Tag Archives: humor

The Terminal


Wow, it sounds like I’m about to launch into a review about a really bad movie or explain that I have cancer or something. This, my dears, is not the case. Let me tell you the story of ‘the trip’.

As most of you know, when I started blogging on this site in October 2011, I met a girl who was also a blogger and also from Wisconsin. We bonded over a mutual love of zebras, being over-dramatic, and dumb tv shows. We long-distance helped each other make good and bad decisions and, at the end of the day, decided that it was time for us to see each other.

We plotted an intricate plan in which she would drive from where she lived to where I lived (about three hours) and we would hang out for a weekend and have cute picnics together. This, sadly, fell apart for numerous reasons, including the inevitable crushing end of our friendship/romance. It seemed, after she blocked me on every social networking site known to man, that it was simply not meant to be.

Time passed. We both got older. We both moved to different states. We missed each other and just didn’t know it yet. Then, one fateful day, we ran into each other on the internet once again. On a site just as obtuse and obscure as WordPress was back in 2011. Surprise, delight, and tears ensued. Topless Telea allowed tears to pour down her measly chest onto her curved stomach. Too many adjectives.

Reconnecting, we began Skyping every day, for hours on end. She told me about her life in New York and I did Skype topless cooking just because (are you seeing a theme here?). We talked and talked until we were both sure there was nothing more to talk about. We then found something to talk about and life resumed. 

Again, we found ourselves making fanciful plans. We both had decent jobs and thought that we could support a trip to see each other in New York City, six hours from the place she had come to call home. We tentatively planned it for the first week of February, even advance requesting a room on AirB&B. But it was not to be. I fell into a financial and living crisis while Lex…helped me out of said crisis. 

We abandoned our dreams. She began saving up money for a laptop again while I scraped together spare change to try to find a new place to live. I began couch-surfing; we stopped talking as much. I was busy and she was alone. Call it Heartbreak Hotel or whatever you’d like but what it came down to was not enough time or energy to keep up our friendship. We thought it might be the end…again.

Dun dun dun. 

Too bad we’re both too awesome to allow something beautiful to fall apart. I started getting my shit together and we began talking again. It was a challenge at first. We were both in places where we needed to butt heads with something, and me not making time for her was an ultimate betrayal of trust. Basically, we had some shit to work through.

Time passed. We continued to get older, cuter, and maybe wiser. Her boyfriend turned into the ultimate piece of shit. Mine didn’t ever really exist. He was back in Wisconsin and my ability to commit is…vapid. The situation took a turn for the worst when Lex realized she couldn’t live with her man anymore. Emotionally damaged and needing a friend, the two super-buddies reached out one more time into the recesses of the internet in the hopes that someone would fuel their jet (ha. hahaha.).

Somehow, it works. VS (Not Victoria’s Secret) hopped on board the Telex train and powered it all the way to the airport. A confirmation email arrived in my inbox with booked times to fly from Minneapolis to Philadelphia to Erie, where Lex and her friend would pick me up. The flight was scheduled for the very next day. Getting my best panties in a twist, I packed for my adventure. Early the next morning, you could see me walking down the snow-covered streets of Minneapolis with two small bags and my best summer dress. 

Don’t ask me why, after 19 years of living in the Midwest, I still feel it necessary to dress like an idiot during the cold months. I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried.

We take a short break in our story to inform you of some key information you might need to know for this next tidbit. Two months ago, I lost my ID somewhere. Being a couch-hopping, Minnesota resident now, I was incapable of finding a way to renew it or get a new one altogether. So I was left with an 8.5×11 sheet of printer paper with my photo ID photocopied onto it. 

This is something I advise against having when trying to fly somewhere. It is not considered an acceptable form of ID and you will be subjected to a TSA standardized validation process. Basically it’s a whole extra screening. When I read about it, it seemed pretty mild. They would look through my bags, pat me down, ask a few questions about my mom…

Sadly, that is not what happened. Kudos to TSA for still making it an expedited experience but comfortable and easy? I think not. They asked me the date of birth of my mother, my father, and one other close relative. They required maiden names, social security numbers, phone numbers, state of birth, etc. After the questioning was done, they screened my bags, testing the clothes and items with little strips tests that I think were meant to find chemical traces?

After this was all said and done, I was patted down and then strip searched. Yes, my dears, a nineteen year old cute while female was subjected to airport humiliation and crossed boundaries. It happens sometimes. 

Finally, I was cleared to fly. I excitedly walked to my gate, ready to take off into never-never land…only to find I was three hours early for my flight. Having come prepared with a book, I settled in to enjoy the fine company of Terry Pratchett. Finally, it was 1:48pm. FINALLY I was going to leave. Set off to see Lex’s face in person for the first time. I hurried to the bathroom to dispose of my nervous urine waste and then hurried back to the terminal.

Forty-five minutes later and no airplane in sight, I begin freaking out. Full-blown panic-attack mode. I’m brow-furrowed studying my ticket for inconsistencies. Maybe I went to the wrong gate. Maybe I’m in the wrong terminal. Maybe the flight is tomorrow. Instead of being a logical person and, you know, asking someone, I make the executive decision to just wait at my gate and see if the plane decides to suddenly show up two hours late.

Tee-lee Dodge, will you please come check in at Gate E-4 to discuss your flight information?”

Uh-oh. Maybe I’ve been denied passage into Narnia. Maybe Armageddon has arrived. My mind must be diseased and I’m probably just in a dream where all of my worst fears are coming true when it comes to air travel. I’m going to look down and realize I’m not wearing pants and my luggage is in India and my ticket has been canceled and I’m stuck in Iowa.

 Nay, none of this happens to be true. I walk up to E-4 and address the flight attendant and she informs me that the flight was so delayed that I would miss my connecting flight in Philly and so they – US Airways – switched my flight over to United Airways and I was on a plane out at 6pm. At this point, I think this is the worst news I’ve ever heard in my life.

I have a panic attack. I cry in front of hundreds of people. I call my mom…twice. I am full-blown raging with fear and lunacy. Finally, I calm down. I reason with myself. The flight is going to be only two hours later. Don’t panic, man. Life is good. I am sent to Gate E-8 to pick up my new boarding passes. I stand in line for one hour only to be told that since my flight is at six and it’s only four…I’m going to have to come back.

Again, I snap into panic mode. To a girl who has never flown solo or had to deal with any airport situations on her own at all, two hours is NOT enough time to get boarding passes, get to the gate, and successfully board a flight. My solution is to go get some food to pass the time.

Here comes another side-story filled with wretched anger and indignation. If you’re going to put a Burger King…in an Airport…you should do it with the same prices you charge not in an airport. This will get you booming business and everyone else will suffer except you. It’s beautiful. What you should not do is charge seven dollars for a chicken sandwich and then serve me a poor excuse for a chicken nugget on a soggy bun. That is highway robbery and I will not stand for it. Except for six hours ago when I totally stood for it.

I finish my food and return to E-8 for my boarding passes where I am told by an older woman who calls everyone ‘babe’ that “That flight has also been delayed due to weather and so you will miss your connecting flight if you board it.”

Oh. Fucking. Joy.

“Here, I’m going to turn you over to Wendolynn who will work on a new flight with you.”

Thanks, Patrice. You’ve been a real help to me in my hour of need. At this point, there are tears silently streaming down my face as Wendolynn searches for new flights and comes up with nothing. After 20 minutes, I’m ready to call it quits and kudos to her for looking for so long for a flight that probably isn’t there…just because a cute, desperate, crying girl is being cute and desperate and also, well, crying.

I ask her if there’s any way she can issue a refund and she says yes, but tells me to hold on a minute.

“I might have found something.” My hear soars into the air the way I should have been hours previously and then sinks again. I am not prepared for the false prophet even one more time. Please do not do this to me. Please let this be real.

“I can get you on a flight to Chicago at 7 pm. From there, you’ll catch a flight to Cleveland, Ohio tomorrow morning at 6:30. After a layover in Cleveland, I can get you on this flight to Erie. You’ll be there by 2. I can book it right now.”

Now let me hear you say AMEN. 

HAIL WENDOLYNN, EVERYBODY.

We book the flight and I call Lex to make sure it’s okay. She informs me that, hell or high water, there will be someone at the airport to pick me up. I cry again. I find a place to plug in my laptop. I get my boarding passes. I charge my phone. I make continuous strange eye contact with an older gentleman that bears a haunting resemblance to Mr. Bean. I sit next to a cute guy who keeps almost talking to me. I act like a fifteen year old girl and chicken out on talking to him. We’re both going to Chicago. He gets on the other plane. I pout.

Finally, I am boarding my plane. Finally, I am sitting in an airplane with all of my stuff. Finally, after 10 hours of sitting at MSP, I am going somewhere.

The flight takes off, as flights do, and in just over an hour, I am stepping off an AA Airplane onto Illinois land, blessing the very ‘O’hare Airport’ terminal grounds that I walk on. I have arrived at my first destination. I’m actually on the way. It’s not a pipe dream, I’m really going to Narnia…or Jamestown, New York.

After buying another book, walking forever to find terminal one, and confirming my flight details, here I am. Sitting at a Wifi port that I paid too much money to connect to and typing out this glorious story. I am 408 miles closer to Lexi. I haven’t cried in at least four hours. 

As I sit in this mostly-empty terminal, I reflect on the day. Mostly by writing about it and posting it on the internet. Despite all of the stress, the panic, the bad tickets. Despite my literal airport shop of horrors coming true, I am here. I am on my way. I am, again, a traveling, wayward soul in search of something possibly greater than me, possibly just kisses and pizza.

I am ready for whatever challenge I have next. I am ready for the next fourteen hours in and out of airports, the two hour drive back to Lex’s, whatever comes next. I forgot that my fear of bad things happening is my defense mechanism against my flight mechanism. I am reminded that, at the end of the day, I can get my head together. I can make it. And I will. Today Chicago. Tomorrow Ohio, Philadelphia, New York. Later, the world. Bring it on.

With many hugs and kisses from wherever in the world I happen to be next, I love you all…and safe travels.

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The Nonprofit Sector


I have a new job. That job is no longer a job in which I stand out on the streets begging for money like a prostitute sans sexual favors. Nothing against the old job; it just wasn’t my condom brand. Anyway, I still wanted to work with a nonprofit organization, so I applied at the local Goodwill-like shopping center in my new hometown.

After a week and a half without a reply, I was worried I wasn’t going to get the callback. I had, in fact, applied at numerous places and not received word from any, except for a no-reply email from HR telling me I ‘didn’t fit the particular needs of the company; we will consider you for future positions’.

Put out and afraid I wasn’t going to be able to pay rent anymore, I ate a whole pizza and fell asleep with almost-tears in my eyes. The next thing you know, I’m being awoken by my phone, harshly ringing back ‘The Gravity For Now’ to inform me that I was receiving a call from an unknown phone number. Groggily, I answered the call. It was the General Manager for the nonprofit, calling for a phone interview. After being pleased by all of my answers, she arranged an interview with two of her supervisors the following day.

Skipping the part where I got all nervous and excited and didn’t know what to wear, we’re now approaching the part where I, dressed impeccably, showed up for my interview. They asked a lot of questions about my experiences in volunteering, which was my sign that I was going to bag this job no problem.

As you may or may not know, I have literally thousands of hours of volunteer work under my belt from a long line of service to the Girl Scouts, the local 4-H club, the Boy Scouts, and my mother. Needless to say, they really enjoyed my bubbly personality along with my ‘I can do it’ attitude. They also didn’t mind the aforementioned pro-level volunteer stats.

The following Monday, I was hired. Tuesday, I passed my background check. And yesterday I worked my very first part-time shift with them, which was very enjoyable and not too tedious at all. I get to punch in my clock number, which is weird and exciting and something I’ve never done before.

I’m now scheduled to work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays for the rest of the month. After that, they might discuss a raise in earnings (from minimum wage to something more suitable for a human being) or hours, which I would actually adore. Working four hours a day is nice because hey, you only have to work twelve hours a week and you have a lot of time to party rock, but working four hours a day isn’t nice because hey, you have rent to pay, food to buy, and no money left over for party rocking.

Again, anonymous thousand-dollar contributions to the blog…wink.

Anyway, I have to go cash the paycheck from my old job and buy some milk and butter and other household necessities. I also feel the need to take a long, hot shower in celebration of me being all ‘grown up and responsible’.

Love ya!

The New Place


Wow, it has been a long time since I came here. The weather is a little overcast on this blog so I thought I would cheer it up with some really good news in a few different directions.

The first order of business is probably to state that I moved. I am no longer a resident of the State of Wisconsin, much less that tiny little town that I sarcastically called ‘home’ for so long. Yes, my dear friends, I am now a resident of the land of ten thousand lakes; Minnesota. Currently located in a cute little apartment eight miles outside of downtown Minneapolis, I am content with the way this city rubs me. It’s semi-orgasmic.

I got a place with a friend of mine from Wisconsin, who is just wonderful. She gave me the whole living room as a bedroom, which gives me the incentive to keep everything clean for company. Speaking of company, I can now just invite people over because I don’t have to ask my parents. I just have to let my roomie know and BOOM, they’re on the next bus in my direction.

This has resulted in a significant increase in the number of snuggles I get. It also betters my relationship with my family, as they don’t have to deal with me as often. 

I did spend a month being homeless in the streets of Minneapolis. Sleeping in parks, sometimes crashing on couches, and being generally smelly, I got free food from the local pizza joint every night at bar-close and made my bus fare/emergency money by playing my guitar on street corners.

It was an interesting and semi-exciting experience, to say the least, and it opened my eyes to just how little a person actually needs to exist happily. This makes my living arrangements so much simpler because I have not much stuff at all anymore. It also makes me just generally appreciate everything I have. I did meet some pretty excellent people while I was homeless, and am still in touch with them today.

Upon the luckiness of finding a place to live, I was even more delighted to find that my rent was only two hundred and fifty a month, and that we had granite counter-tops. Wow, it was like I was living the high life. I got a job working for a Grassroots Campaign raising money for gay rights and civil liberties. 

I loved the cause but I wasn’t too big on standing on street corners for eight hours reciting a script to whoever I could trick into stopping. Canvassing is a hard and monotonous job with very little excitement but a lot of moral rewards. However, I found it necessary to leave the canvassing industry and seek a more steady line of work (canvassing, being a commission-based job, pays very little and you can get fired if you don’t make quota every day). 

I rushed to apply at every fast food place, grocery store, organization, etc in the nearby area. Another downside of my canvassing job was a one and a half hour commute to and from work every day, which left me with no time six days a week. I got a callback on an application today and have an interview for well-paid part-time work at a place very similar to Goodwill.

I really hope I get the job because the hours don’t interfere with my life and it’s enough money to pay rent and buy food and pay my little sister back for paying my first month’s rent in the new place.

Overall, I’m a pretty happy camper. I did experience some pretty deep and numbing depression over pretty much nothing last night and took the heart-crushing insomnia-inducing emotions out on messaging an old friend and telling them how much I missed them and how much less I was without them. Not expecting a reply, I was stunned and moved to tears when they replied in kind. We’re speaking again now for the first time in over a year and it’s really magnificent.

I have been practicing guitar a lot and working on my fingerpicking, which leads to better tips on nights when I go back out to those same street corners and strut my stuff for money, which is to say that I’m a musical prostitute, receiving tips for cooing sweet nothings to the general passing public. I really enjoy it.

Anyway, I must be off. There are showers to be had and life to be lived. I will hopefully be posting more often now that the apartment has been officially hooked up with it’s own wifi network and I am in possession of my very own laptop. 

Love ya!

Sing the Glorious Tales of My Last Morning With a Computer


Great news! I leave this morning for a weekend long adventure that I have already spent far too long talking about. We’re first headed to Menomonie for some casual food, shopping, coffee, and other cliche hipster girl things. There is a reason for this.

Alexa and I have become too accustomed to being ‘those typical’ girls who go to town all of the time and get coffee, pizza, or ice cream and then wander around looking way too attractive to be approachable. It’s a thing we do and it’s a serious problem.

Now, Alice is sometimes in on it as well, so today is a weekend farewell to that kind of business. Because when you’re at a Ren Faire, you don’t need to be that asshole that goes to the same town four times a week to do the exact same thing and then call it an adventure.

Mostly because you’re busy being the most attractive you have ever been in your life (I’m a huge fan of Renaissance gear, it turns me on a bit) and hanging out with a ton of other really attractive people who have varying scales of talent in faking old European accents and gallivanting.

So yeah. Alexa will be here in the next thirty minutes and I am not packed or anything and not sure if I’m supposed to be showering or not. The only reason that I am on the computer at this time is to ask her these pressing questions, but she isn’t replying.

Also, I’m bidding farewell to all of my various social networking apps while I’m gone for a whole two and a half days. By the way, in other good news, next week I work every day doing morning shifts at a local CSA.

So I am again making money which, in turn, funds my douchey adventures which, in turn leaves me wanting of money making. Vicious cycle.

Anyway, I hope all of your weekends are as good as mine is projected to be.

Love ya!

 

The Smoking Problem


Friends, I’m not really that much of a smoker. In fact, if I have a whole pack of cigarettes in front of me and I am alone, the likeliness that I will take and smoke one is just about zero percent.

However. And this is a huge, please forgive me for my problem, kind of ‘however’. When I am around other people who are smoking (which is rare, so it’s okay) and there is a whole pack of cigarettes in front of me…

I will smoke a cigarette EVERY time someone else lights one. Every single time. And this has been a problem of late only because the people I hang out with are ALSO social smokers. So it goes like this.

“Do you want a cigarette?”

“If you have one, I’ll smoke one, too.”

And the problem is; we’re all trying to be so polite that each of us ends up smoking as many cigarettes as we all have. Which is generally too many cigarettes, especially if you’re under the belief (as you should be) that even one cigarette is too many cigarettes.

I am firmly against you smoking if you are as well. Habits and addictions are not good things to form, especially if they are ones that have the potential to kill you. Speaking of warnings, the cigarette packages no longer say ‘may cause lung cancer’ anymore. Nope.

We have reached a whole new level of douchebaggery since ‘not everyone’ gets lung cancer from smoking cigarettes. The new Surgeon General’s warning is: “Caution, cigarettes contain Carbon Monoxide.”

I shit you not. This is what they say. Not ‘this could be toxic’ or ‘please stay away if you value your life’…no, it’s ‘I hope you know what Carbon Monoxide is because, bitch, you’re gonna die.’

So there was your informative guide to my deadly habits and a small rant about cigarette companies being soul-sucking douchebags.

Today, Alexa and Alice came over and we hung out and talked out the songs we’re going to be performing at the Renaissance Faire this weekend. Tomorrow, we are going on an adventure to either Eau Claire or Menomonie, and then setting up camp at the Ren Faire grounds and prepping the site as much as we can.

On Saturday, the festival begins and I will be spending two hours shucking corn during that day instead of gallivanting about and having a good time. But it’s money and I cannot protest money making at this time in my life, so that is the plan.

You may not hear from me at all until after the weekend, but, I assure you…

You will survive. I’m a bad addiction to have anyway. Too many times I will just make you go cold turkey and no one likes the drawbacks of not having me around.

Love ya!

The Sore Finger Syndrome and Renaissance Faires (Again)


Hello lovelies and welcome to another day of ‘Telea Incessantly Talks About Herself and Expects Others to Not Only Pay Attention but Also to Adore Her’. The first order of business is probably to shorten that title by just a hair.

I have been bettering myself. Slightly. A little bit. Other than the stress of the day every day which causes me to, sadly, cave and smoke a cigarette, I am revitalizing myself in many small ways. 

“Telea, you’re only eighteen…you don’t need to ‘revitalize’ yourself. Stop being an idiot.”

I must not be doing a great job of revitalizing myself because my imaginary talky people are still down on me. Anyway, enough with the stupid, not even humorous, ranting. We’re actually going to talk about me bettering myself.

Yesterday I heard a song on the radio that I grew up listening to. This song, in case you were wondering, is titled ‘One Headlight’ by The Wallflowers and is so wonderfully sad that I just have no words for how it has impacted my life.

So, regardless of the two bar chords the song decided to throw at me, I printed off the lyrics and chords and began practicing them on my dad’s guitar (because mine is horridly out of tune and also needs new strings).

Less than 24 hours later I can easily transition to these bar chords and they sound almost pretty good and also I rock at singing so the song is, in general, coming together really well. However, the fingers on my left hand are so achy that I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to play another bar chord in my life.

For those of you who have not played stringed instruments and know nothing of the craft:

When you play the instrument a lot, the fingers on the hand pressing down on the strings to play chords or fingerpick generally get sore and irritated (and sometimes blistered) from practicing so much. An easy solution for me would be to actually pick up my guitar and play it every day instead of skipping out for weeks or even months but apparently I suck.

So that covers sore fingers and now we’re moving on to Renaissance Faires. Again. (Last year was a whole hullabaloo and you’re probably not interested).

So this weekend is the second annual ‘Ren in the Glen’ or ‘Glenfest’ festival (redundant). It takes place in Glenwood City, Wisconsin, and if you live nearby (within 200 miles, I mean)… you should definitely attend.

It’s a small faire right now, but, come on, it’s only in its second year and that means that you would have more time to spend/interact with the actors (such as myself) and no big lines for the vendors or food stands.

So I’m mostly excited because I get to camp out there with all of the actors this year (because I am, in fact, an actor this year) and we’re going to stay up and sing English Folk songs and have a fire and it’s going to be the height of excellence.

I also went Goodwilling yesterday and found my outfit, which is kind of…Renaissance Bavarian Tavern Wench-y? Here’s a photograph:

Image

 

The only part that I didn’t buy yesterday was the corset (fifteen dollars) and the necklace (handmade by my friend Grace). The rest came to a total of 21 dollars (yes, that includes the shoes) and is pretty perfect. Also yes, I understand that it’s a terrible photo of my face but that’s what you get when you’re up for two nights straight and then spend the entire day shopping, which is a pastime I do not enjoy one bit.

So yeah, that’s my life right now.

Love ya!

The Bailing Habit


Hello internet. 

I’m sure you’re surprised that I’ve actually been posting of late. Don’t worry; so am I. I was thinking about my blog a couple of weeks ago and just feeling so down about the fact that I started this blog for me and to make myself feel good and then I let go of it a bit, thus feeling less good. 

I partially blame my slight over-addiction to Tumblr, where I run a blog as well, but without all of the actual writing blog posts bit and more of the reblogging pictures of butts and articles on social justice bit.

So, I have a bailing habit. I find something pretty and useless and bail on the slightly more useful and definitely more emotionally effective thing I had before. If you didn’t catch that: I sacrificed my soul to Tumblr Satan and spent time forgetting all about my website over here at WordPress.

So it makes almost no sense that I would be frustrated and irritated with somebody who did basically the same thing to me in real life. I am aware that I will choose swimming over garden work and kissing over hugging, etc. I know that my habit is one that mostly just makes me seem like a gigantic douchebag all of the time…but the one thing I don’t do is make plans with someone over plans I already had.

For example.

Say that Cindy and Matthew are going to go to the mall on Friday.  They’ve been planning this for a couple of day and Cindy has been saving money to buy some things and she’s super pumped. Suddenly, on the day of the Mall Trip, Matthew says he met a girl yesterday and is going on a date with her today.

Of course, Cindy is happy that Matthew met a girl, but hey, ‘bros before hos’ and all those other cliches and she feels really left out and ditched. The reason for this isn’t just because Matthew made other plans. It also involves the fact that Matthew and Cindy have known each other for a long time and he is bailing on Cindy for a girl he just met.

It sucks.

Now, my situation is not really like that. But it is, kind of.

If a person messages you and wants to hang out and you alter your plans around this person so that you can spend time together, that person should definitely pick up the fucking phone when you call them when you get home.

So basically I had plans with Nicholas. And then Josh messaged me. And I was like: Hey I already have plans and so you’re gonna have to wait OR I will be home before nine and I can call you at nine to make plans. He said that was perfect and things would work out great from there.

When I went to Nicholas’s place, the family invited me to go to the drive-in with a whole bunch of other people I enjoy being around. I had to, sadly, decline because I already had plans with Josh. Or DID I?

Spoiler Alert: I didn’t and I sat home for the rest of the night on the computer while watching Downton Abbey with my mom.

So the lesson is: If you want to make plans with me and you say ‘call at this time’ or ‘let’s hang out at this time’ or, worst of all ‘I’ll be there in half an hour’ and then you fail to come through with picking up the phone, following through, or SHOWING UP…

Don’t make plans with me because I will be very sad, still forgive you, and my quality of life will go down because you continually disappoint me.

Side Note: If something serious came up for you (i.e, doctor, car accident, ran out of gas, phone broke, family emergency, etc), I won’t be disappointed by you, but I would hope that, if you could, you let me know that there was a crisis and that we will have to reschedule.

Rant over.

Love ya!