And now for something completely different...

You know you love this...

So, you want to know all about it?

I haven't mentioned this in my blog because I had wanted to be able to tell a few people in person... it doesn't seem that's going to happen any time soon, so I'll just go for it.

Brace yourselves, this is a long one.

Before going on, let me just clarify that NO, this was not an accident as I'm sure I'm going to be answering that question for the rest of my life.

I am pregnant. Yes, again. No, Avery is not a year old yet. Yes, I understand that breastfeeding doesn't guarantee infertility. Don't worry, I wasn't relying on that.

There is actually a method to my madness. I thought long and hard about how to go about having baby #2. I wanted to do it right, the right way for Jed and I (and Avery). Being that I haven't slept through the night in a year (well, much longer than a year if you count all the trips to the bathroom), I was faced with the question: Do I wait a couple of years until Avery does sleep through the night and then shoot for #2, or do I just do it now, while I'm already totally exhausted, and pray that #2 has better sleep habits than #1?

I don't really know that there is a correct answer to that question, so my husband and I just decided to 'go for it,' and 'go for it' we did. It pretty much happened on the first try. I truly, honestly believe that I am the most fertile woman on Earth. And Jed truly, honestly believes that he has "Super Sperm," as he's so affectionately dubbed it.

So, here were are. Pregnant again. This time, however, things are different.

Last weekend, while my husband was in Las Vegas at a bachelor party, I woke up somewhere around 2am to go and soothe the crying baby, and as I stood there, I just knew something wasn't right. It turned out that I was bleeding, which to a somewhat newly-pregnant woman, is just about the most upsetting thing that can happen to you, especially at 2am with a crying baby and a husband that's 300 miles away stuffing dollar bills into a hooker's G-string.

It wasn't good. I called my husband, and there wasn't much he could do at that point. He did offer to fly home, right then and there, and of course I said "No," knowing that his coming home wasn't really going to stop me from having a miscarriage if I was having one.

The next morning, I woke up worried, hoping the same thing wasn't going to happen to me when I stood up out of bed, and it didn't. I wanted someone to talk to, but didn't want to bother anyone too early in the morning, so I called my mom. I have that "call anytime" freedom with her. She wasn't home, or at least she didn't answer.

I figured I'd just lay low and hope for the best. I called my friend Anna a couple of times, but didn't get an answer. She still hasn't called me back, actually. I just wanted to tell someone and have them tell me it would all be alright, even if they were just saying so to calm me down and get me the hell off of the phone.

My husband tried, but having him so far away made him feel helpless and made me feel resentful. I tried dismissing those feelings, and was able to 'buck up.' Afterall, it had only happened that one time, I was probably okay.

Monday morning I went in to have my blood drawn so they could run some tests. While I was there, it happened again. My heart was pounding so hard. Having Avery with me helped a little (because I can look at her and feel SO thankful for the baby that I already have) but at the same time made it so hard, because I knew I should really go upstairs and see if I could be seen by the OB if possible. Not exactly a situation where you should have a baby with you... I chose to go upstairs, and two hours later, left not feeling any better at all. The doctor told me he couldn't even tell whether or not I was pregnant because I have something called a "tipped uterus" and I'm only 9 weeks along. THAT made me feel so reassured...

Wednesday I went back to get more blood drawn, and a quantatative analysis was done comparing Monday's with Wednesday's blood; the nurse today said "my numbers looked good." Now they're sending me this coming Monday to get an ultrasound done. I'm sure they want to see whether or not the baby has a heartbeat at this point (which should be able to be detected on the ultrasound) and if things seem normal so far.

I'm feeling fine, but this pregnancy is KICKING my ass. I am so tired, I would love nothing more than to crawl into a ball and sleep until December. Since that's not a reality, my compromise is to go to bed at like 8:30pm. It (sort of) works for the time being. The only problem is waking up all night, tossing and turning, needing to pee, soothing the baby, telling my dog to stop snoring, telling my husband to stop snoring, you get the picture.

So... on the one hand, I'm so excited (after the initial shock that we managed to do it on the FIRST try) and yet, I'm afraid to be excited in case something is wrong. I jumped the gun and bought Avery this cute T-shirt, but I'm afraid to put it on her until I know more and feel more comfortable with the situation.

I know what's meant to be is meant to be, but the not knowing is what is killing me. If you can spare a moment to think of us on Monday as I get the ultrasound done, I'd appreciate it.

Question.

Just how many different CSI's are there? Just a ballpark figure would be fine. I've never watched the show(s), but it seems to me that they're multiplying. Did someone feed the first one after midnight? Put water on it? Hold it under a bright light?

The ASPCA should sue Hasbro!

I keep seeing a commerical on TV for something called "Puppy Surprise" by the Hasbro toy company. Being a pet lover, and more specifically, a dog lover, who advocates spaying and neutering ALL pets (Sorry people, there is absolutely NO reason not to, not even to possibly breed them one day -- leave that to professional breeders with show quality animals), I'm more or less disgusted with this 'toy.'



I would describe the toy, but I'll let Hasbro do it for me:

"The PUPPY SURPRISE toy line combines the plush animal play that young children love with a unique, surprise element," said Maureen Smith, vice president of marketing, PLAYSKOOL. "The one-of-a-kind look, along with the curiosity and wonderment the brand offers is something we want to bring back for preschoolers of today."

"With PUPPY SURPRISE, youngsters ages 3 and up, choose from one of three different breeds of dogs in two colors. The surprise and excitement unfolds once the child has taken her favorite puppy home and looks inside the dog’s belly pouch to find two, three or four puppies – how many the child gets is a surprise! The patches on the puppies’ cheeks match the pretty patch on the mother dog’s cheek. Next, discover if the puppies are boys or girls by looking on the insides of their ears. Blue ears means the puppy is a boy, and pink means it is a girl. Play time now begins as children style the dog’s hair, complete with bows, and care for their newfound puppies."

There isn't really much more I can say here, except SURPRISE, now your children will want their real dog to have puppies, and SURPRISE, try finding those puppies a GOOD home. SURPRISE a good percentage of unwanted puppies end up at the shelter later in their life and are killed. SURPRISE, get a clue!

I just think this is irresponsible of Hasbro as it leads children to believe that dogs having puppies is 'cute' and 'fun,' when really, it's actually a terrible problem in the United States, with an estimated 5 million dogs and cats being euthanized every year. It's sickening.

Here are some facts from the Doris Day Animal Foundation:

Why Spay/Neuter: Overpopulation Facts

-Two unaltered cats and all their descendents can theoretically number 420,000 in just seven years.
-Two unaltered dogs and all their descendents can theoretically number 67,000 in just six years.
-"No homes for littermates" is one of the top ten reasons people relinquish their cats and dogs to shelters.
-The top reason both cat guardians and dog guardians give for not having their pet altered is that they simply have not bothered to do it yet.
-Twenty percent of cat guardians think their cat is too young to be altered, and 18% say they are not able to afford spay/neuter surgery.
-Twenty-one percent of dog guardians want to breed their dog, and 13% think their dog is too young to be altered.
-An estimated 5 million cats and dogs are killed in shelters each year. That's one about every six and one half seconds.
-Tens of millions of stray and feral cats struggle to survive on their own outdoors. Although some are altered and live in managed colonies, most are not altered and receive no health care. They reproduce at will and many suffer from illness or injury before dying.
-Over half (56%) of dog guardians and nearly two-thirds (63%) of cat guardians rank pet overpopulation as the most important pet issue.
-In a study of relinquishment of cats and dogs in 12 U.S. animal shelters, 30% of the surrendered dogs were purebreds.
-The same study indicated that 55% of the surrendered dogs and 47% of the surrendered cats were unaltered.
-It costs U.S. taxpayers an estimated $2 billion each year to round up, house, kill, and dispose of homeless animals.
-Over 56% of dogs and puppies entering shelters are killed, based on reports from over 1,055 facilities across America.
-Approximately 71% of cats and kittens entering shelters are killed, based on reports from 1,055 facilities across America.

Pillars of health -- Employees of the medical profession...

Yesterday, while spending too much time at the clinic here in town, I observed things that both annoyed and surprised me. Somehow, I've mostly overlooked these things in the past, but I was there for a LONG time yesterday, and had too much time to think and analyze.

1. The number of people who work in the medical profession that smoke. As I walked back and forth from and in and out of the buildings at the clinic, I was alarmed by just how many people in scrubs were standing outside smoking. As I exited the building one final time, I literally counted 8 women in scrubs, standing just outside the clinic doors, smoking. To me, this is like dental hygenists that don't floss. There's a connection not being made for these people. When you work to keep others healthy, why not take the plunge yourself and work to prevent yourself from getting smoking-related diseases (lung cancer, emphysema, throat cancer, etc.)? It just makes NO sense to me.

2. The number of people who are overweight or obese. I realize this is a touchy subject, but for most people, being overweight or obese was preventable at some point too. You have NO idea how annoying it was for the nurse to tell me that I had gained 4 pounds too many when I was pregnant with Avery, when she herself was struggling to get up from the stool she had sat down on to criticize me. Now, I didn't take it personally, since she was only doing her job, but it begs the question: if you know that losing weight leads to better health, and preach that everyday, why not practice it yourself?

I guess it's just one of those 'practice what you preach' things, and I was not in the greatest of moods after spending my entire day there. Bah humbug.

My child: A portrait of all that is dainty and feminine

Those that know me well know that I really am not repulsed by this in the least. I think it's quite humorous. The in-laws would be appalled, but I secretly yearn to offend them, and I've just realized the power that I now hold having their first and only grandchild.

Mua hua hua!


Dainty, Feminine Avery

How odd...

All of a sudden today I've gotten hits to my blog from several different countries. What did I say? Was it the big hair picture? Was it the post about condoms and 'the clap?' According to my "keyword analysis," someone searched for "UPIN20MINS" on Google. Maybe they were seriously looking into the Viagra spam they've been getting too.

Must. Investigate. Further.

Thank GOD for Arrested Development!

Now, despite what you might believe, I really don't watch that much television. It's just that, for the last few years, I've had my favorites and someone is systematically taking each and every one of them away from me. I take change pretty well, usually, but not when it's something that I've incorporated into my weekly-I'm-a-creature-of-habit lifestyle. Some of those habits were "Friends" (wasn't that everyone's habit, really?), "The Practice," "Carnivale," and "Six Feet Under."

Now I have "Boston Legal," which I love -- don't get me wrong. But I'm still looking for a replacement for "Friends," and I doubt I'll find one. "My name is Earl" looks moderately promising -- I've already set it up a season pass on Tivo just in case. I haven't watched the first episode yet -- if you liked it, let me know.

I really tried hard to like "The Office," but I'm sorry, as funny as I found Steve Carell on "The Daily Show," I just couldn't get into "The Office."

Anyone who's read my blog on a regular basis probably knows how sad I was (and still am) over the end of "Six Feet Under" -- yesterday as I exited at Topanga Canyon off the 101, I was reminded of it all over again (Ruth's sister must have referred to Topanga Canyon a hundred times on the show).

So, all this poor me stuff to say...

THANK GOD FOR ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT.

When I heard last season that production had been put on hold and the actors were all worried about the future of the show, I truly felt a little sick over it. It was almost as though someone was tracking which shows I watched religiously, and then deciding to can them one by one to watch my reaction. And I'll tell you, if Arrested Development had been taken away from me too... well, I'd have a nice middle finger stuck out for Neilsen and his goddamn ratings.

The days of wine and roses...

Or, more specifically, aerosol hair spray and beer.

I was inspired to scan some pictures of my big hair recently, and just thought I'd post this one for a good laugh. The two girls in the picture were my roommates at the time, the middle one I am still very good friends with. This picture was taken prior to a sorority formal in 1993. I think the days of Def Leppard and hair bands were all but completely gone by then, but apparently someone forgot to fill us in. So, here's to big hair and beer! Cheers!

Ahhh, the bed all to myself...

My husband went to Vegas this weekend for a bachelor party for our friend. My girlfriends all couldn't believe how little I cared that he was going. I told him to have fun and jokingly asked him to take some condoms along so he didn't bring me back the clap. OF COURSE I was kidding...

What my friends didn't know, though, was that I was actually excited to sleep by myself and hog up the whole bed. My husband doesn't really infringe upon my personal space or anything, I just like to spread out, and can't do that with him there.

Of course, me being the planner that I am, and Murphy's Law being the bitch that it is, my plan to sleep was thwarted the first night by Avery (surprise!), who was awake for 2 hours in the middle of the night. I alternated between trying to rock her and trying to get her to sleep with me. Nothing worked. I think her teeth were bothering her, and let me tell you, they were bothering me too!

The second night was a little better, except Avery woke up at 4am and decided it was time to wake up for the day. Um, no honey, 4am is not time to get up... So into bed with me she came and we (she) slept for another hour and a half. I mostly just laid there thinking about how uncomfortable I was and wishing my husband was home so I could make him get up with her.

So, when it was all said and done, having him gone wasn't really all that great afterall. Well, it was nice not to have to listen to him snore. Just one more thing that I get woken up by every single freaking night.

Sleep and me? Yeah, we're not as close as we used to be.

What are the chances?

Last night, for the SECOND time in her life (yes, she is almost a year old) Avery slept from 8pm to 5am without a peep. The SECOND time that has ever happened. What are the chances that on the SECOND night she did this, it would start pouring rain with terribly loud thunder at 3am? I COULD HAVE SLEPT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH.

For the record, the first time she slept through, which was like months ago, I laid there awake waiting for her to wake up. So, no, I didn't sleep that night either.

I swear, this must be God's way of letting me know that no, Allison, you will not ever sleep an entire night again for as long as you live.

I have been wide awake since 3am. Avery slept through the entire thing. Usually the sound of my eyelids opening wakes her up. Not thunder, though! Grrr.

Wacky weather...

Well, today we had a high of 90, and tonight we had thunder, lightning, and rain. Typical for some places, but not Southern California.

Here's a pic of the sunset from my backyard. Unfortunately the picture doesn't do it justice.

What a whirlwind life is...

I turn around and all of a sudden, the baby that I was JUST pregnant with is going to be a year old. I don't know how to feel about this. Lots of things have changed in my life in the last few weeks. I am so emotional over all of them. I told my mom that I keep having dreams about breastfeeding (I weaned Avery almost 2 weeks ago) and my mom said "Of course you do, you did it all day long every day for almost a year." I didn't really think about it that way. I guess what I'm a little bit sentimental over is, even though she's getting bigger and learning and doing new things, I will never have these baby days with her again once they're gone. Common sense, yes I know, but there was a time that I couldn't wait for her to sit up, then I couldn't wait her for to crawl, now we're waiting for her to walk. Every day is new for her -- she wakes up excited to reach whatever milestone that day might hold. I share that excitement for her, but in some ways, I cringe at the thought that she is not always going to be my baby. It's inevitable that this little being I love so much is slowly becoming more and more a part of the world and less a part of me. It makes me want to cry!

"Oh Daddy, this tastes like grandma!"

Have you ever eaten or drank something that should have tasted great, but really, the aftertaste was enough to make you gag? Yeah, me too.

Minute Maid Raspberry Passion juice drink.

It looks good - reddish in color, refreshing.
It smells great - fruity, sweet.
The taste? Well, that depends on what part of tasting it you're focusing on.

There is the initial taste as it hits your tongue and then there's the aftertaste. The initial taste is fine, just what you'd expect it to taste like. The aftertaste, however, reminds me again and again of what Ralph from "The Simpsons" must have meant when he dubbed the 'tomacco' that Homer grew as tasting "like grandma." The only thing I can liken it to is rubber. So sweet and fruity and, hey, who fed me some synthetic polymer?

All I can say is BLECK! and YUM! I love it and then I hate it! Give me more! Take it away!

I wonder if the Minute Maid Company is onto something. There's some addictive property in the drink that makes me want to drink and drink, but really loathe it all the while... just like the Simpsons on the "Tomacco" episode.

How can one be so conflicted over a juice drink? Is the Minute Maid Company in league with Colonel Sanders to put some sort of addictive chemical in their drinks that will make me crave for it nightly? (sorry, I was hellbent to also have a "So I Married An Axe Murderer" reference in this blog post, don't try to understand that part).

The problem here really is that I've bought a whole freaking 12-pack of these things, and someone has to drink them. I don't hate them enough to throw them away, but I will most certainly NOT be buying them again. It may take a 12-step program, but drinking red-colored fruit-flavored rubberade has GOT to be bad for me.

One good thing has come from this experience, however. I have learned that 'tomacco' is important enough to warrant its own explanation on Wikipedia.

And so it begins...

The yearly lessons about Homo erectus and the yearly frustration toward the giggles when "Homo" and "erectus" are mentioned TOGETHER. In the same sentence. Many times.

How much torture from 6th graders can one teacher take?

After seven years of this crap, you would think I'd learn to expect it and deal with it accordingly. I expect it alright, but 'deal' with it would mean putting up with it, and I can't even get through a whole sentence with "Homo" and "erectus" in it without someone succombing to uncontrollable pre-teen giggling. To deal with it would also assume the 11- and 12-year-olds have a modicum of maturity, which quite obviously, they don't.

It is a damn good thing that Louis and Mary Leakey didn't travel to Uranus to find early hominid fossils. I would most definitely switch grade levels and subjects.

I take pigeon-holing VERY seriously.

When someone refers to me as "one of the bad apples," I run with it. I don't run fast, and I've got that pain in my knee, but by golly, I run.

Subject lines of spam mail currently sitting in my junk mailbox:

HERBALVIAGRA UPIN20MINS
HERBALVIAGRA UPIN20MINS
Hot Demand Popular Meds
talked
HERBALVIAGRA UPIN20MINS
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YOU ARE FAT, REDUCE WE1GHT

Well, shucks. It looks like I missed all those offers for Herbal Viagra which were "up in 20 minutes." What do I need to do to tell these people that I don't have a penis?

Still, my favorite spam email subject line of all time was: "Get a vagina-ripping whale dick." Wow. Now THAT is what women want.

so·lic·i·tor

one that solicits; especially : an agent that solicits (as contributions to charity).

Why is it, that when the grocery store's front door clearly displays a sign saying "No Solicitors," I still have to "no, thank you - no, thank you - no, thank you" my way past three or four ne'er-do-wells to get inside the building?

Yes, I am registered to vote. No, I don't want to fill out your survey. No, I don't want to give money to your charity (otherwise known as your personal bank account), no I don't want a 'free' newspaper (oh yes, there's a catch).

Seriously, can't the businesses whose land these people are invading DO something about them? They annoy the shit out of me.

Raise your hand if you go to the local grocery store so you can sign a petition to ban the declawing of cats?

That's what I thought.

Sure, I think declawing cats is wrong, but when I have an 11-month old squirmy baby in one arm, my purse in the other, trying to wrangle a shopping cart, do these people honestly think I am going to stop what I'm doing so I can listen to their song and dance and give them money/a signature/a damn? Why not ask me to sign a petition while I'm adopting a cat from the shelter or buying pet supplies at the pet store or paying the vet for telling me nothing is wrong with my dog?

I just don't get it. Get a real job people. There are plenty of other equally annoying things you could do that would get you out of my way and into someone else's. For example, the women at the department store standing by to douse you in the newest GAG ME perfume... now THAT is a profession worth having.

Today is my husband's 31st birthday.

Here's the card I bought for him. Sentimental? No. Funny? Hell yes!

Front:


Inside:

Oh shower, how I love thee...

Why is it that the shower is simultaneously the place that I go to relax and to do all my heavy, deep thinking? I sort of do them at the same time... the coming together of two necessities (for me) -- pampering and overanalyzation. Is regular showering clumped into the category of pampering? I digress.

This morning, while shaving my legs, scrubbing my feet, washing all the washables, I thought long and hard about my mailman. No, not like that... but I wonder if he hates me.

Here's what happens. Mail comes. Everyday. Except Sundays. Almost everyday, mail gets delivered for people that don't live here. People that haven't lived here for years. People whose "Change of Address" forms are long expired and who are more than likely deceased now (we bought the house from a 90-year-old man who was moving to Las Vegas to get married, no lie).

Each time a piece of mail comes for someone who no longer lives here, my husband takes a black sharpie, writes "DOES NOT LIVE HERE" on it (yes, all capitals -- maybe the mailman doesn't know netiquette?) and puts the letters/advertisements back into our mailbox as "outgoing" mail. Surely you would think the mailman would get a clue and stop putting it in there since he retrieves it again each day, but no.

Every day there's something for "Penny Pointer" -- at first I thought it was a joke, kind of like coupons being sent to "Penny Pincher." My neighbor comfirmed, though, that Ms. Pointer did live here until 1998. Why is her mail STILL coming to us after 7 years of living elsewhere? Who knows.

We also get mail for Agnes Pickens, Samuel Freedman, and a host of other people who've shared my address at some point. What's strange is that there's a variety of last names and we're only the third set of owners. I digress. I'm getting good at that.

One thing I do know for sure, though, is that the mailman sees ME everyday, not my husband. He probably whispers under his breath "That bitch" as he drives by. Should I flag him down and explain that it's not me who's doing it, it's my husband, so don't hate me for all the "hate" mail?

I told you this was deep stuff.

Even though I didn't come to a solution to my mailman-related quandary, I did shave my legs, and that's a good thing because they were gettin' mighty hairy! I wondered, too, if the mailman gets mail at HIS house for people who no longer live there? Deep stuff, people. Deep stuff.

Speaking of twins

While at school yesterday, I ran into a set of twins that were in my class last year. They were the most obnoxious, self-centered children I've ever known. Everything was about them.

I didn't know it at first, but they had been 'stars' as babies (if you can be a star as a baby) -- sort of like the Mary-Kate and Ashley of Redlands, expect not nearly as attractive and a lot more socially deviant (they were suspected to be involved with burning down the bathroom at the end of the year and were homeschooled from April to June because their mother was tired of them being 'persecuted'). I wasn't sad to see them go. I wasn't happy to run into them either.

Anyway, they alternated playing the part of a baby on a drama in the early nineties. They actually both have profiles on IMDb, but I chose not to link them since they're minors and yadda yadda yadda.

Don't worry, I wasn't 'star struck' over them. More like I wanted them to get in trouble and be expelled from school. It turns out they took care of them for themselves.

When I saw them yesterday, they both said "Hi" to me like they hadn't been the bane of my existence last year. I politely said "Hi" back, but I wanted to ask "What are you going to burn down this year?"

All this to say -- it made me wonder if fame, even in infancy, can permanently alter someone's personality and sense of self. Do they act out and feel that the rules don't apply to them because they once were on television (even though they were too young to remember any of it?) I think this is why I'd never persue any sort of modeling/acting career with my chlidren. Fame can do a number on you, and it's not usually a good thing.

So, my best friend went and got herself a blog too...

What is this world coming to? I didn't even know she had the ever-elusive technology gene. She's even blogged about me -- how much she loves and hates me. She actually says she "hoves" me -- a combination of love and hate. She always was a wordsmith.

By the way, she in no way represents me. Only believe half of what she says. Especially the stuff about me.

Ah, the joys of teaching.

Every year, on the Friday prior to the start of school, the teachers get their class lists and frantically scan them for last names they might recognize. Every year I have the sibling of a former student; sometimes it's a good thing, sometimes not.

My friends and family can probably recall a few years ago that I had twin girls named J---- and J----. They were good students -- did their work, were on time, rarely absent, etc. One problem with middle school students is how social they are -- many of them LOVE to talk.

J---- and J----, however, were BOTH selective mutes. Neither one of them said ONE word to me the entire school year. If I asked them a direct question, they'd stare at me like a deer in the headlights, mouth closed tightly, eyes deadlocked on mine. They creeped me out. I was glad to be rid of them when the end of the school year came.

So, this year, as I scanned my class list hoping not to be too scared or shocked at the last names I saw, I happened upon their last name. It's a unique last name. I just KNEW this was their brother on my list, and I shuddered to think what that meant.

Fortunately, he talks. He even talked to me. What a concept. I was tempted to ask him if his sisters talk now, but I didn't. Of course, I always wondered WHY they wouldn't talk... mom and dad liked to say they were "shy."

Sorry, but there is a difference between shy and MUTE. I never wish a mute child on any teacher, let alone TWO of them who are identical twins. They were honestly like something out of the Twilight Zone. I'm surprised I haven't had nightmares about them over the years.

They're seniors now -- somehow they've made it through school and will mostlikely graduate and go on to do something. What can a selective mute identical twin do, though? Bit parts for Wes Craven?

Changes to my blog...

I changed my username for personal reasons (ie: I don't want certain people finding my blog via my other username) -- long story.

In doing so, I lost my old comments.

However, I have gained a little more confidence in the confidentiality department, so read at your own risk :) I am so tired of this...

Oh, Earl!

Well, I finally watched "My Name is Earl" last night. Aside from the fact that Jason Lee (whom I LOVED in "Chasing Amy") stars as Earl, it also has the School Supply Guy ! I knew he could do more than dance.

I love this show!