Category: Family

To post or not to post

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Facebook religious conservatives who think the world is out to get them:

“I can’t believe that Facebook took down my Dr. Suess quote that was filled with nothing but love! Do we live in Russia?”

My MIL:

“I’m so glad I live on God’s Kingdom!”

A few more comments on the post:

“This is getting REAL SCARY”

“This is the devil working among us! Scary, for sure!”

My over reacting response which is probably why Uncle Douche says I’m the most toxic person he’s ever met:

“Facebook’s algorithm took it down. You shared a picture that your brain processes as a quote. Somewhere in the huge Facebook world some asshole saw that picture and thought they’d be cute and report it as offensive. So now anyone who shares that picture will have it deleted automatically because some internet troll.

We don’t live in Russia.

Satan is not coming for Dr Seuss.

We live in a society of technology. Technology that relies on algorithms. There’s no one at Facebook who saw it as offensive. It’s just a bunch of internet trolls being assholes”

Listen, it might surprise you to know I’m a Christian.  I am.  But for fuck’s sake, stop being morons.  You’re making us look bad.  It’s not always Satan.

Also Uncle Douche probably just thinks I’m toxic because I don’t like Trump, or stealing software, I want a Covid Vaccine, I support mask wearing, and I’m pretty sure the Earth is round.  SCIENCE IS AMAZING.

See.  Last night I had convinced myself to get back into posting on Facebook more because it’s really the only platform I have to keep in touch with some people.  And I know everyones getting away from it – but honestly, the friends I’ve had who quit facebook, just dropped out of our lives.  They don’t make the effort to text or email or call and they live in another state – facebook was how we knew what was going on with each other.  Same with distant family.  

But then people go and post shit like this and it makes me go “This is why I started the god damn blog.”  I can’t express myself on facebook.  

My blog, My therapist

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I’m sad.  Just sad.  Mostly about momma.  I just really hate my job and my mom is dead.  I sit on her bed and look at the pictures on her memorial card and think “I’ll never see her again.”  It’s almost an unfathomable thought.  My brain can’t wrap around it.  I can’t really grasp that it’s true. 

I’ll never come by this bed to find her laying across it (never the right way).  He having fallen asleep, not under the covers, but under a throw while watching QVC.  I’ll never give her a hug and wish her goodnight and see if there’s anything I can get her before I go to bed.  I’ll never wake and look down at the dining room to find her painting at the table – or see her having coffee on the stairs by the pool.  Or just wake up to find she’s run off to Old Navy or Ollie’s or Old Time Pottery to return later with gifts.  Always gifts.  A shirt or a pillow for my pool chairs, maybe a float or a cute kitchen towel, or lord help – a plant for the back or the flower beds or the porch or god-knows-where.  Momma never showed up without some small gift.  She loved to go shop and find the best clearance deals.  “I got you something.”  No wonder my love language is gifts.  She was always like that. 

There’s just an empty chasm of sadness beside me.  Nothing to be said for it.  Nothing to be done for it.  I thought about scheduling an appointment with my therapist, but what’s the point?  He can’t make me un-sad.  No one can say or do anything to seal this chasm.  I’m not self-harming or life-interferingly depressed.  I’m just really fucking sad.  I’ve honored her memory.  I made a beautiful vase full of rose petals — all carefully saved and dried from the many flower arrangements that were sent as condolences.  Some roses from the funeral, some petals from the corsage I wore.  I sit on her bed and look at her infamous red glasses sitting there on a tray with the book she wrote, a picture she painted, the memorial card from the funeral and a small urn of ashes.  I wear her star sapphire on my right hand.  Mom on my right and my sweet husband on my left (via my wedding ring). My rocks.  It’s like they’re holding my hand when I need a nudge. 

I look at the star in the sapphire when it magically decides to appear.  I’ve had my own sapphire.  I know the magic well.  I bought us each these sapphires years ago when I got my first real job.  The biggest present I had ever given her at the time. I was determined she’d wear another star sapphire – like the one that was stolen in her childhood.  A story she had mournfully told me many times.  Now I wear her stone instead of mine.  The stone she wore so often and that shows up in most of her pictures.  When I see the star I wonder how often she looked at the same star with amazement at the beauty.  Something otherworldly about the stones transformation in the light. 

I called M the other day.  One of my best and dearest friends.  I needed to talk to someone else who lost their mother.  Someone who knows this sadness.  What did he do with it?  How did he cope?  How did he keep going? True to our natures he didn’t bullshit me.  He didn’t cope.  There was no healing.  Only learning to live with it.  Time doesn’t heal wounds it just makes you keep trudging on with your new normal until the pain is almost a numbness.  Simply because there is no choice.  His anger is still palpable and fresh.  As if she’d passed as recently as my own mother.  It was genuinely surprising to me. We were angry and sad together.  We talked for over an hour.  We joked about fake boobs and caught up with each other.  He lives so far away now.  We talked through my drive home, through the pharmacy drive thru and on into my coming home, greeting my cat, and doing my daily Animal Crossing errands.  Mr C did not come down when he heard me arrive.  M’s voice is extremely loud and boisterous, no doubt who I was talking to on speaker phone.  Mr C was glad we were talking, he knew I needed it.  As we wrapped up our conversation I asked him “what do I do?”  And as cliché as it sounds, I shit you not, he told me what any beloved body-hiding-friend would say.  He said “you call me, and we’ll be sad together.”

Recipe: Whiffletree Chocolate Mocha Mousse

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Mr C’s favorite dessert is Chocolate Mousse. Not some simple chocolate mousse you can buy. No, you gotta go French chef on that shit. You gotta use ALL your mixing bowls on that shit. And most importantly: the “chocolate wafer cookies” must be Oreos with the cream scraped out. Why? Because he was raised with someone willing to make shit like this, that’s why. You’ll scrape the cream out of those Oreos for love. Exactly once a year only. Because fuck that.

Now, the first and most important step of this recipe is to let everyone know that the Oreos are not to be eaten. Oh ha ha, you think I’m joking or rambling for SEOptimization? No, I haven’t got a single search engine hit on this blog yet. I’m fucking serious. You let EVERYONE know not to eat the fucking Oreos. You know why? Because if you don’t, then when your guest wants a midnight snack, they’re gonna see Oreos left out on the counter and be like “awesome, Oreos.” They’ll eat a tasteful five or so, because they’re just a guest. But then the next morning everyone will see the Oreos are open on the counter and eat those sons of bitches because Oreos and milk, am I right?

Then the next morning, when your guest wakes up after you cheerily told them to make themselves at home the previous night. They’ll find out that they are in trouble for eating the Oreos. They’ll be horrified that literally everyone staying in the house knows they ate the Oreos because their future Mother In Law already raged and accused each of them individually of eating the Oreos that your fat ass ate. Your future husband will be like “we’ll get more later” because he doesn’t realize his mother be crazy. And she will then proceed to get very angry and insist that he go get the Oreos now. And they’ll have a fucking argument about it. An argument that ends with your fat ass riding along with your future husband to get more Oreos when you haven’t even had breakfast. You’ll be mortified for days because this is your first impression on your future family. That you’re fat and ate the Oreos.

Step two: Scrape the cream out of the Oreos. Don’t try to cheat and use some chocolate cookies without cream in them or some off-brand. Everyone knows what Oreos taste like and your ass will be called out. They must be Oreos. I used to be super picky about making sure I got ALL the cream off, but it’s not bad to leave a bit here and there. I just slide the cookies apart and scrape off the side that got the major chunk of the cream. Sit down with the TV on or someone on speaker phone and use a butter knife to start scraping. You’ll get in the groove. It’s cool. You only have to do this once a year.

Optional Step three: Make an Oreo cream snowman for your cat. It’s cute and funny. Don’t let him eat too much though, because diabetes is real. Like just a few licks for the funnies.

Step four: Get out all of your mixing bowls. Fucking all of them. Embrace that this dessert is a huge pain in your ass and you’re gonna be cleaning a lot of bowls. One of these bowls will need to be heat proof (like pyrex, for instance). You’ll also need a pot that is smaller than the heatproof bowl. You know what those last two things make? A double boiler. Yeah. The first time I made this shit I actually borrowed a double boiler. You don’t need to own a double boiler because it’s just a heat proof bowl over simmering water. You can make that with what you already own.

Step five: follow the recipe. Oh wait I’m kidding! The recipe doesn’t include half the shit you actually need to know to follow it. That’s because everyone who has made it over the years learned important things and tid bits that aren’t included in the recipe your now official Mother In Law emails you. Don’t worry fam, I’m here for you. I’ve made this shit over a dozen times now.

Shit you should know:

  • When heating up chocolate, use a double boiler. I already told you how to make your own. Now, you DON’T want to overheat the chocolate. You want to the chocolate to keep its “temper” That’s what makes it pretty and shiny and gives it a nice clean snap and perfect texture. It’s important in recipes too. So chocolate loses its temper around 110 degrees. So get it up to the 95 the recipe requires, but don’t let that shit go above 110. You don’t need to keep it over the heat until it’s all melted. The bowl holds in heat so once most of it is melted, pull it off and just stir until it all melts. This way you avoid over heating.
  • You seized the chocolate, didn’t you? It happens. I did it once. It’s not a loss! Add small amounts of cream while heating it to break down the fat molecules and bring that shit back together. Fat dissolves fat. Cream is fat. Thank you, Alton Brown. You probably already whipped the cream anyway, just spoon in a small bit of it and stir over heat until you get it back. Don’t worry about diluting the chocolate, whatever cream you use here, just subtract it from the whipped cream you’ll be mixing in. Just use small amounts until you have just enough to bring it back together. Your husband won’t notice, promise. You lost the temper, but you’ll do better next time.
  • When I’m separating the egg whites, I go ahead and blend the whole eggs, egg yolks, Kahlua and instant coffee so they can sit while I’m making everything else so the instant coffee can fully dissolve.  I do this in the big bowl everything will get folded into in the end.  Then temper it with the melted chocolate and add the chocolate to that.  I’ve seen some recipes where the coffee and liquor is added in while the chocolate is melting. Either way, I don’t like to wait until everything is coming together to add the coffee (as the recipe calls for) — it doesn’t dissolve all the way. 
  • Not a tip, but invest in an egg separator. It’s worth it. You’ll use it lots. Mine is an anthropomorphic egg. It’s kinda morbid if you think about it.
  • The recipe isn’t specific about what type of chocolate to use. I go semisweet.
  • When I’m separating the eggs, I actually separate one more egg white out. (The recipe calls for 2 eggs to be left whole, I separate one of those). This means I haven’t altered how many eggs or egg whites go into the recipe. However, now I can mix it a lot more without worrying about losing the airiness of the whites. If you don’t mix it thoroughly, you’ll see white bits when you cut it. It doesn’t throw off the taste but come on, presentation is important when you work this hard.
  • Cream whips faster when it’s cold. Really cold. Tip: put a metal bowl and the beaters in the freezer before hand. Whip the cream in that.
  • I have never made the topping nor have I seen anyone else make it. It’s totally unnecessary. I’m just copy/pasting the recipe so you have it if you want it.

Whiffletree Chocolate Mocha Mousse

Crust:
2 c. chocolate wafers, crushed (11 oz. box =2 c.)
½ c. unsalted butter, melted

Filling:
1 lb sweet chocolate
2 whole eggs at room temperature
4 egg yolks at room temperature
4 egg whites at room temperature
2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. instant coffee
¾ oz. Kahlua liquor

Topping:
2 c. whipping cream
2 tsp. instant coffee
3 tsp. powdered sugar

1. To make crust blend wafers and butter together and press in bottom of a 13 inch spring form pan.

2. Filling: heat chocolate over double boiler until completely melted.  Remove from heat and let  stand until chocolate comes down to 95 degrees.  DO NOT ALLOW CHOCOLATE TO GET TOO COOL.

Whip egg whites at medium speed until stiff but not dry.  Whip cream at medium speed until stiff.  (Use separate bowls for egg whites and whipping cream).

In another bowl mix chocolate at medium speed.  Add whole eggs, then egg yolks, coffee and Kahlua.  Mix thoroughly.  Add 2 tbsp. whipped whites and 2 tbsp. of whipped cream and continue to mix.

Remove from mixer and fold whites, whipped cream and chocolate mixture together and spoon mixture into pan.  REFRIGERATE OVERNIGHT

Topping: blend ingredients and whip at medium speed.  Spoon on top of slices to serve.

What if it’s me?

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So now that moms funeral has past, things are kinda resolved a bit. Or at least I thought they were. I’m actually having a lot of anxiety about the relationship I had with mom and how I perceived it. I perceived it as we were friends. I talked to her twice a day. She was going to move up here and live with us in a few years. But she never told my sisters (whom she lived with) about that plan. She said she didn’t want to stir up drama and God would work it out. But now I’m thinking what if she just didn’t want to tell ME she didn’t want to move in?

Also the phone calls. I called her twice a day. That’s pretty needy. I thought she liked it. If I missed a call, she’d call me to see what was up (or to rag me on skipping work cause if I didn’t call in the morning, she totally knew I was skipping work). However, whenever sister 2 would call while mom was here, she’d roll her eyes ’cause sister 2 will call in a crisis or wasted and keep you on the phone for over and hour before you can get off. You’ll talk in circles for 45 minutes and just be dying to get off the phone. Did mom roll her eyes every time I called?

She told me she and sister 1 never talked. And sister 1 was mean to her in my opinion. She treated her like she was old and getting senile (she wasn’t). I feel like sister 1 gaslighted her a lot and made her feel like shit. But now that she’s dead, sister 1 is in hysterics that her best friend and her “person” are gone. But dude, you treated mom like slave labor. You weren’t nice to her. You talked about how she was getting too old to do some things IN FRONT OF HER like she was some senile old dog. I wanted her to move in with me to get away from you.

However, it seems we all thought mom was “our person” and our friend. Which I guess you shouldn’t play favorites with your kids. That’s fine. But I thought what I had with mom was different and special. And now I feel like maybe she lied to me. Like maybe I wasn’t special at all. Like maybe she didn’t like my calls all the time. Maybe she never intended to move here. Did she lie to me? Was I wrong? Was I just the 4th kid she had to treat with kid gloves because I’m just as crazy as my sisters?

I don’t know and I’m devastated at the thought. And I can’t make it right. I can’t apologize and have a better relationship with her. I thought we had the perfect relationship though. Was I wrong? This is horrible.

A new chapter

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Mom’s funeral was Monday. The service was perfect, the flowers were beautiful, there was no family drama. It was more than I could have hoped for. She would have loved it.

I took down the Christmas decorations in her room today. She would have never left them up this long. It would have been decorated for Valentines by now. I did not decorate it for Valentines Day. However, I did change out the Christmas for her bright orange and teal quilt. The cats favorite chair changed from a Christmas throw and pillow to a more summery combination.

It’s funny. When we take down Christmas in the house, it always seems so much colder and more sterile. Moms room doesn’t. It still feels comfy cozy.

I do feel a small sense of closure. Like healing can start now. Waiting over a month to hold the funeral was a heavy stress on all of us. Now it feels like the page has turned to a new chapter. Your favorite character just died but you keep reading.

And a suitcase full of black

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Man, life does not take a break when your world stops. It doesn’t stop. It feels like it should stop. My mom died, the funeral is Monday, everyone be respectful. But no. Your sisters dog still tears and ACL and requires surgery. Your shower still gets a leak that requires a plumber. Work is still a shit show. The escape plan for May is getting pushed back to October. Your husband is still having the worst week of his career. And you’re packing a suitcase full of black clothes.

A suitcase full of black. I’m still oddly numb and practical about everything. I had to make sure my husband had appropriate clothes which required clothes shopping. I had to get new black pants for us both. So this afternoon we’re driving down to stay with the family tonight.

My over stressed husband, who’s been in quarantine for nearly a year, is being forced to stay with other bubbles. However, it’s unavoidable. He knows this. I do worry about all of these bubbles crashing for the funeral. Ugh. When are we getting a damn vaccine rolled out for all of us? I can only pray there’s no virus spreading going on with the funeral. We won’t be having visitation at the funeral but we’re having a big lunch after. Not remotely my decision. But how can I say no? It’s moms funeral. The family wants to do lunch after which I thought was nice. But now a lot of people are coming to lunch. I’m a bit worried. I’ve already bowed out my husband but I feel obligated to go. Mom just died of Covid and we’re having a party. Blarg.

Well, wish us luck. Emotional and health-wise. Here we go.

Trying to keep my cool

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So mom’s funeral is Monday. This is my off Friday, so when I filled out my time card, I went ahead and entered bereavement leave for the funeral next week. I almost burst into tears.

I love time off. I hate working and in particular I hate my current job (don’t worry, I have something in the pipeline for May). So missing work is awesome. And free PTO? Sign me up! But bereavement leave… for my momma? I don’t want this. Not like this. I’ve joked about using bereavement leave in the past for my father because I’m a terrible human being — but my momma?

I guess it’s strange things that can trigger grief. K gave me a card I knew was from old coworkers with condolences and I didn’t even open it until I got home. Couldn’t afford to cry on my lunch break.

K said shes coming to the funeral. K, you so don’t need to drive two hours to come. I wont be able to see you and even if I did, I couldn’t give you the big hug you deserve and cry on you cause she was my momma. I’m crying as I type this. I’m so glad you at least knew her a little bit. I was so blessed to have such wonderful relationship with mom and I’m so blessed to have you as a best friend.

Alright, I’m gonna go hug the cat.

I wanted to crawl in a hole and die. Then the check engine light came on.

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I has been a week. Let me tell ya. Monday I was so anxious and overwhelmed that I skipped work. I had watched 90 Day Fiance which was me and moms show. We both call each other to remind each other it is coming on and then talk about how crazy everyone is. And Natalie be CRAZY. Mom will never see how crazy she is and we cant talk about it. Who’s watching our show with me now? Just me and the cat, I guess. And he doesn’t care how crazy Natalie is, which she really is.

I’ve been hyper focused on the cat as a bit of a break from the far heavier death of mom. So of course I’m upset that even with all the changes, he’s still only got a life expectancy of 1 – 2 years. I assume that includes a lot of decline towards the end as well. So it’s difficult. I just gave him his fluids via stabby needle an hour or so ago. He’s resting in his bed next to me. With a big lump of fluid on his side. Poor guy.

Also, I’m anxious about starting vestibular physical therapy. With not having to drive much thanks to Covid, I had kinda of convinced myself I was all better. This is fine. Ya know? And acknowledging that I still get really sick driving is a hard pill to swallow. I certainly don’t want to go back to last January when I had to do my physical therapy exercises twice a day and got nausea and vertigo every time. It was miserable. So I don’t wanna. That’s basically what it boils down to. I don’t wanna.

Work’s been… bad, I guess? Honestly, I haven’t been working. I’ve been just getting though my days. I’m sorry, I’m just trying to not break down, yall. Like I said, Monday I didn’t even make it in to work. So my not-very-important task has been halted half done. But this is the last week of the sprint so my favorite coworker was assigned to help me with it. Of course DeBitch made a snarky asshole remark. DeBitch was one of the main reasons I didn’t go in Monday. I just didn’t want to deal with that shit. And of course I feel terrible.

It’s a team carry. I’m the teammate down and my team is carrying me over the finish line. It’s embarrassing and …well… embarrassing. I’m ashamed of myself. But then I also need the carry. So I’m grateful but also want to crawl up in a hole and die. Mostly the latter.

So I’ve got a lot going on that’s stressing me out. A lot. And then the check engine light in my car comes on yesterday on the way to work. God dammit, are you serious? So I have a scanner to read the codes — it’s some faulty circuit in the temperature sensor. But still, kick me when I’m down, will ya?

I just want to crawl up in a hole and die. Or to retire and crawl up on the couch and never leave the house again. That’s fine too.

Some Things 1/15

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1) I’m trying to get stuff for the funeral organized. We need to pick a photo for the main mom photo. But my sisters are still too distraught to look at photos. Sister I was talking to said she didn’t even leave her room yesterday. She just ate some cottage cheese she had in the fridge down there. Okay, thats not healthy.

Also, I can’t shut down. I have a job and a mortgage and a husband and a cat I had to take the the vet today. I know she’s fucked up and grieving but I kinda want to smack her. Get off your damn ass.

2) Took the cat the vet today. The good news is, all of his levels have improved! I think the vet was very impressed that I followed directions. She basically treated me like I was a good dog. I’m cool with that. Go me!

Problem is he’s still in kidney failure. I got the copies of his labs so I could look stuff up. He’s right at the bottom levels (good end) of stage 3 failure. Ugh. So I don’t think he’s going to get off the fluids and stuff. He has an average life expectancy of 2 years at this point. Let’s make ’em good.

After the bath, he was licking himself so much he had a hair ball… in the new heated cat bed. He was obsessed with it and now he wont go near it. Fuck. It’s like Mr C and grape juice. He’s traumatized now.

3) Someone was using “my” bathroom stall at work and it was surprisingly weird. There is like one bathroom per floor where I work with 6 stalls. I always use the same stall. Row 2, Stall A. It’s a good one. Row 1 Stall B runs forever. 1 A flushes too much (sensor calibration issues). I can’t use a handicapped stall so I stick with my safe 2 A. But the other day someone was in there! I had to use one of the handicapped stalls.

Am I the only one who always uses the same stall?

Heavy Sighs

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Missing mom is weird.  It’s been three weeks since we last spoke.  The last time we’d ever speak in this life.  I keep catching myself going “I’m gonna show this to mom” or “I haven’t called mom yet!” or getting up late and thinking “moms gonna rag me for sleeping so late and being late to work.”  I’m making mental notes about things I’ll tell her or talk to her about when we next talk.  I miss that connection and that outlet. 

But I’m not broken.  I’d never think I would handle her death this well.  I certainly didn’t expect it.  We were going to build mom an addition to our house.  I had it completely planned out and drawn up in sketches here or there.  We’d discussed it.  She wanted one of those step in tubs.  She’d have her own kitchenette.  It was going to mirror the dining room bay windows size and shape by the pool.  Creating a kind of courtyard.  She’d have her own home entrance and foyer on the side of the house.  And when we built it making a hallway through the storage room, I’d build in a closet for all that shit in the downstairs hall.  And there would be a wooden deck between the back doors.  I’d imagined I’d find her there a lot in the morning having coffee and tending her plants.

I miss her and I weep.  But it doesn’t feel like a massive Greek Tragedy that I think it should feel like.  The way it seems to be for the rest of my family.  They can’t talk about her without crying.  Can’t look at photos of her.  I like the memories the photos hold.  I don’t mind looking though them.  She always looked happy.  It makes me remember the trips and who took that photo.  I just ordered a 20×30 print of her sitting in a window looking out over the Fox Theater in Atlanta when I took her to see Third Days final concert tour.   I had planned to have her sign it or something.  But she won’t be here to sign it.  However, I will still have it hanging by my side of the bed.  Mom forever looking happily out the window. 

My family won’t even let me post the memorial date and time.  They’re “too upset” and “not ready.”  I don’t understand.  We’ve planned the memorial.  We’re having it, why is it weird to tell people when it is?  I completely don’t get it.  K said that maybe I’m just more in touch with my feelings and they’re not so they can’t look past themselves right now.  I can see that being true.  But shouldn’t I be more broken?  They’re all fucking puddles of tears over there.  Am I too medicated, perhaps?  Too many antidepressants?  Do I WANT to be more sad?  Should I be?  I just don’t know.  

I’ll never give her that house of her own.  We’ll never sit on the tanning ledge together again.  I imagine opening the pool this year with her gone will be a very difficult thing for me.  She loved my pool so much.  She’ll never sign the window portrait for me.  I can’t take her on a trip to a place she’s never been.  Or even a trip to a place she has been.  What will Florida be like without mom?  How will it be without her being awake before everyone having coffee on the balcony?  That’s just weird.  Should we even go?  Mom was the one who worshipped the Florida trip.

Yet I don’t feel like there are loose threads.  I don’t feel the carpet unraveling beneath me.  She had a better life than I’d even realized.  She touched so many people.   She knew I adored her and would do whatever I could for her.  I know she adored me and would do anything for me. 

I only had three touch stones.  Mr C, Mom, and my cat.  Mom was the strongest bond and now it’s lost.  And the cats in kidney failure.  And Mr C has his games. 

I keep thinking of when I worked on tanks.  “Always have three points of contact with the tank.”  Your ass, your hands, your feet, your stomach – just have at least 3 places of contact with your body and the tank at all times.  Don’t fall and break your ass on the company’s dime.  No standing willy nilly on the tanks – put your ass down.    

I had three points of contact with the Earth, life, whatever you want to call it.  And now one’s gone and one’s going.  Will I fall? I’m certainly not following directions.   I’ve never had good balance.  What will happen to me?  What will happen when I’m balancing on one foot and that foot has a bad day and just wants to play his games and be left alone?  Do I just go play Animal Crossing?  I get on every night to get my money tree and see if that bitch owl shows up.  But I’ve got over 6 million bells in the bank and she never gives me anything good anyway.  Fucking owl.