Manual Process

The other day at work, one of the nice ladies I work with took ill. After much discussion, it was decided she needed to head home to rest and recoup, but she felt too woozy to drive.

One of her coworkers, who lives in the same neighborhood, offered to drive the lady home using the sick lady's own car, and would then take public transit to her own place.

This was a very kind offer!

But when they got to the parking garage, a problem presented itself.

The car in question has a manual transmission, and the good Samaritan had zero idea what to do with all those pedals under the dash.

Turns out, no one in the office knew how to drive a stick (I wasn't at work that day), so the sick lady ended up driving herself home...which is a shame.

See, I have a few personal arbitrary rules for the world. One of them is that everyone who knows how to drive should know how to drive a manual transmission.

I suppose this is one of those hand-me-downs from my parents. My dad was adamant on this same policy.

His reasoning for this was, "if you can drive a stick, you can drive any car in the world." My pops was full of beans on a lot of his own personal arbitrary rules for the world (like father like daughter), but I have to back him up on this one.

When each of us three kids learned how to drive, we learned how to drive both an automatic and a stick, much to the groaning agony of the used four-speed everything manual car we all used to learn (if you click, it was like the one in front, only with purple stripes and no sun roof).

That car was pre-hydraulic clutch. I blame this for the freak strength of my left leg.

But I digress.

I realize that most of the cars on the roads today are automatic. I suppose it's a good thing, it has made driving easier and more accessible for people. But it's also a sad turn.

When I moved to the Bay Area, I had a 5-speed Jeep. God, I loved that truck. After moving here I fearlessly bombed all around San Francisco in that thing, up and down some of the craziest hills the City has to offer...

...not because I'm cool or daring or anything, mainly because I'm stupid and didn't plan my routes better. In the first months of life here, the smell of my own burning clutch was like an old friend following me up and down SF roads.

And let me tell you this...if you are at a stop light on a street that just *happens* to also carry a streetcar, and if you *happen* to stop and don't realize your back tire is on the streetcar rail...well, when the light turns and you hit the gas...the squeeeeing sound is unlike anything you've ever known as well as the smell of your tires AND your clutch as they hang on the foggy air. Yes! That is the smell of humiliation to a country mouse in the big town!

We'll not discuss trying to parallel park on a hill with a manual transmission...

Ok, sure. One of the reasons that people don't want to drive a stick is because of life's little difficulties just like that.

Yeah, yeah...it can be utterly nerve wracking.

But I say, the problem solving and gut-it-out reflexes you have to go through to get that car rolling again are valuable life lessons!

Lessons we all can use.

Plus, if you ever want to buy a really fancy sports car, you are good to go.

Or...you know, "borrow" some farm equipment.

But once again...I digress...

Seriously?

Prairie dogs cause halt to city park project

They are plaguey rodents. You know that, right? Vermin!

"City residents...have formed the Prairie Dog Alliance of Santa Fe..."

What?

My week, at a glance.

Husband, on the couch, coughing, coughing, coughing...*sniffle*

Feline, on the couch tossing head ferociously flap, flap, flapping her ears and occasionally digging in there with a back toe.

Me, on the couch, blowing my nose repeatedly, in between coughing and sneezing.

Diagnosis:

Husband: severe bronchitis, bordering on pneumonia
Cat: ear infection
Me: bad cold, trying desperately not to let it become bronchitis

Mood: Crappy

Is this a joke? Am I on candid camera?

Am at work today and my coworkers have unceremoniously shut my office door. They mumbled something like "you are being quarantined".

Nice.

ah-choo!

Not a problem!

Four states adopt 'no-smiles' policy for driver's licenses

Sure, they say it's because of better facial recognition and to cut down on fraud.

But after navigating DMV and their ruder than rude employees, who is gonna smile anyway?

Grr!

Lincoln County Wars

Ah yes, Lincoln County, a hotbed of conflict. Sure, the rancher vs storeowner battles of the 19th century were brutal.

But a bit of a war rages today, and there are no fewer guns involved.

See, growing up in New Mexico, I always knew there were certain places you just didn't go if you weren't from the community. Many of these kind of towns are sprinkled throughout the state, places where, if you aren't from here, just keep on going.

This is rather well portrayed in the books "Milagro Beanfield War" where the young reporter is deposited in the town square and is summarily ignored, has rocks thrown at him and is put up in a small room with rattle snakes.

Or in "Red Sky at Morning" where a young Joshua Arnold witnesses a small town New Mexico Christmas ritual, and summarily gets his butt whooped by the locals.

This is not just the stuff of fiction. Nope, reading Bruce Daniel's article in the ABQJournal, this phenomenon is alive and well.

See, it seems the good people of Lincoln County are a bit reluctant to be counted.

In the last government census (in 2000), only 39% of the people in Lincoln returned their information. The national average was 64%.

So when information isn't returned, the census people deploy agents to the field to go door to door to make the counts.

And here is where things are getting sticky in Lincoln County. Folks don't take kindly to strangers, particularly federally employed strangers, clomping about on their property. In fact, County Manager Tom Stewart went so far as to let folks know that "...some census workers could be perceived as trespassers and be shot."

Not as a fear tactic, mind you, but by way of warning.

He's not kidding, by the way.

Now, sure, getting a right count on the census may mean more in the way of federal funding and programs. But that don't matter to the folks in Lincoln County who just want to be left alone.

Often, I think my fair New Mexico has grown too much, too fast. It's not like it was, rapidly losing those rare and unique qualities. Then I read an article like this and know that there will always be pockets of people who just won't change.

In a wry way, that makes me glad. And homesick.

Memorial Day

Here's wishing all a happy and safe Memorial Day.

For me, this day will include taking a moment to remember those who have served in the military. This includes my dad, who was a veteran of the Korean War, and is buried at the National Cemetery in Santa Fe.

Photos taken at the Merchant Marine cemetery at Fort Stanton, NM.

Photos by Karen Fayeth

Got to fix my thinkin'

You are only as old as you feel....or so they say.

I got to work on this, because, last weekend...

I tried on these hot kicks:

The style is VERY of the now.

And as I clomped about the store, I thought, "hmmm, I wonder if these will make my bunions hurt?"

So I put them back on the shelf, slid my toes into well worn flip flops, and left the store.

I remember when I'd wear dreadfully uncomfortable shoes for hours, just because they looked DAMN good. What price beauty and all of that.

But now I'm about comfort?

Oh dear. Have I succumbed? Am I going gentle into that good night.....?

Fight!

Or take a nap. Whatever.

Best NM food related news in a long while.

From Thelma Domenici, etiquette expert for the ABQJournal, from Sunday's edition:

______________________
"Dear Thelma: Growing up in a Hispanic family in New Mexico, there were tortillas on the table as part of every meal. My favorite way to eat a meal is to scoop each bite into a piece of tortilla and then eat it. This is a tradition I have grown up with my entire life and it is the best way to eat Mexican food. Frequently I find myself wondering if this is proper etiquette in a restaurant setting, particularly when dining with business associates.

A: The use of a tortilla with Mexican food, especially in New Mexico, is a cultural tradition that you need not leave at the restaurant door. You can feel comfortable and confident in using pieces of tortilla in the way you describe.

However, don't transfer your entire plate into a tortilla to fold up as a burrito, and avoid wiping your plate clean with your tortilla no matter how good the red chile is. "
______________________

Good to know that my use of tortilla in eating Mexican food (with gusto) is ok, mannerswise.

Not like I ever worried about it before.....:)

I doubt your bumper sticker, sir.

Last evening, while out running errands, I found myself at a stoplight behind a shiny new black Cadillac Escalade EXT (the one that's sorta kinda a pickup, but not really).

It was a nice ride, tricked out with big fat shiny chrome custom wheels, all the expensive add ons, and a sticker on the back window that said "Cowboy Up."

Oh really? Cowboy up? Is that your philosophy on life? Are you sure, Mr. Driving a Luxury Vehicle in the Suburbs, that you are, in fact, ready to cowboy up?

Are you prepared to lose a thumb as you throw a loop around the head of a recalcitrant steer, dally up around the saddle horn and whoops, get a digit caught in the turn?

Are you ready to try to throw a calf while you currently nurse a broken rib, courtesy of the back forty of the calf that came down the chute just before?

Are you all set to trim a budding horn from a young cow only to hit the artery, thus shooting blood straight into your eye with force and velocity? And are you further ready to then take a hot branding iron and sear that bloody mess, leaving the smell and taste of burning flesh and blood lingering in the air?

Are you man enough to sink your arm up to the shoulder inside the back of a birthing cow to assist that mama with a backwards facing baby, and when that same mama cow prolapses her uterus out onto the ground, are you ready to shove that bloody mess back inside and stitch her up? (if you don't know what I mean, I suggest you do a search on Confessions of a Pioneer Woman, she even posted photos of this horrifying event)

And are you ready to be bitten, kicked and thrown off a horse all in one day? Are you ready the haul hay? Are you ready to pray for rain and curse the wind? Are you ready to turn your hands to hamburger from stringing barbwire? Are you ready to face birth and death and life and manure and blood and saliva and the unpredictability of the life of a cowboy?

Are ya?

Cause you know what? I betcha you aren't, actually, ready to Cowboy Up.

I might know a thing or two about it, and even I'm not really ready to Cowboy Up.

Not even in the suburbs.

Did you know...

...that today is National Health and Fitness Day?

I didn't either, but it is.

So my own company decided to celebrate by hosting a lunchtime walk along a really pretty bayside trail near our offices.

When I told my favorite coworker about the planned event, he reminded me that employees of our company get *plenty* of exercise jumping to conclusions, walking away from responsibility, and running to line up first for the buffets.

While I couldn't argue his point, I decided to take a walk anyway. Feeling cranky and amped up, a walk seemed like a nice idea.

It was walker's choice, a one mile or two mile jaunt. I went ahead and chose two miles, strapped on my trainers and got to it.

Can't say it was the nicest day for a walk. After being hotter than the hinges of hell for the past several days, the Bay Area Inversion (description here) has kicked in and today we get windy and cold.

Whatever.

Look, while most of my coworkers sat at their desks and ate hearty lunches in the cafeteria, I actually *did* something useful today.

I feel *so* smug too. I even took the company provided shuttle over to the start point in an effort to conserve fuel.

And I recycled the bottle from the water they gave me.

When the walk was done, I ate a salad.

If I keep this up, I'm going to be driving a Prius soon.

What?

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!

Ok, to offset all this goodness I'll have red meat and whiskey for dinner.

That ought to restore balance to the universe.

Hmph

Way to go ABQjournal.

Rein = like on a horse, meaning to control or curtail. Reign = like a king.

I believe the Senate seeks to curb credit card practices, not rule over them like a sovereign nation.

Oy! Go APS, go!

Screen shot from today's online version.

EDIT: Twenty minutes later, the headline reads: "Senate passes credit card overhaul bill"

A good quote

"What is man without the beasts? If the beasts were gone, man would die from a loneliness of spirit. For whatever happens to the beasts, soon happens to man. All things are connected."

-- Chief Seattle, Suquamish People

Yes, even the deer that relieved itself on my lawn has meaning.

Oh Dear!

I believe we have a rogue deer in my part of the world.

How, might you ask, would I know that?

Because, I am a woman of New Mexico, daughter of a hunter and champion poo identifier.

That, my friends, is a healthy, well-fed ruminant.

So normally this wouldn't bother me, but this little deposit, made Saturday evening, is located less than a foot from my home.

True, I live pretty much in the suburbs, but it's not THAT suburban. We do have some open land a couple miles away from us, but it's pretty tight housing and people where I'm at.

Here in California, we are SO anti the mountain lion, one gets spotted at a fair distance and the *freak* out happens. Quickly it's captured and relocated or killed.

See, if we hadn't killed all the mountain lions, those stick-legged animals wouldn't be leaving their leavings in my front yard!

That's the circle of life, people!

I'd be more than happy to help Bambi the Yard Visitor make his or her way onto my dinner plate, but noooo, California can't have *that*.

Bambi is cute and doesn't have sharp paws, so he gets to stick around, ruining fences, gardens and causing havoc but the feline meat eaters get ostracized.

*sigh*

(Note to my readers: oh yes I DID just post a poo photo on my blog! If the award winning Pioneer Woman can do it, well, so can I!)

What the #$%@ is THIS?!?!?!

We got a kickback package of goodies from a supplier today. All kinds of crunchy snack treats. We, as an organization, descended on the munchful food. Oh yes we did.

I, myself, came out of the fray with a nice bag of Cracker Jack.

Ah Cracker Jack, food of my youth. Yes!

After the : smack, slurp, crunch, devour : was done, I excitedly grabbed the prize from the bottom of the bag.

Oh man, this is going to be GOOD!

There it is! Red striped fun! Whee!

Ok, tear this bad boy open. Unfold the directions.

What the?

I know you can't read the text in this crappy iPhone photo.

It says: "Can you guess who I grew up to be?" then a lot of blah blah text about growing up a Quaker and self-discipline and blah blah BLAH!

Ok, now we get to the good part. The directions "fold over along perforated lines to reveal image on the other side..."

Heeeere we go! Yes, this will be something funny, right? A goofy face! Oh man, I'm gonna laugh. Then I'm gonna show this to all my coworkers. We'll laugh for like HOURS man! Ok...folding...

What the?

Why is Ben Franklin staring back at me? This can't be right. Let me look at the directions again.

"In her 50 years as a reformer, Susan B. Anthony championed many causes blah blah BLAH..."

WHAT!?!?!?!

What is fun about Susan B. Anthony! This isn't even a crazy face. It's actually kind of creepy!

I. Got. Robbed.

No temporary tattoo?!? No fun game?!?!

Nobody is laughing. Prizes SUCK now!!!!

Frackin' Cracker Jacks! : waves fists :

: twitch, twitch :

You know what it's like, careening down a country road.

Driving faster than your headlights, as your driving instructor (Mr. McGinnis if you are an Albuquerque kid) might say.

And you see those two little glistening black eyes under two long ears, nose twitching by the side of the road.

That goddamn jackrabbit is making a decision. Here comes two tons of steel traveling just north of 90 mph.

Do I leap or do I stay still?

Stay still and stay safe. You know this side of the road, you don't get to see anything new, no challenges.

Leap fast enough and you make it to the other side, a whole new world awaits. Fresh experiences, more room to grow.

Leap not quite fast enough and you are a hood ornament.

What do you do?

Don't ask me, I'm just another conejo by the side of the road blinking into the approaching highbeams.

This morning I met a man outside of my manager's office. He's from the company that just bought my employer. He's the counterpart to my boss. Odds are good he'll be my next boss.

Later I walked down to the area where all the high level managers sit. My boss and four other directors are jam packed into a senior director's office. A sudden impromptu meeting.

What the *hell* is going on?

Do I still have a job?

: twitch, twitch :

Cookie wisdom

received in a lunchtime cookie:

Lyrical Philsophy

Several years ago, I used to date a musician. We'll call those "the dark years." He was the real deal, taught himself to play, had the "gift," was making a living (such that it was) playing music.

We would often have debates. He was a true music guy. I, on the other hand, am a fan of words.

He often told me that it was the music that mattered. The words were just something that floated on top. It didn't matter if they were there.

Obviously, this ticked me off.

Over time, I learned to appreciate more of the nuances to music. How a driving drumbeat could make an otherwise dull song into a moving tune. How one hamfisted musician could ruin a whole piece. How the sounds tell a story that the musician weaves together.

He never, however, learned to appreciate the words.

I used to say that even the cheesiest song in the world could offer up some value, some deeply meaningful bit of emotion or philosophy or declaration. I even gave examples. He would reluctantly agree that the words I'd quoted had meaning, but not in the context of a song.

I got to thinking about this again today while listening to my iPod. Thinking about how seemingly throwaway songs can actually yield something meaningful tucked away in the lyrics.

The song that got me going was The Spinners classic "Working My Way Back to You" (originally a Frankie Valli song).

The lyric that "gets me" is this:

"I used to love to make you cry/It made me feel like a man inside/
But if I'd been a man in reality/You'd still be here, baby, lovin me"

No doubt The Spinners knew how to lay down an amazing groove, but this pop-y hit song speaks of redemption. The guy had a great girl, he "ran around like I was free", then was *shocked* when she got self-respect and left him. He realized he'd blown it BIG time.

Those words, that lyric I quoted, is a really great turn of phrase. It shows a depth of self-awareness rarely seen in top 40 hits.

Those words, to me, make the song. I listen to the funky beat line, but I *wait* for those lyrics. They make me feel something.

I've got plenty more examples. Watch me work!

Here we go, the most bubblegum of pop tunes, Britney Spears', "Baby One More Time." Not the most musically interesting song, but well produced.

Don't think about the song, the bouncy music, just read:

"My loneliness is killing me/And I must confess/I still believe/
When I'm not with you lose my mind"

Once again, a song of "didn't know what I got until it was gone." Earlier the song talks about "I shouldn't have let you go" and now the narrator is alone and missing the one they took for granted.

In reading the words, I can feel the regret. Who among us hasn't left someone behind only to find themselves all alone and losing their mind a little bit about "what might have been?"

See what I'm saying? The words have meaning!

Ok, I went to Billboard's Top 100. Number one song right now is "Boom Boom Pow" by the Black Eyed Peas.

Pfew...this one might be tough. Not all songs have a redeeming lyric, but most do. Let me think on this....

To be fair, this song IS a lot about the sounds. About the tones that Will.i.am can put together so well.

But there is a message there...go with me on this.

"I like that boom boom pow/Them chickens jackin' my style/They try copy my swagger/I'm on that next shit now"

Sure, it's a brag, but it's also true. Since the success of the Black Eyed Peas, there are a TON of imposters trying to work Will.i.am's style. He's reminding us that while people are mimicking the last thing he did, he's onto the next thing. He's a trendsetter, not a follower. He's ahead of the curve and a not so subtle reminder to people to remember the original.

It makes me feel like he's frustrated trying to be an original while everyone falls in behind trying to take what he made. As an artist, I completely get that.

Whew, ok, that one was tough. But I got there.

I could go on with examples all day. I guess that music matters to me so much, but everyone enjoys music for different reasons. I think that anyone who can write lyrics is, in their own way, a poet and a philosopher. The meaning shouldn't be discounted just because a song is viewed as too pop or too cheesy or too whatever.

I think both the words and the music matter, but as a writer, I can zoom in on a well-turned bit of phrase and feel like I'm in the flow.

When an artist can make someone feel, feel something, anything, whatever emotion, then I believe they have succeeded.

The very heart of creating.

I rest my case.

The funny thing about family is...

...that even if they make you mad, or you don't see them for a while, or you don't even know some of them, they are still yours. And they tell you a little about yourself.

I had the chance to take my still freshly minted husband to visit with the folks from my dad's side of the family tree.

Unfortunately, my dad passed before The Good Man got the chance to meet him. TGM has heard all of my stories and I thought it was important for him to hear the stories that others had to tell.

I think you can learn to know a person by their stories.

This trip was also a lesson for me in asking for what you want.

I asked my aunts and uncles, surviving siblings of my father, to be willing to tell us stories about my dad.

They were only too happy to respond. And oh did they deliver.

The first day of my visit, my wish was not just fulfilled, my expectations were far exceeded.

Two aunts and two uncles, siblings of my dad, along with an aunt and an uncle by marriage, my mom, my husband and I all met for lunch.

Our orders were barely placed when the story telling began. Oh does my family love to tell a good story. My grandparents were real characters, like something out of fiction, and there is quite a bit of fodder there for stories.

I haven't laughed that hard in a very, very long time. In fact, had I not been laughing, I probably would have cried my eyes out for all the gratitude I felt.

In two hours of lunch, I got a pretty deep glimpse into my dad's life growing up. I didn't know my dad's side of the family that well since we were in New Mexico and they were in Indiana. Since my dad's passing, I've been developing relationships with these folks and feel sad on the years I missed, but happy for the love and friendship and family bond I am earning as an adult.

I know a little bit more about my dad now. I know a little bit more about me, too.

And maybe the timing on this visit couldn't have been more perfect now that I face the next decade of my crazy, mixed up, perfect life.

The funny thing about my family is...we may be a little strange, but the roots of our raisin' run deep.

I wouldn't have us any other way.

Blogging from the road

Here I am in the Midwest, donchaknow?

Indiana....saaaaaalute!

Had a fabulous lunch today with three aunts, two uncles, my mom and my husband. Two of the aunts and both uncles are surviving siblings of my father.

We managed to get the four of them telling stories about growing up. I haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time. I even heard some new stories today and a few I've heard before but still crack me up.

Also got the line on a couple family disputes I didn't know about. Oooh, family gossip!

All in all...a good day.

Also have eaten twice at a Steak N Shake and may be in love. For West Coasters...take the passion many people (not me) feel for In-n-Out burger, and that's how rabid folks are about Steak N Shake.

A lot of food, a lot of laughing, a LOT of family.

So okay! And The Good Man has met my relatives and hasn't run off screaming into the night. That's a *good* sign!

Happy Birthday!

Say Hey!

Willie Mays is 78 today.

Happy Birthday to a gentleman and a Giant.

Startling

But in a good way.

Had the opportunity today to go to a "town hall" with the new VP of my group.

Due to the merger with another, larger, company, things sure are changing.

The old VP (who has since left the company) was very straight laced, serious and business-head only.

This new VP, in reference to the changes we are going through and the fact that it is unpleasant said...

"It's like that old joke...how do you eat sh*t?.........very, very fast."

We were all startled. I think it was a several moment pause before we laughed.

New guy curses a lot. He's got that engineer sense of humor. And he seems really on top of his game. And he has a potty mouth!

Well ok! I can hang with that. To be honest, that being all serious and business-head was really hard for me to manage!

%$#*!!!

Goodbye....and thank you for the laughter (there was a lot!)

Dom DeLuise dead at 75

The humble beginnings...

...of a really good glass of wine. (or for that matter, a really bad glass of wine....)

It all begins here:
(click for bigger view)

This weekend The Good Man took me up to wine country for birfday celebratory fun. And some tasty wine!

Photo by Karen Fayeth

That's improbable!

While getting ready for work this morning, The Feline was busting my chops. She likes to do this, especially when I'm tired and groggy at oh-dark-thirty in the morning.

Sometimes I humor the animal (or, er, myself) and have a "conversation." It goes something like this:
_______________

Feline: Meow!

Me: What's that you say?

Feline: Meow!

Me: Constantinople? Really?

Feline: Meeeow!

Me: Met at the bazaar? You know, they don't even call it Constantinople any more. You're so old fashioned.

Feline: Meow!
_______________


That is but one example.

So this morning, The Feline and I engaged in another of our lengthy conversations. Here's the rough transcript:

_______________

Feline: MEOW!

Me: Had a bad dream, huh? Sorry to hear it.

Feline: Meow

Me: Maybe you should try cutting the kibble ration and sleeping less?

Feline: Meow!

Me: That's interesting. You know they say a dream about eating fish means many conflicting things. Could be attachment issues.

Feline: Meow!
_______________

It was then that I thought to myself, "Hey, I could do that whole Pet Psychic routine. This is easy!"

Why did my brain drift over to "Pet Psychic?"

I'll tell you why.

Recently, I pitched a literary agent about my latest work. Last week, I got feedback from the agent. He said (in not so many words) that a main plot point of my story wasn't entirely plausible.

I found that odd, since that plot point was something that had actually happened in my life ("write what you know!").

But ok, I took his very professional feedback to heart (maybe too much to heart, if you were to ask The Good Man).

With that in mind, I went to the library to check out items in the "new fiction" section to see what IS plausible enough to get published these days.

That's where I found this gem.

"Pet psychic, radio host, four-time widow, and dedicated rescuer of distressed animals, Mary Catherine rushes in to help a turtle stranded in a house, only to stumble over a body. With the rescued turtle as the only witness, MC works with the initially skeptical police to discover the real murderer."

Unh huh. So a pet psychic getting the eyewitness account from a turtle IS plausible enough to be published?

Ooookaaay.

And the clincher from the book jacket:

"Includes recipes for pet treats!"

Well there you have it.

The Feline remains non-plussed.

That's how you know...

At dinner Friday night with a friend I hadn't seen in a while.

We discussed my birthday lament.

She looked me dead in the eye and said, "You do not *even* look forty!"

Whether true or a total lie, that's how you know you have a friend who is a keeper.

Another one for the ladies

Look away, boys. No, I'm serious. You want no part of this.

Ladies, I just gotta ask.

How come it is, when I go for my regularly scheduled lady version of the lube-oil-and-filter-change, like a good woman should to care for her female health....

At the end of the session in which I've been unspeakably violated by a stranger...

Why is THIS all I get to clean up?

One sad towelette? One? That is not enough to clean up from a deep bbq'd rib dinner much less from the event for which it has been offered.......

And, as a special birthday present from my doctor and my HMO, to celebrate this milestone birthday, *I* get the pleasure of having my boobs dragged across the room then squished between two xray plates.

Gosh, this being forty is fun!

*snarf!*