.”

I didn’t. I was too weak to go on a murderous rampage. But, there’s always next year, right?

All in all, a weird couple of weeks. Emotionally and physically exhausting. The same for all of you, I’m sure. So I think we should make a deal. Lets all say ‘Fuck this shit’ save our money, and meet up somewhere warm and have a few nice cocktails and a foot massage. Sound good? I thought so.

Chill, People!!!

And no puking.

October Part One

Ready? Because this may a long one. October has been very busy. Like really busy. Like shoot myself in the head just to be unbusy busy. With events. Parties, everything from a BBQ to meet the neighbours to a fancy dress up dinner party, to our anniversary, and back to the neighbours for a Halloween party, then to Halloween itself. Just for shits and giggles, I’ve been sick this whole month. Even better, I can’t really breathe. I’ll get to that later, but there were photos promised, and stories to go with such, so I’ll start where I can. Give you a glimpse into this craziness. I may have to nap in the middle, so bear with me.

My hubby had an awards banquet at a smancy hotel on the exact day that the world decided to OCCUPY in support of the protestors on Wall St. Now if that isn’t something to make a thinking person feel uncomfortable. As we were driving into the city to stay at the lovely mansion where said dinner was, we passed the protestors. We honked in support and|I noticed how neat and orderly they all were. A good Canadian protest! Safety first, please stay on the sidewalk. You ever hear that joke “How do you get 50 Canadians out of a pool?” You say “Okay. Everybody out of the pool!” S’true. Anyway, we all dressed up, and my best guess was that there were around 300 of us being treated to $100 a plate dinner and a quick glad hand and paparazzi shot with the provincial CEO as he gave each lucky employee with 5, 10, 15, etc. years of service a lovely pin to wear on the lapel of the suit they will only wear to this function. Did I mention we all got our rooms on the company? Well, you can do the math. My hubby, who is generally reticent about social injustices (god knows he’d have to be with me as a wife. I am always tirading about something) asked our young Asian busboy if he and the others got to partake of the rest of our banquet. Fair question. A lot of food left. Young fellow said no, it gets tossed. My dear spouse about shit himself at the waste. And on Monday, when asked by one of the brass how he enjoyed it all, he made sure to mention that “it’s bullshit” that all that food was thrown away. Hubby’s idea was perhaps a soup kitchen would have been happy with it all. This is ranty, I know. It’s nice to be acknowledged for hard work, but it seems like it may be time to move away from 1980’s excess and into a more socially conscious way of rewarding employees. Just saying.

Hubby, Me, Bombshell, Bombshell's Man.

Why do I always end up with pics like these?

A week later was our sixth anniversary. I’ll tell you a short story about our wedding day, just to lighten things up.

We’d been together for a fair bit of time and had a son before we actually bothered to get married. We are pretty casual, so we wanted something small and easy. And as neither of us are particularly of a religious bent, having it in a church seemed kind of wrong. Plus, we’re flat out sinners. We’re okay with it. At any rate, I pretty much found a guy through the yellow pages who sounded like he could be the man for the job. He also took care of the licence as well so it was one stop shopping. We went to his house to meet him and he led us into his office to make arrangements. He was personable, friendly. He was going to say what we wanted. He also had on his walls innumerable certificates from the Freemasons. I’m also fairly sure he also had some guy’s finger preserved for use as a bookmark, but I may have just been a wee bit scared.

So all good, with a price tag of $50, legal and everything. He arrived at the hotel about 3 minutes before we were to marry, red-faced, slurring and reeking of booze. He told us this was his third wedding of the day, and as he paid for parking, we owed him an extra $2 bucks. Hubby and I kinda glanced at each other and with that unspoken ‘sounds about right‘ look went ahead and did the deed.

I'm trying not to giggle. You see how red his face is?

We look a little stunned. Did we just get married by a drunk Mason?

The best part? See how we are holding hands tightly behind my back? Neither of us has let go yet. I don’t think we ever will. I couldn’t have picked someone better to share this funny bumpy ride with. Happy anniversary, Honey.

Oh, holy shit! I didn’t show you the best part of my month yet!!! Remember a while back when I was worried about weaponry for the impending doomsday? Look what I got!

Mama in her rocker. GET OFF MY PROPERTY!!!

Guns from my Daddy!!! He sent out a few, but this is my favorite because it’s held together with electrical tape! It’s just so hillbilly I can’t even tell you. How the fuck do you expect it to shoot? What? Oh fine. Hubby says they were gifts to “the family“. Whatever. They are mine! Seriously though, I love this picture. Me, looking all elegant in my sweats and jewellery, with the septic tank in the background. God. So much right about this photo…

Halloween. We went to a party at my neighbors on Saturday. It was something. Every room in their house had decorations, from a jumping 2 foot spider to broom that danced by itself and a smoke machine. She told me she has 15 tubs of decorations. It was a sight to behold and I congratulate her on her spirit. Some pics.

Me and Hubby. He won a prize for best costume.

The host and I.

Smurfette. She had wine for me when I need it most. I love her.

Leaping 2 foot spider. Scared the fuck outta everyone!

Some decorations.

Hubby did this one.

Now I only have a few words of advice about partying with your neighbours. First, if they drink shooters, get ready to get to know them verrrrryyyyy well. There was a neighbour, who I don’t think gets out very much, that proposed an orgy very early in the evening. To me. And another married woman. Couple of guys. Yeah. Like that. Probably shouldn’t do that if you have to come to my house in a few days and make small talk while your kids trick or treat. Just saying.

Well I warned you I’d need a nap half way through! I need a good long eight-hour nap. I’ll try to get back tomorrow and tell you about this not breathing thing and what I’m going to do about it.  Hope you enjoyed this. And that you had a great October.

Oh and Al, gonna work on that rss thing. This blog is only 7 months old, for chrissake! I can’t be expected to get to everything…

Cheers, Folks. Have a lovely day!

Soph

I first met Sophie when we were twenty-two. I was living with her cousin, a musician in the infamous downtown eastside of Vancouver. We were living the late night ‘glamorous’ artistic lifestyle. The best gallery openings were always one of our friends, the best parties started at one a.m. Poetry readings, indie films, too many cigarettes, tons of coffee, too much cheap booze. Various illegal things. Some people fell by the wayside. But in all, we hung out as a pack, promotive of each other, all of us feeling on the fringe of society. Very creative, very cool.

Then Sophie came to town. Pale blonde, blue eyes, clean-cut, good clothes. Piercing gaze. Sparkling with intelligence. Together. Smart. Too smart. In my thrift store clothes, with my crap hairdressing job, this confident, conservative, multilingual success set me to quaking in my fish net stockings and pointy toed skull boots.

Oh, fuck.

God, I was intimidated. Could barely speak for fear of my farm girl accent coming out.

My chap and I took her out for drinks. Yes, I was appraised. Yes, I think she thought I was a dullard. The pointed questions and my stuttering responses mostly likely left her no doubt. Silly young punk or not, I knew when I was in the presence of greatness. I kept my filthy mouth shut.

Eventually late in the eve, we found ourselves at a speakeasy with a punk band playing. Of course I knew all there, so grabbing my plastic glass of overpriced warm beer, I beat a retreat to safe faces and left the cousins to themselves. An hour, two, later, one of my fellows looked over my shoulder at the mosh pit and with wonder and wide eyes said, “look at that.”

There was Soph, floating above a sea of mohawks, safety pins and leather, her $200 blouse filthy and untucked, letting herself go to the anarchy of the music. She stayed at the front of the stage for the rest of the night, elbows flying, head bobbing, cursing, swearing, screaming and shoving. She held her own.

Well. I fell in love. I may have even kissed her on the mouth that night.

The next day over hung over coffee, we bonded. I dropped my guard and a true friendship, honest and unquestioning, was born. Nothing off-limits, no judgement.

My fella and I broke a couple of years later. Soph said that didn’t matter. I  was her family now, and always would be. I felt the same.

The trappings have changed. We’ve taken our lumps. Grown. Now we exist in children, mortgages, careers. The cars are better. The worries are different. But we’re not.

Some people stick. Thank god.

Love you, Sister Friend.

Me And Lucinda

My ‘friend’ Sophie made some comment about dirt under her nails growing faster than I write. So because of her big mouth and because I’m boredy- bored- bored- bored, I’m about to make you look at  pictures of me. Also my parents are here and I’m hiding from them because even though I love them, they smell old and my mother talks so much I want to stab myself in the ear just to get some peace.  I shit you not, I have feigned death to try to get her to quit babbling for a few minutes.  Didn’t work. She just told me to quit pissing around and kept on yakking.

Without further ado,

My Summer So Far. (Really, you should got to another blog. Like right now.)

My hubby and I went to see Lucinda Williams last month. I LOVE HER. Seriously, I’d give her a kidney, that’s how much. For two weeks before the show, I’d crank her music, and start squealing “LUCINDA FUCKIN WILLIAMS! WE’RE GOING TO SEE LUCINDA FUCKIN WILLIAMS! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?” Pretty excited…

Me, looking thoughtful.

  

In the car, bellowing "WE'RE GOING TO SEE LUCINDAFUCKINGWILLIAMS!" I scared the bejesus outta my husband, but he smiled because of the camera. The last time I saw him look startled/fake happy like this was when I heaved a 10 pound human out of my vagina. He's a brave man.

 

When he told me he wasn't sure who LUCINDAFUCKINGWILLIAMS was. I contemplated divorce for about 3 seconds. Then I thought about chicken nuggets. Same face.

I got this instead of a sandwich. Cake on a stick. I can't even tell you how good these are. Suffice to say, I've filled my purse with them. I would like to french kiss whoever came up with this.

 

I kinda got nothing to say here...

 

Accidental pic of some guy as I was trying to hide the camera from the security guard who was hustling over to tell me to put the camera away. He seemed nice.

 

A fantastic photo of me and hubby. It was taken by a lovely woman sitting next to me who reeked of garlic and booze and would not stop talking to me. She gave me a hug, I gave her a cake on a stick. We're BFF now. I can't remember her name, but I'll never forget her .

 

Yum! Nothing like $35 a glass concert wine! This is also a split second before my new BFF staggered over to say hello,tripped over my purse and landed on me. Ha ha, that girl is fun!

 
 
 
This was the last picture of the evening as I ended up wearing most of the wine you see. It was an amazing concert. Lucinda is still my fave. And as a bonus, I realized that I can make friends that won’t bust my balls about writing, Sophie.  Although when she yelled drunkenly in my ear and landed in my lap, it did make me think of you.
 
p.s My husband doesn’t want to be in my blog or ever have his name mentioned here. (I don’t really blame him.) So please don’t look directly at his photo. Just glance, okay?
 
 Thank you.