Parks & Recreaction ft. Stephanie and the Spiky Caterpillar of Doom (AKA Parks and Masturdation: Buddha and Books)

So. About that four-day weekend. I kinda went crazy, y’all. I did a lot of masturdation. And you know something? I’m a damn good date.

Mkay. Let’s see. (I’m putting dates on these, because this was actually the weekend before last. And I did more shit this past weekend!)

Thursday, April 14: Sassy and Pensive

I’ve already told you about the sassy new haircut I got last Thursday. That was on the 14th. So last last Thursday. And then later, I went to the bookstore, too! And bought books!

Friday, April 15: Date with Deadpool

I’ve also already told you about the Deadpool masturdate  last last Friday, so let’s move right along.

The end credits had such cute (and vulgar) graphics. This was one of the only clear snaps I could get.

Saturday, April 16: Please sir, may I have some more…books?

I found myself lying in bed. All. Fucking. Day. Around 7 P.M., I had had enough. I was angry and disappointed with myself. So I got up, took a shower, and went to the bookstore. I didn’t know what else to do or where else to go, but I knew I needed to get my pathetic ass out of the bed and move. Also. It’s always fun checking out the cute geeks in the sci-fi/fantasy/comics section. Sometimes they’re so deliciously yummy, I want to kidnap them (don’t worry; they’re adults) and do things to them. So uhm. I bought more books. Quelle surprise!

Added three more to the TBR stack!

Looking forward to reading this when time allows. Speaking of time, that’s a “pocket watch” on a chain. I wear it around my neck to remind me that time our time on this earth is finite; it is precious and I must Carpe the fucking Diem. “There’s only lifetime. GO!”

Yes, I spent too much money. This is rare for me. But when I do decide to spend on myself, it usually happens in a splurgy burst. But I at least had coupons for books! So I didn’t do so bad at the bookstore.

I also justified it by using “spending money” I had set aside for the trip that wasn’t. I wanted to treat myself after some personal shit went down. And y’all, I ain’t even done. I’m tired of being in the backseat of my life (unless, of course, someone is back there with me) (even then, maybe I want to drive for a while, damnit).

No, I didn’t buy this. But seriously? Trigger Warning? Sex Inside? There’s sex ON THE COVER. But “trigger warning”? Good fucking grief. Overuse of “trigger” shit drives me nuts. And sex? This is Cosmo, people. It’s gonna be like, “10 things to make your husband less likely to fall asleep after cumming in 3 seconds flat.” or “5 tips on how to bedazzle your vajazzle.”

Anyway. Let’s get to the park, shall we?

Sunday, April 17: Parks & Masturdation, or One if by Land, Buddha if by Trees

This dude has been driving me batshit about getting the fuck outside. I make excuses. He tells me to piss off. I make more excuses. He says so the fuck what. I say, but I hate it here. I want to be in the Pacific Northwest! He says, but you’re not in the fucking Northwest. Get out and live now. I say my foot is broken; he says piss off and go hobble.

So you know what? I fucking hobbled my ass to the park last last Sunday. And unfortunately, I have to admit that the smug fucker was right. I couldn’t do much walking. My foot is legit still broken (had new x-rays and it’s finally and slowly healing, though – NO SURGERY! NO PINS!)

Anyhoodles. Park. I got my ass up. At oh…1 in the afternoon or some shit. But I did good. I went straight to the shower then straight to the park (with an intermission for getting dressed – it’s not that kinda park).

I grabbed my book, Buddha in a Teacup (which is bullshit so far – more later), and did a little wandering. Not much, mind you. My foot wouldn’t let me forget it’s broken. I went first through the greenhouse. It was always my favorite part of the park, though they’ve let it go to shit.

Lemme share some lovelies from that day:

One of the few pretties in the greenhouse.
Went down here to read first. Until hornets ran me off.
Somebody wanted to fuck with Buddha. How dare.

Hornets drove me to this spot. Much lovelier anyway, once I got away from the noisy geese-feeding hordes.
Met this little fella, too. Don’t worry. I didn’t let that venomous fucker touch me. But we chatted for a while. He’s converting to Buddhism and came to warn me that this book would likely be shite.


More lovelies.

That was park day numberus oneicus.

Monday, April 18: Parks & Masturdation, or Making Friends and Influencing People, or A Writing Assignment

Because some little shit couldn’t be satisfied, I went to the park two days in a row. (He also says go listen to High Pass Filter right now!) And I mentioned it to someone else…all like I know I should, but I don’t wanna and he was all but you must go! And you must write something while there! No reading! Must write! These demanding asshats, I’m telling you. I did go, and I did write. But I can’t share the writing yet, as it’s to be part of a collaborative something.


Lemme share a gratuitous amount of flower piccies, and then I’ll tell you about someone I met. It was one of those moments in life when you just know. You just fucking know. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

But first. Flower porn. GASP! New word! FLORN!

















Ahhhh isn’t spring glorious? I fucking love flowers. Can you tell? No? Lemme show you some more.

KIDDING. Just kidding.

Lemme tell you about Anthony now. I had been watching him, you see, crafting the beginnings of a short story based on him. He had no idea, of course. I just saw him and was inspired. I caught a glimpse of him from my table. He was down fishing off this little covered pier thingy. It showed up in the picture up there with my notepad.

I actually snuck an excellent shot of him re-baiting his hook. It was the perfect shot of him in his element, but I won’t even show my face on the blog. Not my place to show his.

Anyway, the more I wrote, the more I felt compelled to meet the real man. Not the one I was making up.

This. What I’m about to tell you about is well and truly outside of even the remotest of my comfort zones. But I felt compelled, in the truest sense. I had to meet this man.

So, for what seemed ages, I gathered my courage.
And then I gathered my things.
And then I walked down that pier.
And then, heart pounding, I spoke,

Hi! Mind if I keep you company for a bit?

It’s a public pier in a public park, but he was alone. Serene. And compared to the weekend chaos at that peer, with all the kids and geese, I figured he was probably enjoying his solitude. His communion with nature.

But he turned to me and grinned, telling me “Sure!”

So I put my things down, and he said he’d seen me writing. Asked if I was in school. Hehe. I said no; I was just writing a story. So he told me about his granddaughter. She writes children’s books, but is having fits getting published.

We chatted for a while. He asked questions about me; I answered. He told me about himself. Turns out we work for the same company. He had been retired, but grew bored after a long relationship busted up and went back to work. In his sixties now, he expressed that sometimes he grows weary of having been in the same place all his life.

Only so many times you can see the same ole thing and not wonder what else is out there that you’re missin’ out on. Ain’t much time left, and I’m past retirement age. Got a brother in Minnesota, though. Sure do love it up there. Why not, right? But it’s a scary thing, so I don’t know if I have it in me.

Why not, indeed.

So I shared a bit of my story with him, and my desire to move to the Pacific Northwest. He asked why there, and I told him how I’d been in love with Oregon ever since watching The Goonies as a kid. And then once I visited the region, I fell even harder and knew a life change was in order.

He told me I’m young and should go for it.

So I pointed at the “pocket” watch on the chain around my neck. Held it up for him to see.

Do you know what this is?

He shook his head, “Naw. Reckon you gon’ tell me, though.”

I popped it open and showed him the watch. “And do you know why I wear it?,” I asked. He just looked at me, expectantly waiting.

I wear it to remind me that life is short. I wear it to remind me that our time on this earth is finite. I wear it to remind me that there’s no time like the present time. I wear it to remind me that there’s never a right time. There’s only right now. I wear it to remind me that as long as I continue ticking along with it, it’s not too late. So I’m moving to Oregon. And you’re moving to Minnesota. And we’re going to make it count.

He smiled a winsome smile, tilted his head and cast his line back into the water.

You know somethin’, young lady? I’m gon’ call my brother tonight. See what we can see.

He looked hopeful now, wistful. I smiled and gathered my things.

Then I shook his grimy bait hand, told him it was a pleasure to meet him and to have good luck with his fishing.

And hey, Anthony? Make it count. Let’s make it count.

He grinned back at me and said, “Never too late.”


This post brought to you by:




Tomàs, for encouraging me to write even when, especially when, I doubt my ability to write anything worth anything at all. For making me feel worthy, writing aside.


Stupidityhole for relentlessly pushing me to get the fuck out of bed and the fuck out of the house. Many. Many. Many times now. I am eternally grateful.


Dedicated to Anthony and everyone else who thinks it’s too fucking late. Grab life. Pluck it when it’s ripe; carpe the fucking diem.


Coming SoonMasturdating at Happy Hour last Friday, complete with photos of old men flexing in their tighty-whities. Perhaps a recap of tomorrow night’s concert – yes, another masturdate, and then my group Happy Hour this coming Friday night!  Oh. Oh yes. And allergic reactions and moronic recruiters and the relocation conundrum. Stay tuned! You know me. I’ll fill you in in a month or so. (Winky Face, bitches.)

Ringing in the New Year: Book Tag and I’m it!

The Scene: A well-lit bedroom, strewn with clothes and books, drawing supplies and souvenir shot glasses, a Taylor guitar and an antique typewriter.

The Players: One Stephanie, sitting against the headboard in bed, laptop in place, surrounded by detritus of the evening – books, 2016 planner, prismacolor pens, iPad, chargers and Rolos. Two cats, both alternating between pacing and hiding under the bed in fear of the fireworks that have been sporadically going off all evening.

The Mood Music: Tricky’s Blowback album.


Ringing in the New Year Book Tag

Shaun at Tales in Anxiety tagged me to do this Ringing in the New Year Book thingy. I’ve been avoiding doing these – and please don’t be offended if you’ve tagged me to do something but I didn’t. I just couldn’t resist this one, though, cuz I’m nuts about books! By the way, carry your asses over to Shaun’s place – he’s a good writer. Not only that, but he’s a fucking cool dude – so go on!

Now. Y’all know how I do. Fuck the rules; let’s get right into the questions! (Which are really fucking tough, by the way.)

Best book/series you read in 2015?

I’m going to give you two books: one a non-fiction memoir and one literary fiction. These were my two favorite books of the year:

I Am Malala: The Girl Who Stood Up for Education and was Shot by the Taliban, by Malala Yousafzai. Malala’s story is not only important for the advancement of basic human rights the world over, but it’s also some pretty fucking important perspective. Things can always be worse – and for far too many people, they are. Malala is a brave young woman who stood up for her rights, and the rights of others in her situation. For that, she nearly lost her life. And you know what? It didn’t stop her – nay, it bolstered her and made her voice into a powerful force for good. Her memoir is the perfect blend of Pakistani history and political climate for reference with the recounting of what happened to her.

Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, by Haruki Murakami. Murakami is my favorite fiction author, period. He has been for a few years now. I haven’t read all of his books…yet. But that’s only because I’ve forced myself to slow down because I’m dreading the day I’m caught up and don’t have any new Murakami to read. Murakami is this weird, magical realist and surrealist author. I don’t really know what to say. Perhaps Kafkaesque. All I know is that Murakami gives me characters that I can relate to alongside most unrealistic characters. I love his jazz references and the simple scenes and detailed minutia. But I also love the mind-boggling surreal scenes that are insane…and profound. He always makes me think – and good lord the caliber of his writing. Just. Just read him.

Authors you’ve recently found and would like to read more of in the new year?

Both of these are authors that have been around for a long time, but I only read a book by each of them this year. Both of them drew me in and taught me about different cultures – which I love reading about. So I would love to read more by Amy Tan as well as Chinua Achebe. Fantastic writers and able to draw you in to different cultures and lands. I read Tan’s The Joy Luck Club and Achebe’s Things Fall Apart.

I’m also gonna take this as a chance to tell you about what’s next up from my TBR pile:

  • The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer
  • The Magicians by Lev Grossman
  • The Lowland by Jhumpa Lahiri
  • Assassin’s Apprentice by Robin Hobb

Kinda pumped about all four of those!

Most anticipated book turned movie?

Okay. This may be cheating, because the movie has already been out for quite some time. I don’t really keep up with books turned movies very well. But one I’ve been looking forward to seeing and haven’t gotten to yet is The Martian, based on the book of the same name by Andy Weir. I enjoyed the book – it was a super fast read. I kinda raced a coworker to see who could finish first. I know. Weird. Anyway! It wasn’t some masterpiece, but it was a decent book, and the main character was a snarky pottymouth. So I approved. I do think it’s one of those rare ones that could make a better movie than book, so I want to see it at some point.

Name a character you wouldn’t mind sharing a kiss with at midnight.

Westley from The Princess Bride. He’s loyal and funny and a smartass and did time as a pirate. He wins battles of wit, brute strength and sword fights. He comes back from the dead to rescue his true love. Definitely Westley. I want to hear, “As you wish,” to my silly little whims or shows of affection.

How many books do you hope to read in 2016?

I think my Goodreads goal for 2015 was 24 books. I’ve finished the year with a total of 42 books read. A couple of those were short comic books, but the rest were novels (or at least novel-length). I think I’ll keep my goal the same for 2016, because I like keeping track of what I’ve read – but I also don’t want to turn reading into a stressful thing that I feel I fail if I didn’t do a certain amount. 24 is perfectly doable for me, without being stressful or feeling I’ve failed myself. But it would be cool if I could make it to 50 this time!

Will you participate in the Goodreads Reading Challenge? 

Yeah! See above!

Any New Year’s Resolutions? (Bookish or otherwise?)

Not really. I don’t really do resolutions. But, I do have ongoing goals that I will continue to work on. Goals such as: be a better person, be kind to myself, work on my health, and find courage to carpe the fucking diem! And somewhere in all of that, I will continue to be a reading machine!


I nominate all y’all, cuz that’s how I roll. Anybody wanna do it? Do it. You no wanna? No do it.

The Book Review That Wasn’t: Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig

Once in a while, I stumble upon a book that I just cannot find it within me to finish. I hate not finishing books, but sometimes it simply can’t be helped. Life is too short to finish books we’re not diggin’. Seriously, it is way too short for that shit.

Unfortunately, Chuck Wendig’s Blackbirds is one such book for me. I bought it on the recommendation of a coworker. I think he had listened to an audio version of it, so I couldn’t exactly borrowed it from him. Plus, I have a real problem with books. It’s a damn stroke of luck that I haven’t had my house foreclosed upon on account of my reckless non-budget when it comes to book spending. I’ve gotten better lately. Mostly because I fell into a reading lull – aka a time of epic suckitude when I just can’t get into books. Any books. So yeah, of course, if I can’t even be arsed to read things I know I’d like, then my wallet stops weeping money for a spell.

Cue Blackbirds, the first book I’ve bought for a while (hmm, at least a month…probably closer to three – which is an absolute eternity for me). So that makes it doubly shittastic that I can’t finish the crapfest that is Blackbirds.

Dig the cover art.
Dig the cover art.

Here’s the deal – I knew going in that it’s outside my preferred genre. It’s a gritty thriller, which isn’t really my thing. But sometimes things that aren’t my thing can be my thing if the writer tricks me into thinking it was really my thing all along. (Bullshit. That sentence was not convoluted. I do not convolute. Hmph.)

99 Problems, and the Bitch is the Biggest One

Beware of spoilers.

I get it, okay? Miriam Black has a horrible ability that has caused her to live life in the fringes of society. Which means it’s dirty and foul and dangerous, and so she has had to toughen up. The shit upon girl with a heart of gold and balls of steel, hardened to survive. Vicious as a defense mechanism. I get it. It’s totally cliche, but fine. People can still write about cliches and make them good. I’m fine with tropes when done well. But Miriam is filthy. I mean, she’s downright gutter trash filthy. I’m half way through the book, and I haven’t found a single redeeming quality. And she’s the one I’m supposed to be rooting for! She’s hateful and spiteful and opportunistic and cruel and sadistic. I hate Miriam. I feel sorry for her, but it’s a tough sympathy to maintain when I despise her character so very much.

All Guts, No Glory

There is so much gore in this book. I can handle some gore in horror films, emphasis on some. But horror and gore lit are definitely outside my realm of interest. Too many gut splattering, eyeball gouging, blood pooling scenes for me.

Is this Snuff? No, really, is it?

Miriam will do anything to survive – at least that’s what we’re supposed to believe. But really, halfway into the book and all I can see is that she uses her ability to manipulate and rob people in their last moments. Hell, she stalks them for weeks, months…by keeping their dates of death in her planner. She justifies her actions because they’re going to die anyway. She’s just an opportunist, capitalizing on their deaths.

Among the anythings she will do is sex. Any sex, any flavor, any style, anywhere, anybody. There are graphic moments where she’s being fingered. Look, I can handle a sex scene. If written and incorporated properly, it can be hot without being porny. But this shit right here…this shit Wendig writes is at least borderline snuff. There’s a lengthy scene (I thought it would never end) where Miriam is having a death vision while having sex. She reaches orgasm while having a vision of the man’s death – the man she’s fucking. And Miriam thinks to herself that it’s the best orgasm she’s had in ages…because she was picturing his death at the same time.

That. That. Was some twisted, gross shit. And it’s just not my thing. It makes me uncomfortable – and not in a challenge my philosophies and worldview kinda way. More like I just ate something rotten and feel nauseated. That kinda discomfort.


For people who dig books that fall into the same genre as Blackbirds, you’ll love it. It’s easily written. It’s definitely no head-scratcher. I could finish it tonight if I wanted to. But I just can’t muster up the will to read any more of it. It leaves a bad taste in my mouth – it doesn’t help that I’m a visual reader. I picture Everything I read. Everything. So that’s not helping.

If you like Stephen King (rant rant I hate Stephen King), you’ll dig it. If you liked American Gods by Neil Gaiman, you might like this. (Dudes, I love Neil Gaiman’s Sandman. Perhaps I’ll talk about that later. But American Gods was not my jam.) If you’re into horror, scary sex, and way more cursing than even I do – then you’ll be fine with this book.

Now what the hell am I supposed to do with my copy? Tossing it is out of the question. One does not simply toss a book! Bleh. I hate not finishing books. Thanks a lot, Chuck.

3-Day Quote Challenge: Day The Second

Alright Peoplleaneous,

I owe you a quote for Day 2 of the 3-Day Quote Challenge! But first! Thanks to everyone for sharing your quotes on the post and on your blogs. I love reading them – keep ’em coming!

Good god, that’s a shitton of exclamation points in a short time. I’m as hyper as five hummingbirds fighting over the same nectar. I’m as hyper as a ten-bee orgy. (OHMYGOSH Y’ALL. THAT’S WHERE THE BEE GEES GOT THEIR NAME FROM! THAT’S WHY THEY HAD NIGHT FEVER.) Take your pick. I’m hyper, y’all. And it doesn’t necessarily equate to good feelings. Just. Ass. Tons. Of. Energy. Woo!

I know y’all haven’t known me long. But surely you know me well enough by now to know that you’re not getting one quote. Nuh uh. You’re getting at least one and a half.

Quoth the Raven:

Somewhere, far, far away, there’s a shitty island. An island without a name. An island not worth giving a name. A shitty island with a shitty shape. On this shitty island grow palm trees that also have shitty shapes. And the palm trees produce coconuts that give off a shitty smell. Shitty monkeys live in the trees, and they love to eat these shitty-smelling coconuts, after which they shit the world’s foulest shit. The shit falls on the ground and builds up shitty mounds, making the shitty palm trees that grow on them even shittier. It’s an endless cycle.

~Haruki Murakami. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

Those of you unfamiliar with Murakawind-up birdmi’s work, please do not let that off-color passage deter you from entering his world. He is easily my favorite current author. All of the books I own by him so far are littered with notes and stickies and flagged passages and phrases. He speaks to my soul like…well like only Murakami can right now. His works are serious and surreal and deep and thought-provoking. And no. No. I cannot continue, because this is NOT the kind of half-ass, poorly thought out review I wanna write of his works. So. The point is. The passage I just put as my next quote? It’s in the middle of this super-serious book, and it leapt off of the page at me, and I laughed out loud. I laughed. I snorted. I moved on. And then I lost it again. Funny funny. Can you see it? The shitty monkeys on the shitty palm trees of shitty island?


Fine. You don’t wanna laugh at my funny? Cry, then!

Quoth the Depressed:

But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning.

~Haruki Murakami. The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

Another of my marked passages from the same book and author.


I’m having a strange day. Mentally. Moodily. Tummily. And now there’s this little bit of work that needs doing, and I find my restless boredom doesn’t quite extend that far. But I have to force it. I’ll try to write more later. I have so much to say to you people!


3-Day Quote Challenge: Day One, aka Kat Rescues Us All from Another Depressing Post (not so fast, you haven’t seen my quote)

Kat over at Time No Matter has roped me into a 3-day quote challenge. And she didn’t even have to try hard! So far, I’m finding these sorts of things to be a fun community-building diversion from my usual humdrum. And it makes me feel welcome, and who doesn’t like to feel welcome? So thank you, Kat. And y’all please check out her blog – she’s on an inspiring journey.

Now. On to the quote challenge rule thingies.


  • Thank the blogger who nominated you
  • Publish 3 quotes on 3 consecutive days on your blog. It can be your own, or from a book, movie or from anyone who inspires you.
  • Nominate 3 more bloggers to carry on this endeavor

P.S. I’m about to break two out of three rules. A quote challenge, for a whopping three quotes total? Ever!? What if I wanna give you four, huh? Did you think about that, huh? No! You didn’t!


Look. Let’s be frank here. Okay, I’ll be Frank. You can be Cornelius. And Frank says, I know a lot of y’all hate shit like this. And some of you love it. I cannot begin to describe the absolute soul crushing anxiety these fucking nominations give me. I swear, you’d lock me up if you knew how much I fret over trying to pick THREE FUCKING PEOPLE out of the two hundred I’m following so far. And some of the ones I want to nominate, I know good and well hate this shit. And some of the ones I want to nominate, I keep nominating over and over! So. Look. Here’s what I’m gonna do.

I nominate EVERYONE. EVERYFUCKINGONEOFYOU. If you don’t wanna do it, no pressure. If you do, I won’t even ask you to tag me. Be cool if you did, but I won’t get my feelings hurt if you don’t! And and bonus idea! If you want, you can just share some of your favorite quotes with me here. Cuz I enjoy talking with y’all.

Maybe that’s a copout. Okay, it totally is a copout. Suck it. That’s how I’m doing it! Whew. (I’m still full of anxiety over it. I wish you knew how serious I am about that. Maybe I’m glad you don’t.)

Pre-Game Bonus:

This is the only quote that should be allowed to kick things like this off:

YippeeKiYayWill the Real Quote Please Stand Up:

There is a loneliness in this world so great
that you can see it in the slow movement of
the hands of a clock.

People so tired
either by love or no love.

People just are not good to each other
one on one.

The rich are not good to the rich.
The poor are not good to the poor.

We are afraid.

Our educational system tells us
that we can all be
big-ass winners.

It hasn’t told us
about the gutters
or the suicides.

Or the terror of one person
aching in one place

unspoken to

watering a plant.

~Charles Bukowski. Love is a Dog from Hell.

That’s my quote for today. Please feel free to add yours in the comments or on your own pages.

The Velveteen Rabbit

I made brief mention of The Velveteen Rabbit in a previous post. There, I gave you the following quote:

From The Velveteen Rabbit, written by Margery Williams:

“You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”

As mentioned before, this is one of my all time favorites. Right up there with The Wind in the Willows, Small Pig, Charlotte’s Web, and the list goes on. I don’t mention The Hobbit, because of course! That’s got to be the most important book to me as a child. So it probably deserves its own post someday. What children’s books am I missing? Which made the biggest impact on you?

After I made that post, I made a serendipitous find. A velveteen rabbit pendant! Ohmygoshohmygosh I had to have it. So I bought it.


It’s perfect, and I’m wearing it right now. It’s such a sweet little reminder of the joys and sorrows of life and love and belonging. What it means to age gracefully in the company of loved ones. A reminder to embrace our “flaws” and appreciate them for demonstrating the character we’ve earned through the struggles and joys and myriad experiences of life. Embrace them. They’re visual reminders, signposts, of what made us who we are, in the end.

As for The Velveteen Rabbit, you may read the story here. But I encourage you to purchase your own copy, particularly if there are any children in your life that need to be introduced to it. My copy was stolen long ago. One of these days, I’m gonna buy a supernice one. Just for me. Because. Well because maybe I deserve it.