Friday, September 20, 2013

The Single Parent's Guide To Not Driving Off a Cliff

I think I'll start this post by defining my intended audience for "single parent" because I'm aware that there are several different kinds. I originally called this "Single Mom's Guide" but then I thought of all of the single fathers out there who might be in the same circumstances. I don't know any personally, but I've heard that they exist. I'm just going to write it like I'm talking to women, but, gentlemen, feel free to switch pronouns and names of genitalia around as they apply to you. Also you could be a gay, lesbian, bisexual,or transgender single parent. Just take all of the pronouns and names of genitalia and...sprinkle them everywhere and anywhere. All the same emotional stuff applies.

Rule One

Don't become a stripper. I know you've thought about it. The pay is awesome and the work hours fit in really well with your kids' schedules, but your bits will become diseased and fall off and though your kids would love for you to be more available, they want you to keep your vagina. Oh, they might not say it out loud but I bet if you asked them they would say so without hesitation. And the reason they won't hesitate to answer that question is because their mom has just said the word "vagina" in relation to herself and they want the conversation to end as quickly as possible.

The same advice goes for becoming a prostitute, shot girl, porn model, or a phone sex chick. I'm all about owning your sexuality but if someone is buying it from you then technically you don't own it. It is no longer yours, it's theirs, and that's why they're getting off on it. Oh I guess really you're renting it out, so you've got me on a technicality. But we're not going to get into an argument about this, young lady, because no matter how your frame it YOUR VAGINA WILL BECOME ILL AND FALL OFF.

*Note: What I'm really doing here is practicing an argument that I hope I never have to have with my daughters. I appreciate your participation in this endeavor.

Dealing with Feelings of Jealousy or Bitterness Over Others' Happiness

You're having lunch with a friend and she is glowing from a wonderful night with her husband. You are not at a restaurant. You have invited her to your house because you can't afford to go out to eat and it's a Saturday so you cleverly suggest that she bring her kids so that all of your kids can play together and you don't have to go anywhere or spend money. You were feeling pretty clever and good about yourself  until this moron who you love brings up her happy marriage. You are suddenly jealous, angry at her because you feel like she is purposely throwing it in your face, and feeling guilty because she's your friend and you really want her to be happy. Guilt, anger and jealousy well up in you and you feel like you might start screaming at her.

Don't do that. You need all the friends you can get. Do this instead:

1) Accept the truth of your feelings. Don't squish them down or feel ashamed of them.
2) Remember that you love your friend and you are glad for her and for her children's sake that she has such a wonderful marriage.
3) Remember that she is no more lovable than you are just because she's got someone.
4) Acknowledge that your breasts are bigger than hers. No really, you need something to balance you out. Everyone has their positive and negative qualities. You're already comparing yourself to her, so while you're listing the ways her life is better than yours you might as well appreciate the fact that you've got fabulous tits and she doesn't. You HAVE TO for the good of your friendship. She would want it this way.

Eating Tips

Some say that when you eat meat you're eating an animal's fear from the moment that they die. You already live in enough fear. So if you're a meat-eater be sure that you only eat animals who have died bravely in battle. Like lions or crawfish. Have you ever seen a live crawfish? Those things are tiny, but when confronted with a huge human that intends to boil them, they whip out those claws in a "You'll never take me alive! Have at you!" kind of way and they go out swinging.

And now I'm upset about animals who die and I'm considering being a vegetarian again. This section has been completely unhelpful. Go eat chocolate because that is what I am now doing, and if chocolate can dispel the fear brought on by Dementors in Harry Potter, then it can also cure the fear of dying alone.


You should never follow my advice about relationships...except for the previous statement. Which I know might be psyching you out in a "the following statement is true: the previous statement is false" kind of way, but you're just going to have to trust me on this.


Regular crying is very important. Don't neglect your crying in the same way that you shouldn't neglect your teeth. You might have grown up being told that it's not ok to cry, or to suck it up if things get rough. Sister, you have to suck it up ALL THE TIME. You suck it up when you wake up in the morning to go to work, you suck it up when you have to call your ex about money, you suck it up when you're too tired to cook dinner, you suck it up when your kids are sick and you don't want to clean up vomit, and you suck it up when you don't feel like getting back in the car but you have to because you have to drive someone to ball practice. So dammit if you're overwhelmed go take a nice hot bath and cry. And make sure you kick and shake your fists.

Get to Know Other Single Parents

This can be a treasure trove of support. As long as you all have time to talk on the phone and get together, which none of you do. So skip all of your house cleaning and everyone's homework and just get together one night. Omitting essential chores is the only way it'll get done, and you'll all pay for it the next day but none of you will care because the alternative was another night of isolation which caused you to finally snap and wander the streets mumbling to yourself.

Ok, I'll Say This About Relationships

Do not date or remarry anyone who is less emotionally mature than and/or has more needs than your children. This will drive you crazy, like literally, you will drive over a cliff while you scream and punch the ceiling of your car. It's most likely the reason you got divorced in the first place and you did not change your whole life around just to get involved with someone who needs you to take care of them.

*Note: This is excludes everyone. Don't date, just hire someone to mow your lawn.

*2nd Note: I didn't mean for "mow your lawn" to be a euphemism but if you feel the need to hire someone to do that too, I'm not judging. I just said that YOU shouldn't become a prostitute, I didn't say you should know what, I'm going to shut up.

*3rd Note: Darn it, none of this applies because I've already told you to never take my advice. So you've probably found a codependent relationship in the last five minutes. Dammit, I ruined society AGAIN.


You're stressed and kind of bummed and you might not even feel like laughing. In fact, if someone tries to make you laugh you might get angry. I don't know why this is, but it happens. But laughing is just as important as crying in the delicate balancing act of your emotional life. Since you're in a dark place, you might have to start with dark humor that comes from someone you don't know and therefore can't kill, like the Internet. And dear God, whatever you do don't watch sitcoms where people are happy. Those are less common  now than they were when I was growing up in the 80's and 90's but I'm guessing since today's writers also grew up in the 80's and 90's and they came from broken families, they are more inclined to write about broken people, or sick things in general like "Family Guy."

My favorite go-to comedy of choice is Eddie Izzard stand up. That man could make me laugh if I was fired from my job and murdered in the same day. He's ridiculous and irreverent with a heart, and I highly recommend him.

Remove All Unsightly Facial Hair Regularly

Hmm. This rule might only apply to me.

Try Not to Hurt People When They Tell You to Remember Your Children

"You could go back to school and finish your degree, but I don't think it's a good idea. You have to remember that your kids need you," a family member tells you when you mention the possibility of going back to school.

You look at her dumb-founded. Remember the kids? It wasn't your intention to forget the kids. It is impossible, in fact, to forget the kids. You are probably cleaning up urine from one of the kids while your relative is giving you this stupid advice.You are with your kids more than you are with anyone, except maybe your coworkers, and certainly much more than this relative who you don't see often because she doesn't help you.

First - don't kick her in the stomach no matter how much you want to right in that moment. She's older than you and won't recover as fast and...what?...NO THAT DOES NOT SWEETEN THE DEAL! I didn't tell you that she's weaker than you so that you have MORE incentive to hurt her, jeez! What I'm saying is that you can't hurt her physically because we don't hurt people with our hands. We hurt their feelings with our words.

"You smell like old mayonnaise."

Ok, perhaps not. Try sarcastic.

"I can see how bettering myself would make me less of a parent. Can you hand me another paper towel? What remained of my hopes and dreams just fell into this puddle of urine."

Let's go with that one.

Consider a Deity

This works for a lot of people. I believe it's good to have a strong belief in yourself. You have to know that you are a strong, beautiful, and capable person to make it through life regardless of your situation. But maybe you're not there yet with yourself, or maybe you're just having a really, REALLY bad day and you need strength outside of yourself and no one is answering their phones. You are by yourself and you are losing your mind. You feel hopeless, abandoned and alone. In these moments you can pray to something. Anything. Jesus, a saint, Ganesha, Zeus, Poseidon, Princess Diana, Hello Kitty. In fact, pile 'em on. Get a team going for you. You need every single ounce of strength, dignity and serenity that the universe can muster.

If you don't believe in spiritual stuff that's fine - make something up. People do it all the time. Suddenly you can have unwavering faith in the good of mankind, and draw from that. This takes overlooking as many inconsistencies as there are in organized religion but people do it and they make it through those hopeless moments.

Hopeless Moments

Remember that you're not alone, even though no one is helping you in this moment. Remember that you are strong even though you don't feel it right now. Remember to breathe and cry when you can. Remember to watch something funny as soon as you can do it without strangling someone, because the worst thing you can do is take things too seriously. Remember that Hello Kitty loves you and that you're going to be ok.

Saturday, September 14, 2013

I Get You, Don Music

Sometimes I feel like this guy:

Does anybody remember him from Sesame Street? If not, you can find him at a site called (prepare yourself to be so excited you might need to bite down hard on something - I suggest a Twinkie) Muppet Wiki! It's a complete encyclopedia about Muppets! I just googled, "What's the name of the piano player on Sesame Street," and the site revealed itself! Oh and that guy's name is Don Music, which I never would have guessed, so this site is like gold to me, like more important than or my bank's website.

What does this have to do with how I feel? Am I saying that I feel like an orange guy with a tie and disheveled hair? Or that I feel like an unseen person might be controlling my every movement and supplying me with things to say? No, but I suffer from not knowing what to say so often that I wouldn't be opposed to the idea. Or the bit about a tie and disheveled hair, I think that might make a good look for me. This is mostly because my sense of humor was born from watching hours of The Muppets and Bugs Bunny so I developed an appreciation for ridiculousness and cross-dressing.

Major Momentary Change of Subject!!!!!

I just looked at npr's website and found the following headline, ""Hawaii: 'Let Nature Take Its Course' on Molasses Spill." Mo...lasses? Spill? There's a pipeline of molasses? I don't mean to make light of this because, according to the article, it's killed major amounts of marine life, but...really? There's a molasses PIPELINE? To me, it's a little like finding out that there's a pipeline of maple syrup that leads to a mountain of pancakes. Or like...I don't know. A leaking tanker full of jelly beans. It's interesting to me that there's been a major spill of something that's not oil. Hawaii really does have the most fascinating predicaments. And the best slack guitar musicians. If there was a pipeline full of those guys, I would be all about a major spill.

Major Moment of Self-Doubt!!!!!

Did I really just say I would support a major spill? Of any kind? I was just trying to make a clever transition back to the main subject.

Main Subject!

In episodes featuring Don Music, he was always trying to write a song, like "Row, Row, Row Your Boat" and would become very frustrated with himself and bang his head on the piano keys. As a kid, the banging his head on the piano was the funniest part. Muppets were brilliant at slapstick because to make a puppet fall down the Muppeteer would just drop him. So when I was five, I found it hilarious when he would suddenly smack his head, causing his arms to flail wildly. So much drama and limp wayward limbs made for a hilarious contrast. As an adult what I find funny is that he apologizes to his bust of Beethoven that's facing him on the piano top. "I'm sorry Ludwig!" he cries, as his head hits the keys.

At work I have a picture postcard of Carson McCullers pinned to my cubicle wall, and sometimes, I'll say "I'm sorry Carson! Look at me! In a data entry job! HOOOOW did it all come to this!" I don't bang my head on my keyboard, but I'm tempted to. Instead, Carson and I just look at each other. My look says, "I want to go home and write," and her look says, "I know, you poor bastard."

The saving grace lately is that I do go home and write at the end of the day. Most of the time. Sometimes I fall asleep before this can happen, depending on the day, but on average I'm getting in 12 hours a week of writing on the side. 

So my challenge right now is to accept where I am. Even though I've had this emergence of writing power, like I want to write constantly, even if it's bad, and even if I send it nowhere and just stare at it like Emily Dickinson in her attic, I can't give up my responsibilities and go do that. For Emily Dickinson, sitting in her attic and reading her poetry about not wanting to be famous WAS her responsibility. Thus she is one of the most famous poets ever. 

This opposes everything I'm reading lately about marketing myself and brings it back to "we are not in control of the universe, some people market themselves and get nowhere, and some people hide in attics with no intention of becoming famous and become famous." I wonder how many attic writers there have been who we don't know about? We'll never know. Apparently, they didn't shut themselves in and not want to become famous enough. 

Regardless of this, I wonder if Emily Dickinson would have experienced my level of frustration if she had been a single mom with nine pets and school loans to pay. How much more angst and hamsters would have appeared in her poetry? Probably a lot. But it was the mid-1850's and, let's face it, she would have probably died in childbirth. That's just what ladies did back in the day. I thought about this EACH AND EVERY TIME I FOUND OUT I WAS PREGNANT. I experienced three things at once - exhilaration about having a baby/immediate love of my unborn child, anxiety about being able to support another baby, and the thought of "I could die in childbirth." I never did, but I'm also not sitting in an attic getting famous writing poetry either, so fuck you, universe. 

No, that's just not the way my story's going to go. I love my house, my children, my furry children, my scaly children, and my writing all at the same time. I just absolutely hate my day job. The problem is, whenever I think about getting another job and start looking for one, I always come back to "The only job I want is to write." It ultimately doesn't really matter whatever job I have, I'll still be sneaking off to write something on scraps of paper. I've always done this, no matter what job I've ever had. So all I can do right now, is do what I love on the side and figure out the day job thing. Because though no job has ever held a candle to writing, I have had others that don't make me want to pull my eyeballs out of my face. I need to go find another one of those. And I have an idea, but it's in the idea phase, where charts and graphs and envelopes labeled "Confidential" are involved.

Oh! Oh! But I just had this other idea! I want to have the job where I have to go find poets in attics in publish their stuff. Yes! That's it! Attic poet detector. I can dust them off, maybe spray them with air freshener and convince them that they're geniuses who should have blogs.

And this is why my change-of-day-job-profession idea is top secret. Because I impulsively keep coming up with other ideas. I'll be a school lunch lady! Something tells me you won't make enough money. I'll be a school teacher! You'll probably make even less money. I'll be a banker! You looked at your son's fourth grade math problem the other night and said, "What the hell is this?" I'll mow lawns, I love the outdoors! Genevieve, you have a bachelor's degree. You're beginning to make a profession out of aiming low.

So I'm still thinking. While I'm thinking, enjoy, if you will, this clip of Don Music composing "Mary Had a Little Lamb." And I promise that after this I'll stop writing about writing, and I'll start blogging about ludicrous news headlines again. Like this one, "Roman Catholic priest injured in Zanzibar acid accident," which I SWEAR I did not make up. This is a real headline on I think the word "Zanzibar" would make any sentence instantly attractive but "priest" and "acid" seal the deal. The quality of my blogging can only go uphill with that kind of material.

Saturday, September 7, 2013

Voluntary Singulary

I am single - do a jig now! As the command to dance would imply, I am happy about this. It's not because my latest dating experience was bad because it wasn't. In fact, it was good. I'm single because I want to be.

"You're kidding," you say.

"No, really. I'm good. I really don't want to be with anyone right now."

"So it's not because you've had bad experiences or just haven't found someone to knock your socks off?"

"No. I've lost my socks a couple of times. I'd just like to keep them on right now. I'm keeping everything on right now."

"But why?"

"Because I like my socks. They have those little puff balls at the back of them."

"I'm not talking about your socks. We are not having a conversation about socks. This is your love life and you don't have one."

"I know!" I say, grinning. "Isn't it great?"

"So you're saying that if I introduced you to a charming, funny, brilliant, hypotronically good-looking young citizen with a lot of cash you wouldn't change your mind?"

"...Did you say cash?"

But no, I wouldn't. I can't explain why the desire to be in a relationship, dating experience or even an empty
tryst is not there but it's suddenly gone. I feel about this the way I've heard women describe the relief of menopause. They smile in this relaxed way and say, "I don't have a period anymore."

After a lifetime of wanting to be with someone, fantasizing about the perfect spouse, and longing to have someone to laugh with, ride a bike through the park with, eat things off of, and so on and so forth, and coming close to that with people but not really finding that lover/friend that I've always wanted I FINALLY don't give a fuck that I don't have it. To be able let go of that longing is like some kind of goddamn miracle.Actually, that's not accurate. I haven't let the longing go, that's too passive. I've kicked it in the pants.

And it's weird because it's not like my sex drive is gone. I can still look at a man's upper back or the way a woman walks and melt. But they can just keep on walking. And it's not that I feel angry at love, or men and women. Everybody else can be in as many emotionally and sexually gratifying relationships as they want and that's lovely. But the thought of being in one myself makes me want scream and then take a nap. And so I've been telling people no.

No comes as a relief after a lifetime of telling people yes, even when I was thinking no. In fact, if anything maybe that's it. Maybe all the no has built up inside of me so much that I've become like a no volcano.

That would sound something like this "nnnnnnnnnnnnnnNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"

KABOOM! And single.

No, no. Not just single. Fiercely fucking single. It's like I'm two years old again, after just learning how to say the word no, and I'm saying no to everything. Which may be for the first time, really, because since I've been codependent since birth, I probably skipped the no phase as a toddler and said things like "whatever makes you happy." But I'm making up for it now by saying no to everything, even when it doesn't make sense. This is cute when someone is two, but just confusing when someone is 37.

"Hey baby," someone recently said to me. "You want to-"


"Ok. But you haven't heard what I-"


"Wow. Ok, you're serious."


"...No, you're not serious?"


"So you want to-"


This man hung up the phone, not only feeling rejected but also concerned about my mental health, which I find is a common reaction to dating me.

Hence: single.

This is why I've really embraced that Icona Pop song "I Love It," and for those of you who don't know I don't usually like Top 40 songs or dance music. But I LOVE this song. It's the most joyous breakup song I've ever heard. You know those songs I talk about sometimes that I dance in the kitchen to? This is one of them. It's about a slightly unstable woman who's had enough and she just doesn't care anymore and she is ecstatic about it. Just like me!

I don't honestly think I'll stay in this phase forever. I know eventually I'll be in a relationship again, but for right now my house is a mess, I've got a lot of writing to do, three kids to take care of, nine pets to keep from dying, a day job, and 37 explosive years of no to get out of my system.

Other statements that I've held back that have been erupting lately are: this is bullshit, are you out of your goddamn mind you drunk psychotic fucker, no means stop touching me or I will send my five hamsters to chew your eyelids while you sleep, and no I don't actually respect your religion because according to it I don't deserve to have a soul, which I mean, I'm as tolerant as the next agnostic bisexual but that point of view is getting on my fucking nerves.

I think the Dalai Lama said something to that effect recently.

"So, you don't think you're angry at all?" you ask.

"Well...maybe a little. But that seems like a good thing to sort out while I'm single, don't you think?"

"Considering that you would have rodents chew off someone's eyelids if they touched you without your consent, yes I would say that you should probably work some stuff out before you meet someone for coffee."

And that's fine. This phase of fierce celibate, independence will undoubtedly be followed by a lengthy slut phase before it evens out into a monogamous, dreamy relationship. Clearly that's how my life will go. Right?

NO! Hit it, Icona Pop.

Monday, September 2, 2013

Creature Update

In case you have any interest I just updated Creature Feature House. Which you can check out quickly and easily by clicking on the linkedy thing I provided in that first sentence.

So why is it that I update Payphone Vigilante so often and not Creature Feature House? Well...honestly I think it's because I have a hard time keeping up with more than one blog. I like everything in one place. But I've had requests for it lately and that does things to my ego, PLUS since I've been giving my writing career a whole lot more attention I've gotten slightly better at organization so everything doesn't feel like a huge ball of disorganized mess, unlike this run-on sentence. Hard copies of stories are in files with labels, I have a notebook where I write the date, the amount of time I spent writing that day, what I wrote, where I sent it, another detail that's probably boring for you to read, and so on and so forth.

OH! And I have gotten one thing published in the last month. But it's under that pen name that I talked about using, and I would share it with you but that would just be silly of me. When I get something else published under my real name, which is Genevieve Rheams, I'll let you know.

Ok, ok. I'll give you my pen name. It's Ellen DeGeneres. Go! Buy all of my things!

And now back to writing. Making Ellen DeGeneres famous is hard work.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

Tender is The Book Thief

Last night I fell asleep with a book in my arms. That was a first. I've fallen asleep embracing a person, but never a book and we both woke up this morning feeling kind of awkward about it.

"I, uh, sorry I thought you were a pillow," I said, releasing it.

"It's ok," said the book, smoothing down its pages, as if it were mussed hair. "I've got a meeting to get to, but I'll call you later, ok?"

But before I tell you what led to that and what book it was, I must tell you something about the way I read. Once I've started reading a book I don't like to stop until I'm finished, even if I don't like it. I can only think of a few off the top of my head that I started and absolutely could not bring myself to finish. One was Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian, which was fantastically written, but it was so devoid of soul that I stopped caring about who was getting scalped. Every character in that book was either a killing someone, being killed, or they just stood around with a penis saying "Yup."

The second book that I recently never finished was a book that was so boring, I can't remember the name of it. And you must understand that for me a book doesn't need a plot to be exciting, so it wasn't lack of one that made the book fall asleep in my hands. In fact, the plot appealed to me - a woman going through a divorce goes to join a quilting camp or a guild or something in Hawaii. As a divorced woman who has always wanted to go to Hawaii, I was intrigued. And the idea of quilting seemed romantic, as an art that you can wrap around you and be warmed by. But no! No! Everyone was boring! I didn't connect with a single character! They were all just kind of like, "After you," "No, after you." And no one had a penis. It wasn't a badly written book, I just didn't care what happened to anybody in it.

Which brings us to F. Scott Fitzgerald's Tender is the Night. I finished this one, it just took me all summer. I think it was three things that made me finish it, despite the fact that I didn't like any of the characters. One was that I wanted to read a book by him that wasn't The Great Gatsby. I liked that book, and I thought the language was beautiful, and that's why I wanted to see what his other books were like. Two, I've had that book on my shelf for about ten years. After a decade of occasionally looking at the thing and thinking, "Hey, I should read that some time," there was no way I was going to start it and not finish it. And three, the writing was poetically beautiful in parts. Which was its saving grace because the characters could have all scalped each other and I wouldn't have cared. One of the main characters, Dick Diver (please take a while to giggle, because I did every single time I read his name, especially when he was addressed as Dr. Dick Diver) was ok, I mean, he was a depressed alcoholic and I wanted him to get better, but he never did and after a while I just couldn't root for him anymore. And don't even get me started on his wife, or the actress he had an affair with.

That is what I like about F. Scott Fitgerald novels, though. They're so filled with social intrigue, like a gossip column. Every time I would start to get a blah feeling about the story, he would give me a really good line. My favorite was by Dick Diver (tee hee) when he tells his wife that he wants to throw a party. He says, "I want to give a really bad party. I mean it. I want to give a party where there's a brawl and seductions and people going home with their feelings hurt and women passed out in the cabinet de toilette. You wait and see." That's such a great line! There's even French in it! His other great line is when he's falling in love with the actress and he tells her, "You're the only girl I've seen for a long time that actually did look like something blooming." It strikes me as simple and complicated at the same time, and I love it when dialogue is like that.

But did I like the book? I still don't know. I want to say yes but I also want to say no, which I guess would give it a, "Yeah, I think so." And it took me the entire summer to finish. I started that thing in May and just finished it last week.

Almost immediately after closing that book, I started The Book Thief, which even though it's 200 pages longer than Tender is the Night, I read it in a week. I started it during a trip to the beach last Friday and just finished it last night, and after I reread the last four pages three times, I hugged it and fell asleep with it in my arms. I have fallen asleep with a book, but I have never EVER fallen asleep embracing a book like its a teddy bear or a lover. I connected with every single character, even the ones I didn't like - even Death, who was the narrator. Everyone had a soul, everyone had believable strengths and weaknesses, and the narration was like a song. And you know what that does to me. It was so human, that the book became a living, breathing thing, and when it was done telling its story I had to hold it so we could both cry together.

I have also never reacted this way to a book set in World War Two, and I've read a lot of them. It's about a foster kid in a German town, and the other low-income families on her street. She's not Jewish, but one of my favorite characters in the story is a Jew in hiding. The violent and tragic things that happen in the book don't clobber you over the head. They break your heart but the book feels bad about it. It basically tells you, "Yeah, this guy gets blown to bits. Jesus, I'm sorry about that." That's the tone of Death's character. But it's filled with things that aren't tragic as well. There are beautifully happy things in it. And honestly, even the sad things, shown in its light, are beautiful.

In my opinion. You could read the first ten pages of it and decide to use them as lining for a hamster cage. But just know that if you do that and I come over to your house, I will pounce on the cage, toss out the hamster, grasp the soiled pages and scream, "Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" And then I will probably hold them to my chest and rock back and forth. After you call the men in the white coats to fetch me, you might wonder if you should give the book a second chance, and I really hope you do. There aren't any parties in it where people go home with their feelings hurt or women pass out in French bathrooms, but it does look like something that's blooming.

And if you've read it, then you'll understand what I'm about to say. And if you haven't read it just bear with me and then go read it. Rudy Steiner, you are my Jesse Owens.