Ok, so fine, I’m getting skinnier

I went ahead and took my measurements again today because I was mid-PMS last week when I took my measurements and was all whiney about how little I’d accomplished. . . so turns out this week, things look a lot better.  Yay! 

Measurements at start vs. now

Weight = 149.5 lbs. 147.2 lbs.
Body Fat = 30.3%  25%
Chest     33.5″  31.5″
Bust       38″  36.5″
Waist     31.5″  29.75″  (36.5″  36″ just below belly button)  Moooo.
Hips       40.5″  39.5″
Thigh R  23.5″  22.75″
Thigh L  23.25″  22.75″
Bicep R  10.5″  11″
Bicep L  10.5″  11″

The start point on this is the day I started with the trainer.  When we started working out on our own (right after Christmas), I was weighing in at 156 lbs.  !!!  So, I’ve made some good progress since the start of the year. 

I’d like to get under 140 lbs., and I’d be really happy with a 28″ waist.  In my dream world, my hips are 36″.  In reality, 38″ would be good enough.

Damn the secrecy!

Ok, for clarity, there is nothing funny about today’s events.  Nothing.  At all. 

At the same time, and thank God, because my head was about to explode from the weight of today, a wee misunderstanding, that I can’t even explain because I won’t give you the details that are pertinent to understanding the misunderstanding, has caused a very much needed comic break.  Like so fucking funny that I almost peed my pants from the laughter.  Someday, I’ll share it with you, internet.  Someday after this has all blown over and we can ALL laugh at it. 

Instead, to make up for my non-sharing of the funny event, I’m going to share other things that I find humorous.

Like this cartoon (and you might have to click on it to read it, sorry):

Lucky didn’t think it was funny.  I mean. . . I guess, if you consider that it might hit a little too close to home, you might think you know why he doesn’t think it’s funny, but that’s not why.  He just doesn’t see the humor in this or any other purely sarcastic form of humor.  Like this:

He doesn’t think this one is funny either.  And, it is.  So. . . something’s wrong with him.  Which is also funny!

*props to Bob for introducing me to the wonderful world of toothpastefordinner.com

Anyway, I thought it necessary to cut through some of the tension and what better way than to poke fun at people with ailments like alcoholism and diabetes.  What?  It’s funny.  Shut up.

More seriously, I have some of the best friends in the world.  I wouldn’t make it through much of the bullshit I have to endure in life without the support of a handful of really awesome people who show up sometimes unexpectedly at exactly the right times and call me from Italy at midnight because that’s what friends do when you’re having a bad day.  Between the people who get every last detail on a daily basis, and the people who somehow just know when they’re most desperately needed, I am blessed with the best friends ever.  Thanks, guys. 

Reality Part 2

I feel like I owe you all some ellaboration on this whole mess, but at the same time, I don’t know how much I want to share.  This situation is fucked beyond comprehension.  It went from bad to worse really quickly and I am still in complete shock at everything that has happened.  I knew Fred’s mom was a wreck, but I had no idea she was as bad as she is.

I hesitate to broadcast details because I know it would set Fred’s mom back even more if she knew the world was essentially watching her life unravel via this blog.

Right now, Fred and her brother are with Mom.  They’re there per a temporary court order of emergency custody, and there will be a follow up hearing in 2 weeks. 

I think that’s all I am comfortable sharing with the general public about it right now.  If I got into how or why this whole thing came about, it would be more detrimental than good, I think, and as much as I really despise the way Fred’s mom has chosen to mold her kids’ lives, I still love her and want her to be OK. 

I made the decision not to get in my car and drive to Indiana today, and to wait until my scheduled flight out next week.  That was an unbelievably hard decision to make, and I’m second guessing myself over and over again. 

If y’all could just send some warm thoughts our way, and offer up all of your support for Fred’s mom so that she might find the strength to get through this, it would be appreciated.  It’s probably going to get worse before it gets better, and I don’t know if she’s going to make it through.

Reality

I was going to blog today about last night and then today happened.

CPS took the kids away.

It’s actually awesome when I have nothing to write about.

Yesterday, I thought about blogging.  But, I had nothing to blog about!  Today, I thought I better blog because I didn’t write anything yesterday.  But, I have nothing to blog about! 

You know what that means, right?  That means nothing is pissing me off so severely that I have to passive aggressively write about it on my blog.  Yay? 

Remember those two accidents I was in . . . you know the two, exactly two months apart. . . where I was not at fault in any way?  Yeah, so the SECOND of the two finally called yesterday to talk to me about a settlement. . . and their offer was better than I was expecting, so that was nice.

The problem I’m having is that the FIRST accident still hasn’t been settled.  I called the guy yesterday after the SECOND accident became settled and was like, “Dude, what’s up?  Because it’s been almost five months since the accident. . . and um, hello?”.  Turns out, my claim on the first accident has been turned over to a hundred million different adjusters because people keep quitting their jobs or getting fired.    So, I have had to tell the damn story to about 100 different people and I got another call TODAY from the NEW adjuster asking for information about the accident so he can get the claim settled.  JEEZ.  This is the claim that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have trouble with.  This is the worse of the two accidents, and the one that caused me assinine amounts of stress (up to and including yesterday when I had to take my car back in YET AGAIN because it was still messed up).  I bet they’re going to argue with me on the diminished value portion of my claim, and I bet they’re going to offer me a low figure on the medical part of the claim because it was all chiropractic.  And then I bet I’m going to have to threaten to call an attorney if they don’t come up with something better, and then things might get ugly.  We’ll see. 

Otherwise, not much is happening in my world.  I’ve been busy packing and working out.  That’s basically what my life involves right now.  Packing and working out.  Woo.

I head back to Indiana in a week!  One week!  Then, I come back and move.  Can anyone really believe that I’m moving?  As many times as Lucky and I have been on again off again, does anyone seriously believe that I’m finally leaving?  Don’t get me wrong, it’s sad and all, but I’m pretty damn proud of myself.  I’m going to live by myself.  Wheeee!

*shrugs* 

Good times.

One big can of worms, please.

So, I’ve started packing.  Ignore the crazed look of excessive anxiety on my face.  It’s going to be fine, really.  I can always sell my plasma.  Or my eggs!  I hear those bring in a nice chunk of change.  See?  I’ve got all kinds of ways around this mess.  It’s going to be fiiiiiiiiiiine.

Packing has already been quite an adventure.  I found my way up to the attic all by myself, which was fascinating for two reasons.  One, because it was HOT.  Holy Hell, it was hot in the attic.  And, I almost fell out of the attic because I was balancing myself with one foot when Bob called and so then I was balancing with one foot while holding the phone to my ear with my shoulder and trying to move boxes in the attic (see???  I’ll be FINE).  Two, because shit, dude, there’s A LOT of stuff in the attic!  I knew there was a lot of stuff in the garage that I wasn’t using and forgot about, but also, there’s a lot of stuff in the attic!  It’s like Christmas.  Woohoo!  Is it sad that I was excited to find empty rubbermaid tubs?  Those are my favorite.

The fatal mistake I made this weekend was stopping to pay attention to the stuff I was digging through.  What I should have done is ignore everything I was packing and I certainly should not have opened a tub of cards and letters.  Because, duh, that just leads to a whole slew of problems.  That was possibly the worst idea on Earth.  Honestly.  What a stupid thing to do.

On the other hand, I wish I had a scanner so I could share some of the the goodies with you.  I’ve apparently kept every piece of written material anyone has ever given me since I was 18.   The highlight of the trip down memory lane:

From my cousin, Michelle, during my first year of college, at which time she must have been about 6:  “ARE THE PEOPLE YOU SHARE A BATHROOM WITH STILL TAKING ALL OF THE TOILET PAPER?”  Written inside a heart.

I didn’t even remember that the people I shared a bathroom with were taking all of the toilet paper. . . and I can’t imagine why I would have told her that.  But, I’m glad that all worked out that way because as I was bawling my eyes out over all of the other stupid shit in that box, her card made me laugh until the tears stopped. . . and that was good.

Here’s what else I learned during the depressing road back through 1995-2002. . .

Fred’s mom was begging for attention during the time when she started jacking her life all up.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but she was begging us all to love her and make sure she knew it.  I forgot that she wrote me regularly while she was at the home.  Reading through those letters made me remember how different she was then; how sad and confused she was.  And, reading those letters now, knowing what I know, made me realize how desperate for love and attention she was.  It really had to suck to be her at that time.  I’m glad I took the time to visit her every week.  I’m glad I wrote her and listened when she was upset.  I wish it would have meant more that I did all of that. . . but if this is where she is now anyway, I’m glad I did what I could.  Imagine how much worse it could have been.

My ex-husband and ex-inlaws really loved me.  I took that for granted.  I miss some of them. 

I used to keep my friends much more aware of their importance to me.  I used to be a lot more open with my feelings, and I used to make sure my friends knew how loved they were.  That was nice.

Something else that I randomly drew from all of that, too, was this:  If you’re married and some guy is coming onto you very strongly while you’re married, with no regard for the fact that you’re married, regardless of the condition of your marriage, you probably shouldn’t date him.  There are too many problems with that scenario to even start analyzing. . . but I’m having one very big DUH moment. 

I almost pitched that box full of stuff.  I briefly considered burning it all just so I wouldn’t go digging through it all again in another 5 years and have the same stupid sad day that I had.  But, that’s all part of who I am. . . what’s in that box are bits and pieces of what made me the person that I am. . . of what molded my life.  Someone might want to know about all of that someday.  I better keep it.

Hey, also, if you ever wondered how you’d make monkey noises via email, it goes like this:

ooooOOOoooOOO aaaaAA

Guy who sent me monkey noises via email:  100 points + entry into the box of stuff people have written me.  Hilarious.

Pending Hotness Progress

Yesterday was my last session with my trainer.  “Woohoo!  We get to see photos of a hotter Snippy!” might be what’s going through your head. . . or out of your mouth right now. 

I’m sorry to disappoint you.

I’m embarassed to admit that I, still, am not hot.  I know, I know, you’re wondering wtf I’m talking about because you silly geese thought I was hot before the training, and the odds of me getting less hot are just really slim.  But, that’s where you’re wrong, Internet.  I was not hot by any means prior to the comencement of training.  In fact, I would almost say I was repulsive. 

You’re about to get even more confused.  Watch this.

I have not lost a single pound in the past 10 weeks.  The super space age machine tells me I’ve lost a minimal amount of body fat, but I don’t know if I believe in that machine.  It seems awfuly hokey to me that you could stand on a little machine and it can tell you how much of your weight is muscle, how much is fat, how much is bones, and how much is water.  I know, you’re making a face that says, “WTF?  There’s no such machine”, and I’m agreeing with you, Internet.  It just seems very suspicious that a machine could tell you that much just by standing on it, that’s all.

So, anyway, I’ve lost half an inch off my waist – NOT IMPRESSIVE, half an inch off my hips – AGAIN NOT IMPRESSIVE, and half an inch off my bust – INCREDIBLY UNIMPRESSIVE.  That’s the progress I’ve made in 10 weeks. 

Please join me in a chorus of “boooooo”s. 

The worst part of this whole thing is that not a single pair of my jeans fits me anymore.  All of the pre-trainer jeans are too loose and I have to constantly pull them up when I wear them, and the pants party jeans, well, I might have to just accept that I’ll never wear them out of the house.  I can put them on, but then all of the fat gets squished up over the top of the jeans and oozes out all over the place.  N.O.T.  H.O.T.

I will admit that I’m rockin’ some pretty smokin’ shoulders and biceps. . . and if I don’t wear a bra and turn just so, you can see the bones in my chest, but I think that’s mostly because my boobs are sagging so much these days (at the ripe old age of 29), that the skin is being pulled very tight against my bones when the bra comes off.

My legs are also noticeably stronger.  YOU probably wouldn’t be able to tell unless, for some reason, I already let you feel my legs before I started working out, and then you come and feel them now.  I can tell when I put lotion on.  I have legs of steel.  Another reason not to fuck with me. 

Otherwise, still a cow.  Moo.

Only now, I don’t have someone babysitting me to make sure I work out. . . and that I work out HARD.  Now, I’m on my own.  And, because I overcommit and take on waaaay too much, and fail to recognize the importance of making time for myself, working out always takes a back seat to whatever else is going on. 

God, I hope I don’t get fatter again.

So, I’m going back to Indiana in 2.5 weeks.  Do you think I can lose these 10 lbs. in 2.5 weeks?  I mean, since I haven’t lost them in the past 10, it seems likely, right?  I really wanted to go back skinnier!  DAMNIT!

At least in Indiana, though, I can come up with reasonably believable excuses not to wear a bathing suit.  NOT THE CASE in 4 weeks when I’m scheduled to go on a tubing trip. . . for which I fully expected to have a killer bod.  DAMNIT!

I’ll get some photos posted sometime.  Really.  I’m still waiting for my copy of all photos from Bob (for the record, this is Mr. Bob’s responsibility and he is SERIOUSLY slacking).  But, don’t then patronize me by telling me how much skinnier I look because I know better.  You’d be better served telling me I always looked good so at least then I will just think you need your eyes checked, which is better than me thinking you’re a big, fat, hairy liar.

Here’s the thing. . .

My relationship with drama is like like a moth to fire.  That’s the problem.  When potential drama presents itself, I react and allow the drama to further unfold.  This is a good thing to know.

Typically, the drama presents itself in a form that either irritates the piss out of me, or makes me desperately want to jump in and save the (perceived) victim of the drama.  Either way, my involvement generally just makes things worse.

SO!  I’m not reacting to the drama anymore!  How about THAT?!

For instance, when someone is being a catty bitch and I don’t like it because catty bitchiness is just generally unnecessary and rude, particularly when hurled in my direction. . . and also catty bitchiness hurled in my direction is hilarious because for Christ’s sake people, how many times do I have to tell you all that I don’t fuck around.  If you fuck with me, shit sucks for you.  That’s just how it works.  But, anyway. . . so, when someone is being a catty bitch and then other people are coming at me from all angles to either relay similar feelings and/or stories about said catty bitch or to “innocently” tell me other bitchy things that the catty bitch has said and/or done, I’m not going to react to it anymore.  Because for one thing, who the hell knows if any of these people are even telling the truth?  And, if they are, who knows if they’re exaggerating?  And, if they’re not, who really even cares?  Why do I give a rat’s ass if one person is so miserable that she needs to consistently shit on other people? 

This event that I’m working on?  It’s been crawling up my ass all week.  I’ve been trying to relax and not be so annoyed by the process, but when half a dozen people are just feeding off the drama and allowing it to manifest and become this ridiculous gigantic thing, it’s hard to pretend like it’s not happening. 

I am removing myself from the drama and re-focusing on the magnitude and importance of the cause.  I would really appreciate if everyone could do the same, because for the love of God, the whole point of the event is to help abused children.  It’s not about what your stupid friends think of where it’s held.  Honestly, put that into perspective for a minute.  One the one hand, you’ve got innocent, helpless children who are living in hellish conditions.  You can get out there and work your ass off to raise money to do your small part in saving some of those children.  OR!  You can worry about what people will think if we have the event a a club!  Or, dear God, what will they say if it’s at a skating rink?  Because, *gasp*, we certainly can’t risk your reputation.  

WTF IS WRONG WITH PEOPLE?!

I am not enjoying the planning of this event.  I think what people don’t understand about me, though, is that I don’t quit.  Anything.  Ever. 

Yet, this week, I’ve thought a lot about resigning my post as chair of the event.  I have been so stressed and have felt so disrespected that I have been on the verge of quitting since Tuesday.  And, then I remembered that I agreed to plan this event because it means something to me.  It means that children like Fred can be helped because I did something. 

Try and find a big enough bitch to stop me. 

Drama Magnet

I should tattoo “DRAMA MAGNET” on my forehead.  Except that would be like tattooing “GIRL” on my forehead because it’s so incredibly obvious that I attract drama that there’s no sense pointing it out.

Stress overload

The past few days, I’ve been feeling really grouchy and generally like a really big bitch.  I realized today that maybe it’s because I’m dealing with on hell of a stress overload.  Not sure how I didn’t realize that earlier. . . I mean, the ending of a 4+ year relationship, and the finding of a new place to live, and the freaking out about the lack of funds to feed myself, and the knowing that I have to deal with the family bullshit in a few weeks, and the chairing of a massive event that takes place in 2 months, and the knowing that I need to be working more on business, blah blah blah = a massive amount of stress.  DUH.

Soooo, I signed a lease the other day and then, because I’m so incredibly stupid busy, I forgot about it.  And, tonight, while I was going through my stack of “important papers”, I saw the copy of the lease and remembered.  I signed a lease!  July 13, I will officially have my own miniscule apartment which I will share with no other human beings.  Only dogs.  And, cockroaches.  Maybe a rat or two.

Maybe I’ve mentioned it before, but I’ve never lived alone.  Ever.  Except for the one semester in college where I had my own dorm room. . . but that doesn’t really count because I lived in one tiny room and shared a bathroom, ”lounge”, and cafeteria with 40 other girls.  Well, I shared the cafeteria with a lot more than 40 girls, but anyway.  That didn’t count.

This is grown up stuff.  I’m going to have my own apartment.  All by myself.  With my own rules and no one to answer to.  I won’t have to worry about being super quiet after 10pm.  I’ll have a real refrigerator!  I’ll get to leave my bed unmade when I’m running late, and nobody will bitch at me about it. 

It’s not all fun and games, though.  I’ll also have to take out my own trash. 

But, anyway. . .

Last night was the committee meeting that I was looking so forward to.  True to form, it was all I expected and more.  I’m honestly very surprised that I somehow refrained from bitch slapping anyone.  That’s how incredibly idiotic some of the people were acting.  I very seriously considered walking out and resigning my post as chair of the event.  That’s how much my committee sucks.  NOT COOL.

When you have to write a letter of apology to the charity reps who sat in on the meeting because your committee acted like such jackasses in their presence, you know shit is bad.  Shit is bad. 

I’m starting to fear that Bob is going to quit the committee on me. . . and as much as it sucks that it really pretty much is the Snippy & Bob show. . . it’s going to suck way more if it’s just the Snippy show.  (please don’t quit, Bob)

So, um, right now, my life is a little dramatic and a lot stressful.  I’m in a state of constant headacheyness, and increasing bitchiness.  You all know that the world can only tolerate so much bitchiness from me, so let’s all just hope things start getting better soon. 

Right, and also, MOM, WHY IS YOUR PHONE SHUT OFF AND WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING AT HOME?!  My irresponsible sister who can’t pull her head out of her ass has had her phone disconnected, so I haven’t been able to talk to anyone back home for several days and I’m getting worried.  Call me.

Lucky asked me the other day if I worry a lot.  Then he asked me what I worry about.  After I gave him about 20 responses to that question, I realized I could go on for hours just listing the things I worry about. 

I’m pretty sure I need a vacation.

Major karma points

I’m working diligently on this really great charity event I’ve volunteered to chair.  And, when I say I’m working diligently, I mean that I’m about to hang myself because this really great charity event is being manned by a bunch of really inactive committee members who clearly don’t take me seriously.  When I say everyone is responsible for bringing in $1,000 in sponsorships, that’s pretty much exactly what I mean.  I don’t mean sit on your ass and hope someone else finds the money.  I don’t mean pretend like you didn’t hear me when I said you need to find $1,000.  I don’t mean come and have beers with me at the committee meetings and tell me that you think the theme ideas suck or the ticket price is too high and then let Bob and I do all of the actual work.  I really just mean find one thousand freaking dollars.  That’s all.

We’re 73 days away from the event.  I don’t know how many of you Internet readers know how to count, but 73 days to plan an event for 250 people. . . especially an event where you don’t even get to call and order food and drinks and entertainment, but you have to find free food and drinks and entertainment. . . is NOT MUCH TIME. 

In a situation like this, it really simply can’t be a Bob & Snippy show.  More people have to participate if it’s going to work.  That’s all there is to it.  Bob & Snippy are very resourceful, amazing women, but we can only do so much.  For real. 

So, tomorrow, we’re having a committee meeting.  This will be yet another meeting where I sit in a room full of people who haven’t produced any results at all for this event, but who will be more than happy to tell me how much the results I have produced suck.  I bet you can imagine how much I’m looking forward to my decision to not be as nice as I’ve been.  I bet you can imagine how much I’m going to enjoy passing around homework assignments and treating my committee like a bunch of 2nd graders. I bet you can imagine how much I’m going to enjoy telling them that they’ll be effectively tossed from the committee if they’re not going to participate on the committee. 

This is the kind of thing where I volunteer to do something because it sounds fun and will be a pretty nice touch on the old resume should I ever need to dust it off and use it again. . . and then, because it’s me we’re talking about, it turns into this monsterous, miserable, way more work than it should be thing that sucks and I get grouchy and take over the entire Board’s responsibilities because if I want things done right, I have to do them myself, and then I slowly grow to hate the whole organization with an undying passion, and I throw the stupid event and blah blah blah the kids get some money and that’s great, but I hate the entire world and it’s because I was trying to do good.

I know it seems severe, but it sure does seem like that’s where this is heading.  And, I’m telling you, I better be getting some major karma points for this.

Santi, please don’t get mad.

I just remembered that Thursday, during our mad night of Habitat for Humanity happy houring and Nacho Libre watching, Santi made some threat of becomming irritated with me if I failed to write anything witty the following day.  And, then, ack!  I forgot to write anything witty!  The horror!  The last thing you want is to piss off a gay guy.  For real.  Please don’t be mad at me, Santi. 

I mean. . . I wasn’t mad at you for crushing my soul by telling me Sean slept with the married man with crazy salsa skills that I had a dancing crush on. . . so, we’re even, right?

*frantically shaking my head to try to make the image go away*

So. . . the next to last thing to pissing off a gay guy that you want to do is piss me off.  Most of the free world is already aware of this little factoid.  Apparently, no one clued Lucky in.  I thought I had.  I pretty much thought I mentioned it reapeatedly over the years . . . with the whole, “Just don’t fuck with me and we’ll be fine”.  Apparently, I wasn’t quite clear enough. 

Despite the fact that Lucky seems to be incredibly affected by anything I post here that remotely makes any reference to him, and despite the fact that he has, indeed, threatened to sue me over this blog, I’m going to tell you some things about today that are going to really piss him off.  Then, I’m going to remind you all, and Lucky, that if you don’t want people knowing that you act like an asshat, then don’t act like an asshat. 

I’m sad to report that today, Lucky made use of the following words towards me in an angry fashion:  bitch, cunt, slut. 

EVEN BETTER, Lucky informed me today that he put dog shit under my desk so it would stink up the general area.  What the fuck?!  Seriously.  What.  The.  Fuck.  (see how I did that!?  I said I would use that, and I used it)  

I think it’s pretty clear that he’s crossed the line.  And, once we’re over the line, well, I’m just sorry for the dumbass that couldn’t leave well enough alone. 

We’re in very bad territory now.  We’re in the sucky, sucky, sucky territory where I’m stuck living here at least another 3 weeks. . . and it’s taking all I’ve got not to be the nastiest bitch on Earth.  Because, seriously?!  Does he seriously think he’s got this?!  Does he honestly, truly think that he’s going to play these games and be unmatched?  PU-LEASE!!! 

It’s almost hysterically funny to me.  It just proves, once again, that he doesn’t know me if he thinks this kind of bullshit is going to fly.  *shakes head* 

I promise, Internet, that I am going to try to be the bigger person here.  I promise I’m going to try to leave my super bitch powers untapped.  But, I’m telling you, he’s making it very, very hard.  Seriously. 

Seriously.

PS – there are 4 empty beer bottles on the kitchen counter.  I’m not going say who drank them, but I’ll give you a clue:  It wasn’t me.  But, Lucky just realized, too, that he never had a drinking problem. . . so maybe they’re his and it’s just fine because he never had a problem.  Whew!  All this time, I thought he had a problem!  *wipes brow*

*insert lame soap opera theme music here*

And, so are the days of our lives. . .

*end music*

In happier news, Bob & Mr. Bob put an offer in on a house.  A house that they’ll allow me to live in.  I mean, I have to cook and clean.  In pigtails.  Naked.  But, hey!  Free housing!  We all know that I’ll do anything for free housing, right?  Even if it means dating a man my dad’s age for 4+ years just to get one month of free rent (you all do know that’s why I’ve dated Lucky this long, right?  For that one month of free rent I just got?  Yeah.  That’s what I’m about).

I have been looking at apartments, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to sign a lease this week and be done with it.  My own place!  YAAAY!  I won’t be able to afford air conditioning or groceries, but eh, I like hot. . . and I could stand to lose this weight anyway.  Plus, I’m so incredibly sick of living with asshole men that starving to death actually sounds really good.  Bad news is that I can’t move until July 7, and I’ll be in Indiana on July 7, so it will really be July 13 before I can move, and HOLY MOTHER OF JESUS, THAT’S A LONG TIME AWAY. 

By the way, yes, it is a cardboard box.  And, yes, there is also a family of cockroaches living there.  But, we’ve agreed that I won’t stomp on them if they don’t crawl across my dinner.  So, we should be fine.