The Climb

I really love to walk. And for the most part, when I'm not tripping over thin air and running into walls, I am actually pretty good at it. My temperamental back limits the kinds of activities I can do, and since running, jumping, and pole dancing are all out, walking has become my main focus. Living in San Francisco gave me plenty of opportunity to really challenge and fine tune my walking skills. There are so many amazing scenic walks you can do, not to mention since the city is so small, I tried to use walking as a mode of transportation as much as possible. My favorite walk was one I did right from my house. It was about a 3.5 mile loop that peaked at the Moraga Steps and then winded back down to my house at Ulloa. That walk kicked my ass many times, but it was always worth it when I got to the top of the stairs and could see over the entire Sunset all the way to the beach. Unfortunately once this past semester got crazy, it seemed I never had time to fit in any long walking adventures, so instead I just settled for the decent walk to and from school.

Now having moved back to LA, walking to and from places seems to be a laughable concept. Not to mention the pretty flat layout of the valley doesn't really provide much excitement or challenge. So I have decided that the obvious next step is to become an avid hiker. Duh, right? It makes total sense in my crazy mind. I'm determined to make this happen, and I am taking my parents down with me. The first weekend I was back I made them get up at 7 am, and we hiked up near the Franklin Reservoir and the Lake where they filmed the opening to Andy Griffith. (OH the glamor of Los Angeles!) It wasn't until my Dad said, "Watch out for rattle snakes" did I think maybe I made this decision a little rashly.

But I'm going to power through. Rattle snakes schmattle snakes! I'll just have to pick up a walking shiv, just in case any shanking becomes necessary. I am really looking forward to exploring different and more nature oriented parts of the city. And with any luck, I'll do something stupid, providing laughs and enjoyment for us all. If your looking for a hiking partner, you now know who to call....

LA LA LA

Welp. I officially graduated college. Well, I officially wore the cap and gown and received my official "upon final review of your application you will receive your diploma" letter. So now I'm just sitting with my fingers crossed waiting for the grades to roll in. I'm pretty positive I'll be okay but sending some luck my way couldn't hurt.

So now what do I do? I guess it's time to start progressively growing up right? Well like most things in my life I'm gonna procrastinate on that small detail just a little bit longer. That's right in a weekish I am reverting back to my childhood and moving back in with good ole Mom and Dad. I'm sick of paying bills, hunting people down for rent, and fixing things. I have re lit the pilot light in the water heater, stuck my hand down the garbage disposal, and reset the fuse box way too many times. So now I think I am gonna to take a break. Next time something sparks and then explodes I'm gonna sit back and shout, "Daaaaaaaaad!" I heard that was the magic word to get things fixed, I'm just itching to see if it works. (Oh Dad, I can already see your smirk and hear your scoff as you read this. Don't pretend you're not excited to have me hanging around the house all the time.)

I'm pretty stoked for this new roommate situation. I think it's gonna work out real well. I'll just be happy to have food in the house with regularity, and the occasional home cooked meal. It takes very little to please me. I have even been upgraded from the library to the guestroom. Which is great because I don't think my college degree was going to provide me with the appropriate credentials to manage my parents book collection. The Dewey Decimal system always confused me. I doubt they'll let me forget that my new room is actually the guestroom though. Pretty sure they don't want me getting too attached to living there. I'll try not to, but I can't promise they won't get too attached to me. I am pretty awesome.

Luckily this time when it came to moving , my Dad and brothers were able to come up and help me out. The last time I moved I had to fend for myself and I think four girls with a 24 foot U-Haul in San Francisco is explanation enough for why it was imperative I get some help this time around. Unfortunately my Dad was here last weekend for graduation, so he only wanted to stay until Tuesday. This means that all of my stuff, with the exception of two suitcases and a mattress topper has been gone since Monday night. So for the rest of the week I am inhabiting in what my roommates so fondly call a crack den. My life is nothing if not thrilling.

I am excited to embark on a new adventure in a new (old) place, meet new people, and try different things. It's clear that a change of scenery is something I really need, but I am really sad to be leaving this city. It will always have a piece of my heart and I think that's collateral enough to keep coming back. (DANIELLE!) It hasn't even hit me that I'm really leaving. I have been so caught up in finishing school, packing, cleaning, and dealing with my job that this whole past week has been a blur. Even though I have lifted box after box and donated all my furniture to Salvation army, it still feels like I am just heading home for summer break and eventually I'll be back. I am sure that once I am home, possibly unemployed, and with what will seem like an endless amount of unpacking, the sadness will probably set in. I'll have to find something to keep my mind off of thinking about it too much.

So for now, it's a weekend filled with 22 and a half hours of work, cleaning, and tying up all the loose odds and ends. Then it's up early Monday morning for one last decent down the lovely I-5. (I'm excited to hit all my favorite gas station bathrooms, unfortunately I'll be way to early for Sonic slushie happy hour.Which is even MORE collateral for making a trip back!) But don't worry San Francisco, even though I am heading back to the land where people talk like me, I'll be visiting before you know it!

Thanks for showing me a hella good time. <3

RING RING!

Isn't it weird when people have "regular phone" ringtones on their cell phones? I honestly get really tripped out when I am walking around the mall and all the sudden it sounds like my parent's land line is ringing. How confusing is that when these people are at home and someone calls, how do they differentiate between which phone it is? I am definitely slower than that average smart person when it comes to these things, and if this was a problem I had to face on a regular basis you would see me standing between the two phones with my eyes moving back and forth like a koo koo clock. That's right, I would be perplexed, undoubtedly every time. The other thing that gets me is how it always has to be the most ancient regular phone sound. It seriously sounds like that candlestick phone that my grandparents have in their house. You know the one where you have to hold one piece to your ear and talk into the other. There is nothing like hearing that crazy ring and turning to see some guy answer his iphone. Always cracks me up....and maybe that was his intention.

I think ringtones say a lot about a person. In a world where we are practically inseparable and dependent upon our phones, ringtones are open ground for making judgements about people. I know this, because like all of you I am guilty of judging based on ringtones. Maybe judging has too negative a connotation, but you know when you get to experience a person's ringtone for the first time, it makes you think. Why that song? or Really?? This is precisely why I spent days trying to find the perfect one. That and the fact that I know I am too lazy to change it all the time, so I had to come up with something that I wouldn't get sick of. And it was worth it, because I found the perfect ringtone.. It is everything I could have ever asked for. And more.


"Tootsie Roll" by the 69 Boyz. First of all this song brings back nothing but fond memories of elementary school. I had older brothers, who were into the whole rap/ r&b thing, so obviously my taste was advanced for my age, I don't really like to brag about it. Second of all it is a jaaaaaam! I love this song, and I do a mean tootsie roll. (for a completely uncoordinated, rhythm less white girl). Every time my phone rings I like to do a little dance, because the song is so good! How could you resist? But what I love most about this ringtone is people never expect it from me. They hear my phone ringing and turn around, definitely not expecting to find an awkward bright color wearing white girl. I like that look of surprise people give me, it makes me smile. I feel like I am earning extra cool points; "Alright Lauren, you're kind of weird, but legit ringtone, we'll hire you!" haha A girl can hope!! So my advice to all of you is to take some time, come up with a good ringtone, and give the people around you something to think about...

For G.G, With Love

It miraculously seems like I pulled it off. Somehow I managed to think up seven designs, sew them together, and get every single one of them down a runway. I'm still not sure how any of this happened, but I know that there were A LOT of people who made it possible. This whole past month has only proved to me that I quite possibly have the best family and friends in the world, and I'm sorry to get a little mushy, but I think it's necessary to thank them...right now...on this blog.

Most importantly, this line was for my grandmother G.G, without whom I wouldn't have ever learned to sew or swear at that god damn machine quite so eloquently. I wish she could have been here to see it, I think despite the many flaws and mistakes, she still would have been proud. I'll always be thinking of her when I'm attempting to sew something together, made with love....and then blood, sweat and tears. Of course.

This past month has been an insane blur, I'm still confused on how it all came together. But I know I owe the people who put up with me on a daily basis BIIIIG time. My parents are obviously amazing, always believing in me, for who knows what reason. My Dad taking me to the garment district, and just calmly watching as I had a "light orange pink, but not too pink, but not too orange" fabric meltdown. Then walking with me to store after store searching for the perfect blue khaki, only to finally decide the fabric I had passed up a thousand times, was actually exactly what I was looking for. Oh those crazy designers! My Mom for ripping the seams in all the mistakes I made, and cutting my patterns out of fabric. She even let my "sewing studio" explode all over her dinning room table for a week...and not once did she ever complain about the mess.


My sister Ally, and Nath for spending an entire 28 hours straight with me, the day before it was all due, cutting threads, ripping seams, and keeping me company. All though they were wary about it, they even let me have my coffee equipped with caffeine shots twice in one day. (Decaf is for babies!) But more than likely that was for their own benefit, I saw all the smiling and laughing as I mumbled things incoherently in my cracked out state. Those 28 hours were sleepless and rough, and I'm grateful that they stuck by my side as there definitely was a moment where I ended up crouched in a ball, in tears. I was going to throw it all away and give up, and they told me I had to power through. In that dark moment, somewhere amongst all my panic, Ally was able to MacGyver me an invisible zipper foot, basically saving the day (or reaaaally early morning). I was ready to just call all the outfits "backless." Zipperless and unfinished...new up and coming fashion trend! Watch out!

But most of all I think I have to thank Kimi. This would have never happened without her. Between her button sewing, zipper creating, hook and eye attaching, and knack for laying down the rules, I would not have had a single item to bring in that Monday morning. She sat up the entire night with me. From 6pm until 7am the next morning when I put all my garments on hangers and walked out the door. She even co piloted a 3am Walgreen's run, for duct tape and crazy glue. And at 5 am, when all I wanted to do was stalk people on facebook, she made it blatantly clear how irresponsible that was, and ordered me to keep sewing. So I did. Sew. Sew. Sew. Throughout this entire process she has been there to answer my stupid color and cut questions, and to okay every design decision I made. (So if you hated it all, blame KIMI!) Juuust kidding. If you didn't like it, you can suck it. So thanks once again to my buddy. Love, your pal.

Thanks also to Nicole who brought over her machine for me to borrow, even if i did maybe break it (which if it needs to be fixed, you better let me pay for it!) All of my models who looked absolutely beautiful, but especially Chelsea and Melissa, who let me practically molest them in alterations, and helped cut threads when I was adjusting everything. Plus they made me laugh. I needed it for the small amount of sanity I kept. Sammie, obvs, for just being her, and for enthusiastically loving all my clothes, even when they were still in muslin. Oh yeah, and for attempting to dress me. But really just humoring me in wearing the ridiculous outfit I picked out. Thanks to everyone who came out and supported the show, my brothers for being my professional photographers (even if you seemed a little too interested in the nipple pictures you got). And lastly to all of you who wished me good luck! It meant a lot to me that you even remembered it was happening. But then again I have been blogging, facebooking, and tweeting about it for a month now, so maybe there was no way you could forget.

I am so relieved that it's all over. I can't believe all of that work just disappeared in a quick four hours, but it was well worth it. Unfortunately for you all I did not trip down the runway, but apparently this was the face I decided to go with. I just couldn't figure out what I was supposed to do, wave? I'm not a princess or a celebrity. Clap? It seemed a little too "go me!". So obviously halfway sticking my tongue out was the appropriate middle ground. Sometimes I really am such a goon. But a goon with some amazing people in her life, so thanks again to EVERYONE! (especially my loyal readers, you guys are pretty freaking cool. i promise less sewing stress means more fun bloggin!)

Why Everyone Hates Me.

Almost every friendship I have ever had has begun with the other person saying, "I thought you hated me when I first met you." Let me tell you why:

First off sarcasm and a dry sense of humor do not really make for a great first impression. In fact they mix together to create a horrible one, usually resulting in everyone thinking I am a huge bitch. Which, although I can have my moments, I can assure you that most of the time I am pretty genuinely nice. Second, I am very shy, therefore making me seem uncomfortable and awkward when meeting new people. Again, to someone I have never met before, this translates to me being snobby, and uninterested. In reality I am probably extremely intrigued by you and therefore intimidated beyond belief. My mind is most likely racing to try and come up with something impressive to say, usually this is overturned by my nerves and ends in an epic fail.

These two characteristics present the basis of my problem, but what really seals the deal together is the lack of control I have over my facial expressions. That's right, this beautiful face of mine gets me into A LOT of trouble, and never the good kind. I guess nothing about the way my normal expression looks says "Hey! Be my friend!" It is really difficult for me to walk around smiling all the time and not looking creepy. It does not come natural to me at all. I just can't look like this every day:

I mean that is smile deserving of a special occasion, and I can't justify wasting it on something as mundane as walking to and from class. So I have to settle and accept that I'll never be that person that just exudes happiness, in fact on a regular day, I probably look something more like this:


Why no one wants to befriend that, I'll never know.

While those lovely faces prevent me from making friends, the worst of all are the facial expressions that ruin my friendships. Apparently my expressions are an open book, and whatever I am thinking in my head is easily read through that look on my face. So the entire time someone is blabbing about something absolutely absurd and ridiculous, as I am thinking what an idiot they are, my face is shouting that same sentiment right at them. I'm also sure the eye rolling I can never control, doesn't really help either. I suppose acting will never be a possible career choice for me. Oh well, cross that off the list.


My ingenious solution is to spend some time training to perfect this problem. I plan to sit in front of a mirror, while someone shouts possible scenarios at me, and I struggle to keep my face straight and blank. Then obviously I'll spend at least an hour a day doing smiling exercises. Other than that, I can't really think of a way to come off as friendlier. Maybe I'll try telling silent jokes to myself and laughing as much as possible. Would it be better to come off as a mentally crazy person, or an uber bitch? Tough decision...

fish-a-phobic

Last year Disney released a movie called Earth, documenting the lives of three animal families; Elephants, Humpback Whales, and Polar bears. It was a pretty big hit, and from what I hear people loved it. If you're really into that Discovery Channel kind of stuff this movie was probably right up your alley. Not to mention it was shown in IMAX, possibly even IMAX 3D, which I know is making all you mammal lovers salivate. Needless to say I did not see it, why? Well truthfully, I'm not really that into animals. I mean I love dogs and I can kind of tolerate cats, but almost anything beyond that creeps me out.

Now Disney is releasing a much anticipated second movie, cleverly titled Oceans. This one obviously will document ocean life, a treat for those who are curious about that magical world under the deep blue sea. Again, I will most definitely NOT be seeing this movie, one because I'm not that into animals, and two, and most importantly: because Fish Freak me the Fuck out. (sweet alliteration right?)

It's the truth. Some people are afraid of the dark, some people are fearful of heights, and others are scared of spiders (legitimately so). But my life arch nemesis (pronounced: nemi-SY) are fish. That's right, I am a big fish-a-phobe. I suffer severely from a fear of fish. I am not sure exactly what specifically triggers this, but everything about them give me the heebie jeebies. Ick. Their scales and buggy eyes send shivers down my entire body. And the fact that they are so unnaturally flat, I mean how do all their bodily organs fit inside that sleek physique?! Aquariums are one of my worst nightmares, fish of all colors, shapes, and sizes, separated by only a thin piece of glass, just staring at you, with those damn eyes on the side of their heads...it's making me nervous just thinking about it.

Before you are so quick to judge me, just think about how freaking scary it would be to find yourself face to face with a blue fish, with big scales, long wispy fins...and oh yeah, he's half your size! OH-MY-GOD! He could probably eat you, and I am sure if I was presented with such a situation I would get eaten, because there would be no fight from me, I'd pass out on the spot. I barely made it through the Finding Nemo ride at Disneyland. I'm sure being crammed in a tiny yellow submarine, with 40 of my closest line waiting friends didn't help, but even those fake fish were really effing frightening. I don't get how children stand it. I know I'll never be waiting in that three hour line again. You guys go ahead, I'll sit on a bench and enjoy some frozen lemonade, maybe catch up on the local Mickey Mouse gossip. We can meet up after you're done with that horrific adventure.

Despite my fear, I do brave the ocean and sometimes a lake or two, but you better bet I am doing insane egg beaters under water to keep those fish away from me. The thought of them nibbling on my toes is enough to get out me out of the water for the rest day. Some swimmer I am, right? All I know is there is no way there will be any scuba diving or snorkeling in my near future. Unless I see some sort of a hypnotist, who can cure my completely rational fear. So let's make a deal, I won't dangle spiders in your face, and you won't torture me with a surprise aquarium visit, and we can be friends forever. I know you're all looking for a whack job friend like me!


image found here

Salute Your SHORTS!

I wear shorts a lot. To define a lot, as it has recently been brought to my attention, means an abnormally large amount of the time. I LOVE shorts. I wear them rain or shine, which living in San Francisco means my legs are wet more often than they are tan. But hey, I'm actually a genius, because my legs dry off much faster than your soaking jeans, and they weigh less. Schooled!

People think I am absolutely crazy. Which I don't necessarily disagree with, but I don't think it's because I'm a borderline shorts-a-holic. If I had a dollar for every time someone asked me why I'm wearing shorts, I could probably just retire now on my small fortune. And what's my answer to that ever so popular question? Well my first instinct is to always say, "Have you seen my legs?" But then I realize that not everyone knows me and understands my sense of humor. Despite the fact that my calves are bigger and probably superior to yours, I don't want to come off as stuck up on the first impression. But part of looking good, is working your best assets, and since cleavage is never going to happen for me, I gotta have something. Which is why I have spent a lot of time power walking up hills to earn the right to wear shorts whenever I want.

I will admit that I have been wearing pants a lot more recently. This is due partly to the fact that people at work nicknamed me "Shorts" and also the fact that it has been REALLY effing cold up here. I realized my shorts habit was getting a little ridiculous when I was wearing a sweatshirt, a giant puff coat, a scarf, a hat, and then my short shorts. I have learned that surprisingly enough, sometimes pants help keep you warmer.

You can call me nuts if you want, but I am going to keep rocking my shorts. Maybe if I keep dressing like it's warm outside, San Francisco will grant me some sunshine. And if not...I'll just just have to pair my daisy dukes with some rain boots. But before you judge me, dig out a pair of shorts from your drawer, throw them on and take them out for a test drive. You never know, it could be a very freeing experience!

Lauren you're and Idiot! *swoon*

smart ass guys are my krytopnite.

there are few things i love more than a wise cracking guy who thinks he is smarter than me. that combination of sarcasm, wit, and making fun of me is a charm i cannot resist. this most likely stems from the fact that i consider sarcasm and intelligence to be one in the same. if you can't understand sarcasm, or at least have a sense of humor about it, then you're probably an idiot. it doesn't matter what your test scores or like, what kind of grades you get, or the amount of motivation you have, if you can't take a moment to stop and laugh at yourself or someone else, then you're really missing out. that's why lazy smart-asses all get gold stars in my book!

i grew up getting made fun of by my entire family, not the "spend thousands of dollars to rehash my childhood in adult therapy" kind, but being made fun of in the good kind of way. i have said and done some really airhead kind of things, so i deserved any of the ragging that followed, and i would have been disappointed if anyone had passed up such a blatant opportunity to laugh. but it definitely taught me to hold my own. it's a free for all in my family, and while a lot of times we are laughing at me, you better watch your back, because the next time that one ridiculous sentence comes out of your mouth, it's on.

so i guess instead of daddy issues, i have "jesting issues." all i know is that when some guy tries to be cocky by talking to me like i don't understand what he is saying, i practically melt. i see his challenge, and i'm ready to fight back. it's my way of knowing that he can keep up with me. but just to clarify, this is all in good fun, so if he turns out to be a real life d-bag, he's out the door.

it's a hair past a freckle

i can tell time. i swear.

i'm pretty sure they teach you how to read an analog clock in elementary school...in one of the lower grades, like first or second. of course, being the child genius i was, i picked up on this new phenomenon pretttty quickly. when i was in middle school i used to wear my sweet rhinestoned roxy watch everyday, and i am fairly confident that i didn't have any trouble telling time then either. it's obvious i mentally peaked then and it's just been a steady decline all these other years.

i started wearing a watch regularly again, mainly because it's nice to be aware of the time when i'm at work. i have some pretty awesome analog watches, including a rainbow swatch, that i like to wear, and for the most part i have no issues deciphering the time, unless someone asks me. it's as if "hey do you know what time it is?" is the magic combination of words that makes me forget everything. i panic. i start to get really nervous that i am going to look stupid if i can't spit the numbers out fast enough. this of course makes me look even more idiotic, because in the end i shout out something that isn't even remotely close. this is always followed by a perplexed and sympathetic look. which i am almost positive is due to what is running through the asker's mind: "oh poor stupid girl, it's politically incorrect to make fun of mentally challenged people in public...but i can't wait to tell susie when i get home!"

for fear of coming off even ditsier i have taken to wearing a digital watch more often these days. it also helps that i have a pretty effing amazing casio calculator watch. jealous? yeah you should be. maybe this is why my coworkers seem to always talk to me in a slow, meant for a five year old voice. oh it's so hard being a genius stuck in the body of a socially awkward turtle...

Vacation All I Ever Wanted...

so i am going on a little vacation. (and by vacation, i mean going back to LA for a week or so). anyway, whilst i was putting all my stuff together i came to a rather shocking conclusion: i may be the worst packer in the world. and here is why:

1. I Like to Pack Sporadically Over a Few Days.
Pro: allows me to do other things at the same time, and also breaks up the tedious task into more enjoyable spurts. it also allows me to get excited for the "vacation" three days earlier, since i am officially in the packing time period.

Con: i never remember what i packed the days earlier. by the time i get around to the third day, i'm frantically throwing in t-shirts because i have a slight inkling that i packed an awful lot of shorts the day before. which leads to my next problem:

2. Over Packing.
Pro: i have lots of clothes to chose from, which is especially helpful because i am so indecisive. how am i supposed to know exactly what mood i am going to be in each day? so now i have options and i can pick my outfits according to how i feel.

Con: the fact that i have an entire carry-on sized rolling suitcase dedicated solely to the shoes i am bringing home for the week probably says it best.

3. Disorganization
Pro: it was easy just throwing everything into the suitcase.

Con: i'm sure everything i want to wear on the first day is at the bottom of the suitcase, therefore causing a bomb to go off in the over packed case, which most likely will not get better and only worse over the course of the vacation. sometimes its difficult to find things when you're digging through an explosive mess of clothing. obviously my excessive laziness has prohibited me from learning from this mistake.

4. Oh Yeah....I Forgot...
Pro: forgetting things allows me to... challenge my creativeness.... and make outfits work with what i have??? yeah right, this is all con...

Con: no matter what, i always forget something. and it's always like the core of every outfit idea i have. like my favorite boots, or black belt. or something really important like a toothbrush or spanx. i'll usually remember this item when i am halfway through the journey down, and then i'll literally kick myself.

With the combination of these four problems, I'll end up in LA tomorrow, sitting in my room, exclaiming: "What the EFF did I pack?!" was that sequined mini skirt really a necessity? or that button up shirt I have never worn? yeah, both must of been packed on optimistic day one. thank god i used day two to throw in some practical jeans and sweaters. then i'll throw on one of those day three frantic tshirts, only to find that i didn't in fact over pack shorts the day before....

she could be a sailor....with that mouth

i love to curse. i really do. i don't know if it stems from some psychological thrill to do something i was forbidden to do as a child, but there is really something so satisfying about the way "fuck" just rolls out of your mouth.

i also think that sometimes it's absolutely necessary. there just isn't another word in the english vocabulary that carries that weighty meaning. when you slam your knee into the table, and there is no way that "ow" will suffice in explaining just how much that hurt, "fuck" would be the appropriate exclamation there. or when you meet someone and they are dumb. like beyond dumb, why dance around with wimpy words like "really" or "very," when we could just jump straight to the point and say "they were fucking dumb."

i have also heard every once in a while that a lady should not use such horrible words. one time i had a woman tell me and a group of my friends that we made her ashamed to be a woman. what i say to that is first off, times are a changing. i think it's finally a time where we are beginning to accept people for who they are, and therefore i don't think i should have to conform, just because i'm female. second, i am not now, nor will i ever be a classy lady. it was a nice dream once, when i was a child, but it's a harsh harsh world, and pumps, white gloves, and pearls just isn't ever going to work for me. i'm too into being tacky with bright colors, chipped nail polish, and "tousled" waves. it's a tough break, but i think i'll settle for this kitsch life. as long as i still get to keep "fuck" as part of my vocabulary.

of course there will still be people in the world who don't approve of my love of such provocative words, but here is a little tid bit i read today and found very interesting. according to cosmo magazine, people who curse more, have less aggression and anger in their lives. apparently fighting that urge to shout the f word, allows said aggression to build up in your system. well that's all the persuasion i need. since this is practically a doctor written perscription, i won't be able to resist, saying "fuck" every once in a while is actually good for my health. and or course i want to be healthy.

i do however believe there is a time and a place for using such language. for example i am very good about turning it off around children, and other such inappropriate situations. but for those of you out there on the fence about it, just say "fuck it' and let the satisfaction flow threw your body. beware though, it's a thrill you might not be able to give up.