No resolutions, just retrospection.

Disclaimer: I’ve discovered that almost my entire life can be played out in a series of gifs from Crazy Ex-Girlfriend, Shameless, The Inbetweeners, and anything by Chris Lilley…so there are a couple animated pictures embedded in this post.  Some might consider them to be a bit dark, considering the content, but I am choosing to add a bit of levity to a normally dismal situation. You have been warned.  Many gifs ahead.

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I’ve never been one to adhere to New Year’s resolutions or to say things like “new year, new me.”  The handful of resolutions I have tried in the past usually had to do with either improving my physique or finding an acceptable love interest.  However my love of ice cream and assholes has always outweighed my resolve for self-improvement, and I tend to resort back to my old, untoned, trainwreck self.  So this year, instead of looking to how I’m going to change myself in the upcoming year, I’m just going take a look back and reflect on the things that have occurred over the past twelve months.

The year started out in a confusing and depressing place.  As I’ve discussed in previous posts, my work situation wasn’t ideal and I actually wasn’t sure of my relationship st atus come January 1.  An ever-tumultuous ride, the person I was/wasn’t seeing was away, so I spent NYE with my family and the first kiss I got was a sloppy one from my dog, Ace.  I also had to make sure I got back to Boston as soon as I could, since I was expected to be at work the next day.  The rest of the winter only went downhill from there and I ended up having the first of a couple breakdowns at work, leaving halfway through the day and seeking solace at my friend’s house outside the city.  This was also the point in the year where I decided talk therapy wasn’t enough, and I worked with my therapist to find a psychopharmacologist to see if medication was necessary.  Spoiler alert: it was.  Also, my “relationship” was less and less existent, which only made dealing with things more difficult.

Fortunately, winter is only three months long and with the reappearance of the sun also came an improvement in my situation.  After working with my therapist, I was able to get my apartment to allow me to have a dog as an emotional support animal.  There was a time in my life where I had considered working this angle to get a pet, but with everything going on personally and mentally, Ace was a completely necessary addition to my life (as I write this now, he’s got his head on my lap and I have to type with one hand…but I would’t want it any other way).  There was definitely an adjustment period (along with a couple weeks where Ace had to go back to New Hampshire to learn how to go up the stairs…there was no way I could carry his 100 lb. butt up five flights every time he had to take a shit), but having him around made me get into a routine that I was severely lacking.  It also forced me to be more active than I’d been, walking the two miles to and from work and consistently hitting the 10K steps that my FitBit suggested I walk daily.  We are still working on the tandem running thing; whenever we try, it’s more like run 10ft…stop to let Ace sniff another dog’s piss puddle…run another 10ft…pull Ace away from the crotch of the person walking by us, and my usual 8-9 minute mile ends up being 16+.  Regardless, it’s been nice having him around to keep me company.

Between a rough time at work and the diagnosis of a 5cm uterine fibroid, I hit another breaking point in the summer, requiring a sabbatical from work and three weeks in Europe.  I’m not going to bore you with the details (if you really want to know what I did while abroad, there are a multitude of previous posts that discuss everything), but I came home after that trip feeling better than I have in years and wanting to make some changes in my life.  I immediately started looking for new jobs, both in Boston and in London, and decided that I wanted to write more.  I also started to rethink my stance on dating as a sport.  Before, I would go into dates assuming that they would end shittily and not caring how I came across to the other party.Now, I’m being much more selective in the vetting process, not letting the potentially shitty matches through and only going out with people that I think will have some kind of impact, whether it be as a…ugh…love match or as a lesson-learned.  Needless to say, I’ve gone on far fewer dates recently that I would like to admit, due mainly in part to the lack of viable matches on Tinder, Bumble, etc.  

Autumn brought the biggest change: unemployment for the first time in my adult life.  While there was an initial feeling of failure and depression, ultimately I know that leaving that job was and will be for the best.  Side note: This was actually one of three instances in my life where things didn’t end the way I wanted/expected and I’ve had some trouble getting over it (the other two occasions that I still get nightmares about were 1. when I was 17 and had to quit dance my senior year of high school (due to dance mom politics) and wasn’t able to do the senior dance in the recital that spring, and 2. when I was ghosted by someone I was dating for a year and never got the necessary closure). Eventually, after some time and introspection, I went from feeling like shit to feeling hopeful and that this was exactly the push I needed to incite a real change in my life.  The past couple months have had their fair share of ups and downs (job searching is always a fucking shitshow, but then add to that the extra stress and work that comes with international job searching…), and I won’t gloss over the fact that I’ve been more down than up recently.  However, unlike last winter, I now have the tools necessary to deal with it (read: “medication”).

So yeah, like I’ve said, I’ve never been one for resolutions, but I’ve always been really good at going back and analyzing things….and reanalyzing and reanalyzing.  Actually, if I were to decide to make a resolution, that might be one thing I try to change in the future: taking out one instance of reanalyzing and only overthinking things to a small degree.  And also to try letting things from the past go…at least things that occurred when I was a teen that still give me nightmares…fucking Walker’s Dance.

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It’s highly likely that this will be the last post on this site.  I have been working with someone over the past couple months to migrate everything over to a new site, which should be live early in the new year. This is a venture that is both exciting and terrifying for me, and I appreciate all the support I have received.  So thank you in advance for being avid supporters of the new site (because clearly, you’ve made it this far into my ramblings and need to see where things go from here) and here’s to a successful and prosperous new year for everyone.

 

All I want for Christmas is a UK work visa

I feel like I’ve hit a wall.

For the past few months, all I’ve wanted is to be able to find a job in London so I can move over there.  I’ve applied to DOZENS of places and have been receiving a lot of rejection, mainly because of the work visa issue.  I have even been extremely open regarding the kinds of positions I’m applying for, thinking that it might give me a better shot of landing something.  But I’ve been told so many conflicting things about what kinds of positions are able to apply for Tier 2 visas that I’m starting to get nervous that I won’t be able to get one.  And I’ve been putting so many eggs into this London basket, I’m afraid I’m going to have to give up soon and start looking for jobs around Boston again, which is really upsetting.  I mean, I have friends and family here, which of course makes Boston a good place for me to be, but I also feel like I’ve been here for far too long.  I need to make a change happen, especially while I’m young enough (relatively) to move without uprooting too much.  Sure, I could go to another city in the US, but none of the other major cities (NYC, Chicago, LA, San Francisco) have made me feel as at home as London.

I think it’s a real shame that the visa situation is as stringent as it is currently.  I’ve been told that if I had applied for a Tier 1 (general) visa a few years back, it wouldn’t have been a problem.  And that was the visa that allowed you to come over to live and THEN find a job.  As always, I’m a little late to this game.

So yes, this post is short, mainly because I’m feeling a little too complain-y and don’t want to keep ranting.  Also, I made a short vlog about this as well, so I feel like I’m also repeating myself.

Ups and Downs

Like with most things in my life, I sometimes have a hard time figuring out the best way to start these posts.  If they are light and funny, I can usually just come up with a quip or comical observance, and that gets the ball rolling.  However, when it’s more serious, I tend to write and delete and write and delete and write and delete, like I have just done for the past 20 minutes.  I’m hoping that this time, I’ll be okay with how this post has started, and can move on to the topic at hand…

A few months back, I wrote a piece that some of you will remember.  I received a lot of feedback on it, and how it was brave of me to write.  While I understand that it might seem that way, given the topic, I don’t necessarily agree that it was a “brave” thing to do.  It’s just something I did because I felt like I needed to say it.  But anyway, that’s not the point.

Since then, I’ve had many people ask about how I’ve been doing, so I thought I’d give a genuine update.

Sometimes the things I write or post have an “Instagram filter” on them.  By that I mean that I’m mostly posting about the positive things that are happening and how I’ve been feeling significantly better than I was in the summer.  And while that is absolutely true, there are also times where I feel down.  It’s just the nature of having a chronic depressive disorder: sometimes you are up, sometimes you are down.  I’ve been trying to make my life have more ups, like writing more, spending more time with friends, traveling, etc.  But sometimes there are just days where something is off and I’m feeling down.

Today is one of them.

I’m not even sure why, but I woke up this morning feeling extremely down and defeated.  Nothing really happened overnight that would cause me to feel this way, but I do.  And please, before anyone starts to worry, it’s most definitely not to the extent that I was feeling depressed in July.  I’m truly okay and I’m safe.  I’m just feeling a bit blue…da ba dee da ba daa, da ba dee da ba daa, da ba dee da ba daa (trying to insert a little levity here with obscure 90s one-hit wonder lyrics).  Anyway, the only reason I finally got out of bed this morning (at 11am) was because I wanted to write about this.  

For those of you who haven’t dealt with depression, it’s a strange phenomena.  It really can come over you instantaneously and for no apparent reason.  Just yesterday, I decided to walk the two miles from the bus station to my apartment, cutting through Boston Common and the Public Gardens.  And I was so glad I did because I ended up getting some truly beautiful shots of the fresh snow against the setting sun.  I was listening to my music and feeling happy.  Sometime later that evening, the down started to kick in and I could feel myself getting sad.  Part of me thinks that it might have to do with my current state of (un)employment and the fact that I get nervous about taking care of my responsibilities.  Another part of me thinks that it might have to do with the fact that I am really getting excited about the prospect of moving to London, and seeing all the snowy pictures this weekend made me want to be there immediately.  Either way, I went to bed feeling slightly depressed, and woke up this morning feeling it even more so.  Despite the fact that it’s a sunny day and the snow is still fresh (and not shitty looking), all I wanted to do was stay in bed.  I woke up at 8am and spend the next three hours dreading the fact that at some point, I would need to force myself out of bed (to pee, if nothing else).  And eventually, I did (like I said, I made myself get up so I could write this) and I’m feeling a little better.

I think the main reason I wanted to write about this is because for the past few months, I have been feeling such a high and thought that maybe I was past all the shitty feelings I was having earlier in the year.  I thought that eliminating some of my stressors (work and a toxic relationship), I could work past everything and be better.  But that’s not really how little “d” depression works.  It’s chronic and something I’ll always have to be conscious of.  The big “D” instances come on strong and serious, but eventually those go away.  I might never be fully okay, but I think that I’m currently in a significantly better place than I was a few months ago, even without a job or relationship.

And just like I have a hard time starting the seirous posts, I also have a hard time ending them.  So….

The Last Couple Months in Review: a Gywneth Paltrow reference, a new love interest, and a jar of coconut oil.

Since I haven’t posted in a while and since I’m also not quite ready to unleash the new series I’ve started writing, I figured I’d do a quick post about how things are currently going and what I’ve been up to recently…. In short, everything has been a bit confusing.

For starters, I had a conscious uncoupling with work about a month after I got back from my 3 week sabbatical. I say this because all parties knew things weren’t working out, so there was a split. Part of me hates that it had to happen that way, while the other part of me is actually a bit excited to be able to do something new right now. Besides looking for new jobs, I’m also trying to work on my own projects (like this blog and a new venture to be discussed later). For the better part of the last two years, I’d been devoting so much time to my job (12 hour days can only be done for so long) that I haven’t really been able to do the things I like. I’ve been able to read more, and go on longer walks with Ace, and work out (sometimes), and find new and better ways to keep myself busy. So far, it’s been successful, and I don’t hate it.

My personal life is a bit “meh” at the moment. Although I haven’t been writing about them, I have been going on some dates (although not nearly as many as before my summer trip). And for the most part, they haven’t actually been too bad, which is why there hasn’t been really anything to write about. (I do have one that I will fill you in on later in this post, just to sate the voyeurs that read this blog to vicariously live through my failed attempts at romance.)

But anyway.

I have also recently fallen in love. Good god, please get your head out of the clouds. It’s not with a man. Or with a woman, you pervs. It’s with a place.

For a long time, I carried on a Carrie Bradshaw-esque love affair with a city. Boston, to be exact. But cold, lonesome winters and almost a decade and half of a tumultuous love affair, I’ve decided to end it. We have become very attached, so it’ll most likely be one of those slow and extremely painful breakups, but it’s just something that has to happen for us both. That being said, I wish Boston all the best with it’s future endeavors and I hope that we can still remain friends.

But this new city I’m seeing is fucking awesome.

When I was 16, I came to London and felt like it was a really cool place where I’d ultimately like to live. Coming back in August and September cemented that fact. I’ve been applying for jobs here and am also looking into alternative ways to obtain a work visa. I’m so set on making this place my next home, that the day after I got back from my trip in September, I booked a flight back for November (now). I was initially planning on only staying a weekend so I didn’t take more time off work, but with the situation being as such, I have been able to extend it out ten days. I’m hoping the unadulterated time in the city will give me a good feeling about what it’s actually like to live here. The summer here was amazing, due in part to great weather and wonderful people/dates. This time around, it’s autumn and I can’t wear tank tops to attract the boys. My plan this week is to try to do some networking (both professionally and personally), get a lot of writing done, and begin to foster this budding romance…again, not with a man (or woman), but with the city.

So now that you’ve caught up with my life in general, I will now reward you with a date story. We shall call this…

“World Series and Tea is the new Netflix and Chill” …or perhaps “The Coconut Oil Affair”

After being out of work for a week, I was starting to become somewhat stir-crazy. Needing to get out of the house and interact with humans (Sorry, Ace. I love you but mummy needs some same-species time), I popped on Bumble one afternoon to find a new match. Seeing that the guy was only in town for a couple days, I figured this could be a good, non-committal way to get back into the dating scene, since I hadn’t actually gone on a dating app date since early September. We chatted back and forth a bit and decided that we’d meet at the intersection of Newbury and Arlington, so he could pick up a sweater. He was from a warmer climate and left his jacket at the hockey rink (we will get to that in a second). We met and started walking down Newbury to find a store that was still open at 8pm and had something in his size. Being six and a half feet tall and weighing at least 250, he really didn’t have many options at Banana Republic, so we went to Nordstrom Rack, where he finally found something. As we were in line to pay for the sweater, a random man looked at him and said, “Wow, I sure hope you play for one of our sports teams!” He replied that he doesn’t play for one, but he works as a trainer for the NHL team that was visiting that weekend to play the Bruins. At that point, I realized how ridiculous we must look together, with him being about a foot and half taller than me and weighing 8-9 stones more (I’m using stones because I need to start getting acclimated the British measurements system). I also caught a glimpse of us in the reflection of the door as we walked out, which confirmed my assumption (him = giant; me = dwarf).

Once we left, he asked if I wanted to go to a movie with him. Most people know that a movie is never a viable option for a first date. Hell, I think you can really only go to the movies once you have started actually dating someone seriously, because at that point, you aren’t trying to get to know one another, so two hours of silence is actually sometimes a nice break from the person while actually still being around the him. But being that this was my first date in a while and I wasn’t really feeling too into chatting, I said that was fine. On the way over to the theater, I found that he was more interesting that I initially assumed he’d be, although I was certain this wouldn’t be someone I’d probably end up communicating with after the weekend. When we arrived, he used his per diem to get the tickets, some popcorn, and a couple bottles of water. My friends and I have recently started discussing the “who pays on a date” conundrum, so even though I offered to split it, it was nice that he (or the LA Kings finance department) paid. Chivalry isn’t completely dead.

During the movie, there were times where he would rest his arm on my leg or play with my knee through the rip in my jeans, and after a month-ish affection-drought, it was nice to have someone flirt and show interest. So imagine my surprise when the movie ends, we leave the theater, and he gives me a hug before walking over to his hotel across the street. Confused by the abrupt ending, I walked through Boston Common and decided to just send a friendly “That was fun and thanks for hanging out” text. He replied back saying he had fun too and ended up apologizing for choking at the end. I guess that he was interested in hanging out more, but he didn’t know how to approach the subject, thus choking and running away. He then said that he was going to watch the World Series game in his hotel and have some tea, and then asked if I would like to join. Not having anything else to do for the rest of the evening, I agreed and started walking back towards the Ritz (professional sports teams only book the best for their players, and apparently that trickles down to the trainers as well).

Once there, I found out he didn’t actually have any tea (which was a bit of a bummer), so we started to cuddle and watch the game…and eventually started to kiss. After a bit of that, he hopped out of the bed and went to his bag, saying he needed to find something. Adults well-versed in safe sex can come to their own conclusion on what is USUALLY pulled out of the bag at that point. I will even allow the more perverted among you to guess that he was perhaps even pulling out some kind of toy or BDSM shit. However, only the hipster-crunchiest of you were right if you guessed that he was looking for a jar of coconut oil.

Now, please imagine not only my surprise, but also the terror going through my head as I was thinking about WHAT he wanted to do with the coconut oil. Best case scenario: he wanted to give me a coconut oil hair conditioning treatment (which was actually quite a lovely thought). Worst case scenario: he was going to try to use it as lube for a hole-which-must-not-be-penetrated-until-marriage-or-at-least-a-seriously-committed-relationship.

The reality of the situation: he wanted to give me a massage. So although I hate massages, I allowed him to rub my back with the oil. Some would find that incredibly sext; I found it really weird for a first date, but whatever. At least he wasn’t trying to use it as lube.

It should also be noted that it was the same jar of coconut oil that he uses on the players and he ended up sending me a picture of it the next day during the game. We haven’t talked since, and I’m not really expecting to ever hear from him again. But if the Kings come back into town and I get a message from him, I’m going to ask that he does a deep condition coconut oil hair treatment instead.

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Part II of this date is continued in my vlog.

A Brief Review of 33

As I close out the final hours of my pre-determined “scary age,” I can’t help but do a little mental math of the things that have occurred over the last 364 days. Sorry if it’s a bit Bridget Jones-esque…

Nervous breakdowns: 2
Trump-induced anxiety attacks: numerous
Weeks sabbatical: 3
Countries visited: 2
Flights taken: 7
New tattoos: 1
Removed piercings: 1 (figured 33 was too old for my navel piercing)
Pets acquired: 2
Pets lost: 1 (Grandpa Bernie now lives with my nephews)
Pounds gained: unknown, although I’m sure little Clem (my citrus-sized uterine cyst) weighs a pound or two
Pounds lost: at least 6, but I can’t be sure because I don’t know the exact number I started at
Debt paid off: 1 student loan and my car loan
Relationships ended: 1
Relationships started: 0
Dates: too many to count
Dick pics received: 0…thank god

There have also been a ton of other things that have happened: weddings, births, sicknesses, politics, weather. I’ve gone through a lot of personal struggles with work and my personal life, but I’ve also had some wonderful things happen. I’m continually thankful for my family and friends who are always there to support me, although I fucking hate burdening people, and I can only hope that this year was as low as things will get (at least for some time).

That being said, you will probably notice me posting more often. I’ve decided to get myself on a schedule with this and put in a little more effort. It will still mainly be a blog about dating, because that’s what is one of the main things I’ve been doing recently, but it will probably also touch on other things that are going on in my life. I promise to not always be a Debbie downer when talking about certain, tough topics, and just note that if I do end up talking about those things, I’ll do my best to inject a little humor when necessary….and appropriate.

As I wrote that last sentence, a song came on my Spotify that almost perfectly sums up the last year, so I will end with some extremely fitting lyrics:

“Now the world can be an unfair place at times
But your lows will have their compliment of highs
And if anyone should cheat you
Take advantage of or beat you raise your head
And wear your wounds with pride”

“Birthdays was the worst days. Now we sip champagne when we thirst-ay.”

It’s amazing how things can sneak up on you when you aren’t paying attention.  Case in point: my birthday.  How I realized it: Facebook reminded me.  Well, actually, it suggested I use my birthday to raise money for a charity of my choice…or something along those lines.  I wasn’t really paying too much attention to what it actually said.  I was too caught up in the fact that I managed to almost entirely forget that we are in September, and I am within a week of my birthday.

So the last few years have been really bad birthday-wise, with the exception of the dinner my friends took my out to last year (thank you, ladies!).  I either spent them alone or in shitty relationships where I was barely (if at all) acknowledged on the day.  But whatever.  That doesn’t even bother me at this point anymore.  I didn’t actually mind spending my birthday alone, as it granted me some quiet time to self-reflect and enjoy my celebratory Georgetown cupcake (if anyone was planning on surprising me with a cupcake, please note that I like the chocolate ganache and all treats can be sent to the WeWork in Fort Point 🙂 ).  The first couple years, I made stupid wishes for things in my personal life to get better, pretending that blowing out the candles actually means something and incites some kind of cosmic shift.  It should also be noted that during this time in my life, I would also (on occasion) make a wish at 11:11 or whenever my eyelashes would fall out.  God, I was naive.

However, last year was different.

When I was in my early 20s and (like most females my age) worshiped the gospel according to Sex and the City, I remember watching an episode about a “scary age” birthday.  Now that I’m older and my mind is going, I have no idea what character (probably Carrie) coined this or which age (probably mid-30s) she decided to make it, but this concept stuck with me.  At that point, I decided that 33 was my scary age and that if certain life milestones hadn’t happened for me at that point, they most likely wouldn’t occur.  Ever.

So last year, as I was coming up to my 33rd birthday, I started to take stock in my life and the things that had (or hadn’t yet) happened.  I was losing hope in finding a job that I could actually turn into a career, and thought that the rest of my working life would be spent doing something I hated/didn’t bring me any kind of happiness.   I was giving up on finding someone that would actually be a real partner, not just boyfriend who wouldn’t acknowledge me as his girlfriend in public or to family/friends (yes, that was where I was at not only last year, but also the two years prior).  And I started to dismiss the idea of having a family of my own, although I was pretty sure before that point I didn’t necessarily want kids anyway.

So as I turned 33, I had already started to give up.

But then as the year passed and shittier things started to happen, something changed.  I began to look at things differently and not in the stringent terms that I had for the past 10 years.  As I was hitting the lowest points of my life, I was coming to terms with where I was at and what that meant.

Do I enjoy my job?  No, but then, most people don’t.  Can I find another?  Of course.  It’s going to require time and effort, but in the end, could be an amazing change.  So for the last few weeks (since coming back from Europe) I’ve kicked the job search into high gear. I’m being more open about the kinds of positions and the locations of the jobs, hoping that I will find something that really fits and makes me happy to go to work everyday.

Am I a lost cause when it comes to finding a partner?  No, probably not.  I’m just not great at making decision when it comes to the people I invest time and effort into dating.  I’ve wasted a LOT of years in relationships that were clearly not good/were extremely toxic.  I also think that at this point, I’m not particularly in a good place with myself to even bring another person in for something serious, so this really isn’t a concern at the moment.

Could I still have a family?  Sure, but like before, I’m not even sure if that’s what I want.  Also, this past year I was told that I have a large cyst on my uterus and both keeping it or removing it could potentially cause problems with a pregnancy.  (As a comical aside, I’ve been told that it’s the size of a citrus fruit and it’s causing my uterus enlarge to the size of someone in their fifth month of pregnancy.  So naturally, I’ve named the cyst Clementine and blame her for my constant lower belly bloat.  I mean, the fifth month of pregnancy.  That’s a pretty big uterus.)  Anyway, babies.  Still not sold, but have found myself softening to the idea of them recently.

Long story short, I guess that as I enter the last week of 33, I’m not in as bad of a place as I was this time last year, or even where I was the last few months.  It’s truly amazing what time off and perspective can do.  I have actually even found myself saying positive/motivational things to coworkers who are questioning their role in my company (yes, the company I don’t even know if I want to be in anymore).  The words “Don’t worry, I think they are going to do right by us all” came out of my mouth on multiple occasions, followed immediately by “Who the fuck am I and when did I get so optimistic?”

So here’s a preemptive cheers to 34.  I have a lot of things that I’d like to happen so don’t be surprised if you see some changes over the next year.

(Also, let’s just forget that I said I’m 34.  In reality, I am feeling a lot younger than that recently, another credit I will give to my time in Europe.)

Anxiety has made it impossible to come up with a quirky title, so pretend this is one.

I’m feeling a lot of anxiety today, so I’m wondering if writing might help alleviate that. Not entirely sure what brought it on, but I’m guessing it has something to do with the fact that I’ve been sitting at work the past week with barely anything to do. Before I went on holiday, I was busy all day, everyday. While I was out, all of my accounts were given to others and I now have a completely different role in the company. Truth be told, it’s not one that I want at all, and I think that might be heightening the anxiety.

I really just need to find another job. Since I’ve been back, I’ve applied to dozens of jobs in different roles and industries. I’m not discriminating at any potential job, as long as it appears to be one that will not make me miserable. I’ve heard back from a couple and am waiting to set up some preliminary calls, but in the interim, my anxiety-riddled head is in overdrive. All this time on my hands just makes me think too much.

I actually like being busy and I like working, so to have my company place me in a role where I’ve got so much free time is frustrating. It makes me feel completely undervalued and like they have no idea where my strengths lie. I’m finding it extremely difficult to not express my frustrations, and actually might end up leaving a bit early this afternoon to avoid it.

The only thing that has helped me through today was a new podcast: My Dad Wrote A Porno. I ended up listening to almost all of the first series and if anyone had looked into my (completely glass) office during this time, they would have seen me doing a terrible job at containing my laughter. So fucking hilarious, and I wish my Dad had done the same so I could simultaneously muse about it and cringe at its ridiculousness.