I’m stuck somewhere in Meximerica

Hola! I’m back and currently still trying to stop saying, Gracias to everyone. Since that’s the extent of the Spanish I know besides Me casa es su casa (My house is your house), which isn’t really appropriate to be throwing around in Mexico, I got really excited to say Gracias when it was appropriate (and sometimes when it wasn’t). So now I’m embarrassingly still saying Gracias to everyone, everywhere. And you can only imagine what people are thinking when I’m clearly a non-Mexican, light-skinned, fair-haired female that is paying for my bottle of wine at Metropolitan Market and saying, “GRACIAS!” It garners a some funny looks, not gonna lie.

I guess that’s just one tiny part of the “coming down” from vacation.

You know what else is part of “coming down” from vacation?

Realizing that lying poolside every day, stuffing your face with fried shrimp tacos, nachos and anything with refried beans and cheese while doub-fisting a daiquiri and Corona is a whole hell of a lot more fun than counting calories and gyming it every day.

Oh, and sitting at your desk, reading through your emails and feeling so headachy, stressed and sick to your stomach that you think, yet again, “Hey. I don’t think I dig this whole Corporate America schtick.”

So far in these 20s of mine, I’ve been pretty career driven – just striving for the next level, working, working, working, volunteering, volunteering and volunteering. And now I want to just kinda of throw my hands up in the air and say, “I just don’t give a f****ck.” Cause what’s money and success if you don’t love getting up and going to work every day? So, I sent my resume off to a resort and spa in Puerto Vallarta yesterday for an Internet marketing and social media job that I found posted. Am I crazy? Maybe. It was kinda a whim, and I guess if it makes the 9-5 culture shock wear off a bit, it’ll all be okay.

So yeah, vacation – making us all hate realty since 1805. Actually that probably deserves a B.C. in front of it.

On the short, because I said I’d spare you too much of a recap, my vacation was SUPER fabulous. I’ve never actually been on a trip with a boyfriend before, and hot damn do they make great travel partners. We couldn’t have been more two Mexican peas in a pod. Or would that be Mexican beans in a corn tortilla? Mexican tequila in a margarita?

If I had to pinpoint a few of my absolute favorite moments, they’d be: sitting for hours at a local bar, listening to pretty much the best damn cover band I’ve ever heard play every Seattle-era grunge rock songs you’d want to hear, including kick-ass cover of Pearl Jam (which I usually think is blasphemous); waking up every morning to the sound of the waves, and falling asleep again at night to them; reading by the pool on the sweetest lounge chairs EVER that had attached sun shades on the top that you could pull down to shade your eyes; taking 30-minute long hot showers every day in our shower the size of a walk-in closet – I forgot what it’s like to not have to rush out of the shower every day; zip-lining through the trees (350 feet high and 1,650 feet long!) and finally, all the exploring and eating we did through downtown Puerto Vallarta.

So, GRACIAS to ALL of you who kept my spot here warm while I was gone by guest blogging, and HOLA to the new readers who signed up from my guest bloggers’ sites. Here are a few pics of my trip:

Currently Feeling: Like every week should be two days of work and two days off. Who the hell created the five-day work week?
Currently Anticipating: Finding a fancy new apartment!
Currently Loving: The weather warming up a bit! I love spring and summer!

Deodorant Popcorn Snacks

Here’s an embarrassing little TMI fact for you – I have a weird obsession with men’s deodorant. Like I love, love, love the smell of it. I love to hug my boyfriend and kind of nuzzle my nose a little bit in the general armpit direction (or yah know, poke my nose directly in it) because his deodorant just smells so.damn.good. Why don’t they make women’s deodorant fragrances an extension of our perfumes? We only get sickening smells like “Powder Fresh” and “Springtime Floral Escape.” All reminiscent of the same smells you probably find on Summer’s Eve package, if yah know what I mean. Gross. Anyway, I’ll be the first to admit that my obsession with men’s deodorant is totally weird, but it always seems to get a laugh out of my BF, so I don’t think he minds too much.

But, recently I figured something out about myself – while I love the SMELL of men’s deodorant, I don’t love to EAT men’s deodorant. I bet you’re dying to know how I found this one out…

A couple days ago, my boyfriend and I were watching some realty TV show together on the couch (he doesn’t seem to mind my obsession with realty TV, which I love him for), and I was eating one of my new favorite TV snacks – 100-calorie packs of Smartfood White Cheddar Cheese Popcorn. Picture this: I’m leaning against him; he has his arm up on my knee; I’m mowing down on my white cheddar popcorn, but I keep dropping pieces and kernels that fall down on the couch; I continue to pick them up and swear to myself about how messy I’m being; I finish my popcorn bag and get up to throw it away; I come back to the couch and see there’s a little kernel left on the seat; I grab the kernel and put it into my mouth and start gagging – it is NOT popcorn.

Somewhere between me throwing away the bag in the kitchen and coming back, a little ball of my boyfriend’s deodorant fell on the couch, right where my white popcorn kernels previously were, and I ate it. That’s right. I ate a deodorant ball that had been heating up in his armpit. Is that seriously not the grossest thing you’ve ever heard? Or at least close.

Let me tell you, men’s deodorant, or any deodorant for that matter I’m sure, does.not.taste.good. It’s kinda like hot, chalky soap. That sticks to the inside of your mouth. Kinda like you just had your mouth washed out after saying naughty things.

I think I just inadvertently cured my obsession with his armpits.

Currently Feeling: Excited to check out Jimmy Johns’ sandwiches at lunch today with my coworkers.
Currently Anticipating: Bellingham tonight to stay with my old friend from college, and then Victoria, B.C. for a bachelorette party!
Currently Loving: Rilo Kiley on my fav Pandora station.

Okay, it’s about time I created a ‘Dirty Hippies’ label

I’ve been patiently waiting to update everyone with a few pictures from my weekend, but they’re trapped on my best friend’s camera, so you’ll just have to read the text version for now. I’ll spare you long-winded details, but I had some fun events this past weekend, and some even greater photographs. Friday night I went to The Polish House for Polish dinner, Polish beer and hanging out with some Poles. Not, I’m not Polish, in case you were wondering. But you can become Polish and hang out in their private club for $1! Now that is a steal during these hard times of THE.RECESSION.

Saturday I went to crazy friend Wen’s birthday party (he who loves to have me as a back-up dancer in his videos)… as a hippie. What is it with hippies? I feel like I’m always talking about them. Maybe I’m a little bit more hippie than I like to admit. I was certainly a dirty hippie on Saturday. Why, oh why, you ask?

Saturday night I was SUPER rushed to get ready for the birthday party because my friend was picking me up at 7:30pm on the button. I arrived home, unshowered, with seven bags of groceries at 7pm. And, I didn’t know what to wear. A really awesome trifecta, if you ask me. After throwing on approximately five different outfits, I settled on a grey tie-died sweater, skinny jeans and tall, brown-suede boots. I gave myself a once-over in the mirror and realized that the sweater was a bit off-the-shoulder, so you could see my bra straps. Eww. That is one Carrie Bradshaw fashion statement I do not agree with (right next to the duck feathers on the butt) – bra straps are tacky. So I did the trick us girls learn in junior high while changing in the girls’ locker room for P.E. – a little slip and duck of the arms, and I threw my bra on top of storage drawers in my bathroom. “I’ll just throw a strapless on while I’m finishing my make-up” I thought to myself. I continued to run around like a chicken with my head cut-off, and barely threw my groceries in the fridge with enough time to slip out the door and into my friend’s car.

It wasn’t until I had arrived at the party, hung my jacket, said my hellos and took my place in line at the bar that I realized I.HAD.NO.BRA.ON. OMG. I panicked and quickly tried to call my friend who was arriving at the party later, but she didn’t have a bra in her car. Looks like the girls were standing alone on this one. Yep, I officially hung out at the bar all night, braless. And Bestie Amanda had a great time gently poking my braless boobs and snickering at me. Hussie.

Who has two thumbs and is officially a dirty hippie? Yep, this girl.

Stay tuned for my adventures in not shaving my armpits or legs!

Currently Feeling: In love with my recent lunchtime Maximum Sculpt classes. It feels so great to have my workout done so early in the day!
Currently Anticipating: Date night tonight with salmon teriyaki dinner.
Currently Wanting: Another slice of lemon cake that’s sitting in the break room.

OMFG – Instant Celebrity Gossip!

Ah, Twitter.

It’s the latest CRAAAAZE ya’ll! (I can’t believe I just used ya’ll), Who knows; seemed kinda fitting. Twitter makes me loco!* I LOVE it. It’s strangely fun to tell others what I’m up to (in fact, I’m kinda addicted to it and drive the BF crazy when I’m on my phone all the time), and strangely fun to read what others are doing. But – I tend to be slightly picky about who I’m following. I like to follow my friends because I actually care about what they’re doing every minute of the day, and I like to follow some of my favorite bloggers because I read what they have to say every day. I’m also following a few recommendations from others – @Amazon MP3 because they alert you to $0.99 CDs, @condensedmovies because they’re funny, 140-character reviews of movies…

But recently I’ve discovered something really weird – there are CELEBRITIES on Twitter. Celebrities that regularly update their account with what they’re doing – and it’s legitimately them. (Demi Moore, Ashton Kutcher, Rumer Willis, Punky Brewster, Ashley and Pete Wentz, The Shaq, Fred Durst, MC Hammer, John Mayer, Tina Fay… those are the participating “celebrities” I’ve found so far.) I recently started following Demi Moore and Ashton Kutcher. Can I tell you how weird that is?! I read through my Twitter timeline like 50x a day – oh look, Demi and Ashton are celebrating Talulah’s birthday right now! Oh look! Demi and Ashton are in San Fran and they posted a romantic pic together on the Golden Gate Bridge! And now they are on the airplane ride home!

You know I’ve really lost it when I saw that pic and nearly texted one of my good friends who was in San Fran that weekend – “Keep an eye out for the Kutchers! They’re both in San Fran too!” Then I stopped myself – who the $#@* cares you GD loon. I think I might be *this close* (pinching fingers together at the computer screen) to being totally crazy.

Ok, I’m going to go check Twitter now.

*For those of you who poo poo Twitter, it is HUGE in the PR and Mar/Comm world – you should be reading about it and learning how to use it professionally if you’re in these industries, IMO.

Currently Feeling: More than a little behind.
Currently Anticipating: Chic chat tonight!
Currently Reading: Save Karyn by Karyn Boznak, author of Pretty in the City. It’s been awhile since I’ve read chic lit, but this one is HILARIOUS! I can’t put it down.

A Happy Place – but I’m not talking Ronald or chicken nuggets

I need to find my Happy Place… I don’t have one. Am I the only one?

My boyfriend often talks about his Happy Place – the beach. When he was little, his parents went through a bad divorce when he was in elementary. Someone told him that he needed to figure out what his Happy Place was and go there when he couldn’t sleep or things were bothering him… In our relationship he’s mentioned his Happy Place a couple times – a place he goes when he shuts his eyes to let all the bad feelings and stress of the World escape.

The more I think about this concept, the more I realize I could really use a Happy Place. I feel that as each day, month and year goes by, life becomes increasingly more complicated. There’s a reason why adults always say, “Enjoy it while you can!” Or why my friends and I reminisce about the “carefree” days of college. Sure you had a whole three or four classes to attend and subsequent tests and assignments for each, but that’s nothing compared to rent, deadlines, empty savings accounts, bosses, bills, increasing fat rolls, wrinkles and grey hair…

For me, the majority of my stress lies in my little ole 9 to 5. Sometimes I get myself into such a whirlwind at work that I feel the only answer is leaving to curl up in a ball under a rock, otherwise known as my bed, never to come out. This is one of those days. Have you ever felt so stressed that your mind just kind of freezes, and although you have approximately 1 million things you should be doing, you can’t seem to wrap your head around any of them?

This is when I need to close my eyes and picture…

*Blank* ?!?

I try to think about what my Happy Place might be.

A place?
A person?
A time frame?

If it is, in fact, one of those three items, does that make me UNhappy because I’m not in that place, or with that person, or in that time frame anymore? If my Happy Place is a place, then why don’t I live there permanently? Will it still be my Happy Place if I live there day to day?

See – I try to think about a Happy Place and all the details of being happy or UNhappy stress me out.

Do you have a Happy Place?

Currently Feeling: So much healthier.
Currently Anticipating: SO excited to go home tonight and do the 30-Day Shred DVD!! NOT.
Currently Watching: Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

Instantly spend three times longer in the grocery store!

This past weekend I picked up “Eat This, Not That” after listening to all of my co-workers talk about it (I am easily coaxed onto bandwagons). As I move comfortably and sometimes awkwardly through my 20s, I am increasingly more concerned and aware with the food I buy. Everything in my pantry and lunchbox is low sugar, low calorie, whole wheat, high fiber, blah, blah, blah. It’s sorta funny because I don’t even blink on the weekends when pizza is ordered, and high-calorie lunches and dinners are consumed. I swear that 75% of the calories that make me a little squishy come from weekend drinking and eating, but I digress.

During the week, however, I’m usually straight as an arrow with my diet. What caught my interest with this particular “diet” book is that it dissects the labels, ingredients and misnomers in the grocery store. It compares items in every part of the store that you think are healthy vs. what really are healthy. ie: “Healthy” items to avoid. For instance, instead of eating Kellog’s Smart Start Strong Heart cereal (with more than 10 itemized sugars and sweeteners), you should eat Kashi’s Vive cereal. Or that some organic, light, or fat free yogurts contain as much sugar as a scoop of ice cream or Kit Kat. Or how to pick your butter, peanut butter and cheese. It even goes through snack isles, showing the better corn chip, the better cracker, the better hot dog (Kosher beef even beat out turkey!), the better cookie.

See, the food industry has caught on that it’s popular now for items to be healthy and organic, so they “trick” you with false labels, using “light,” “organic” and “healthy” whenever they can, but to keep the taste, they make up for decreased calories by increasing the amount of sugars and additives. “Eat This, Not That” breaks those labels down, dissects condiments and meat, and explains produce, and its nutritional breakdown. The book is fascinating stuff, I tell ya.

There’s only one slight side effect to reading about all of this… Last night I ventured to the grocery store for the first time after finishing the book, and I felt overwhelmed in every isle. Everything was claiming to be healthy, and I had to pick everything up, turn it over, compare ingredients and look for hidden items like “high fructose corn syrup.” I was in every section for a half hour, if not more. I’m pretty sure the people there who caught a glimpse of me picking items up, reading, picking them up again, comparing, thought I was nuts.

I explained the book to someone recently, and they said, “Yeah, but I hesitate and wonder if I really should be worrying about this because I grew up as a kid, eating Top Ramen and Mac n’ Cheese, and I’m fine!”

Good point, I guess. I suppose it’s all relative, and if that helps you feel better after consuming the entire box of Kraft Mac n’ Cheese (something I’m known to do on an occasional basis), then FAB-u-LOUS. But I know I feel slightly better watching the chemicals in my food, and if you do to, pick it up.

Currently Feeling: Motivated.
Currently Anticipating: A double date for TheatreSports with Bestie Amanda and her boy tomorrow night, and Super Bowl parties on Sunday!
Currently Needing: To swap out my fiction book right now, I’ve lost interest in “Saving Fish From Drowning,” so haven’t been reading…next is “Save Karyn” one of the books from my favorite blogger, Karyn Boznak at Pretty in the City.

Mama’s gotta eat a cheeseburger, officially

I think I realized today that I am unofficially an emotional eater.

I eat when I’m happy. I eat when I’m drunk. I eat (a lot) when I’m in love. I eat when someone sneezes. Because something even that minute makes me hungry. I eat when I see food ads. I eat when it’s in front of me. I eat when I’m bored. I eat when I’m full. I eat when I’m drunk. (Oh shit. I already put that. I must be drunk). I eat when I’m watching TV or working or typing or reading.

I also eat when I’m stressed.

My boyfriend is going through one of those major life thingies today. (Which I may, or may not, elaborate on later), which has caused a great deal of stress for me today. I tried to put it off by watching CNN and being really excited for America this morning. But even then, I was checking my phone every three minutes. Next I tried reading through the 25+ blog posts in my RSS feeder, while simultaneously checking my phone every five minutes. Then I made a trip on foot to Nordstrom’s to pick up the free make-up that’s been advertised, while checking my phone every two minutes.

I’ve done approximately 4,329 things today except work because I.just.can’t.concentrate. Ever have those days? Sometimes I worry that crane operators, airplane pilots and brain surgeons have those days, and then that’s when I start to panic about driving, flying and cancer. But that’s a whole nother post, saved for when I might want to talk about just how neurotic I can be.

So then finally somewhere between thinking about death by flying or cancer from Web-MDing myself, my boyfriend sends me a text message that’s he’s fine, but “doesn’t want to talk about it.”

Well shit. What am I supposed to do? Sit and continue to worry all day?! So, of course I sent back: “That’s ok! I understand!” But what I really meant was:

Cheeseburger.

Even though I’d already eaten my *meager* lunch of Campbell’s Healthy Request (ie: nothing but broth, that’s why the calories are so low), CHEESEburger was like mentally throbbing through my brain.
Must.eat.cheeseburger.to.survive.
Clearly this need for a cheeseburger is directly related to stress, which clearly makes me an unofficial emotional eater.

So I frantically started Googling “burger” in “said name of my work building downtown.” We have like 201 restaurants and little places to eat here, but NOWHERE that sells an effing cheeseburger.

Come on! Mama’s gotta eat.

Finally, I found a relatively nearby restaurant that sold a $12 cheeseburger because this is THE.RECESSION. and clearly restaurants need customers so bad that they’re discounting everything, or something, and clearly I don’t need to worry about living out of that cardboard box anytime soon. So I ordered and ate the $12 cheeseburger, and all 12 pounds of the fries that came with it.

And now I kinda want to curl up in a ball on my couch and…

EAT.OREOS.

We’ll see if I make it out of this one alive. I could be the next candidate for one of TLC‘s fat shows, yah know. And then you could all talk about how you knew me when I was skinny and how it all started when I became an unofficial emotional eater.

Currently Feeling: Headachy from all the carbs, probably.
Currently Anticipating: Using the free Lacome Fatale mascara I scored today. It’s supposed to make my lashes look 3D?! How do they do that?
Currently Wishing: Bestie Amanda wasn’t in the &%@$# Caribbean. How selfish of her to be vacationing when I need her!

I know, I know, I’m totally delusional

Yesterday I rejoined the “girls who tan to make themselves look feel sexier” club. My shit is pale.

Anyway, my 27 birthday this week induces a little reality – I’m not going to be young forever. And all the drinking and partying is already going to take a toll on my lovely lady bits, so I don’t want to compound it with wrinkles from tanning too. (Really all I’m worried about is the competition with my nine other high school girl friends. I don’t want to be the one to look the oldest in 10 years!) So what do I do? Well, what any logical person would do – I decide to splurge for a medium pressure instead of a conventional bed. They’re supposed to be, like, miraculously free of wrinkle- and cancer-inducing rays, right? Right. (That’s what she said.)

So I went to my usual tanning place, Desert Sun, where they always have a deal for JUST THAT DAY, which always happens to be the day I go in. I must be one lucky bitch.

I listened to the girl at the front desk tell me about all the special New Years deals they had. Payment plans, buy 20 for the price of 10, etc., etc., etc.

“Hmm. I don’t know if that’s going to work for me. I don’t have $200 to spend on tanning right now,” I explained to her.

But she continued to go on and on and on about all their deals (clearly not understanding my “no money” line because she goes to college and lives off her parents. GAWD. Those were the days!), and finally settled on what she considers “cheap.”

“Well, what we can do is split the payments up for you, so you’d only have to pay $61 this month, then we can choose whatever day you want the $61 to come out of your account in the next couple months.”

“But I have $66 in my bank account,” I finally say, to get her to jump to the deals I might really afford.

She sorta just awkwardly laughed, and continued on her tanning package bit, naming price after price for me.

“What about blah blah blah for $99 – we throw in two tans of your choice! Unless you weren’t joking about only having $66 in your bank account.”

“Nope. Wasn’t joking. $66.”

“Oh – well we can do this package for $40.”

“Nope. I need to go out this weekend.”

After which she just sorta looked at me like a nut job. Should I feel embarrassed that a 20-year-old college girl who works at a tanning salon is judging my financial irresponsibilities? Remember what I said below about a damaged bank account from “sexy suede boots, expensive makeup, luxurious lingerie and more earrings than you could count”?! I forgot to mention booze in that list. Lots and lots of booze. That’ll drain you of any sort of savings account future.

Oh, and pedicures, fancy haircuts and colors, and tanning. Basically I’m always one paycheck away from living in a cardboard box and dipping Ramen noodles in oil for flavor.

But, a girl has to have her priorities. And I’d rather look good in my 20s than retire in luxury in my 60s…

Or something.

Currently Feeling: Tired and headachy still.
Currently Anticipating: My birthday party on Sunday!
Currently Loving: My newly, organized and labeled filed bin with ALL the bills I need to catch up on. Fun!

Goodbye Corporate America, Hello Office on the Beach!

SO, I’m applying to The Best Job in the World. Have you heard of it yet?

It’s real! It’s real! It’s not even one of those Internet scams…

Apparently, Australian tourism hatched a scheme to protect their 8 billion dollar industry – tourism – from THE.RECESSION. They are hiring one candidate for a six-month contract to fly to the Great Barrier Reef and discover “what the area has to offer.” You’re instructed to explore, snorkel, swim and then all ya gotta do is blog about it with some entertaining words, photos and vlogs. (Oh, and a little fish feeding, pool cleaning and mail collecting). The person who is hired will be paid $150,000 and a plain ticket from their home country to Queensland, Australia.

For reals?! Yep. I’ve checked it out, and even though the Web site is up and down due to the overload of traffic, the job announcement is all over the news sites, and those running the program are even following their applicants on Twitter. (Now that’s smart recruiting).

Kiss my grits!

So, I’ve started to brainstorm a bit about what my video application might be. (60 seconds or less) to tell them just how amazing, eloquent and charismatic I am. (Perhaps I should avoid the booby shaking from my recent video), BUT, I have become quite skilled as a back-up dancer lately, so that might be an option…

Any suggestions?

Wow. It’s like I’m young enough to apply to Real World all over again! (And they say life is over at 25). Pshaw!

Currently Feeling: Zippity doo dah.
Currently Anticipating: My Moroccan birthday dinner tonight with my parents, boyfriend and bestie. Sunday is the BIG celebration!
Currently Loving: The new wine glasses my coworker bought me with a little chalkboard on the front, so I can write my name, my mood or something fun on my glass!

I’m gonna get rich quick, or die glue gunning

For the last two weekends, I’ve gone on FAILED Ugly Christmas Sweater Missions. (I’m into a lot of missions these days. Watch out.) What is it with these things?! It’s all people are talking about – “Do you have an ugly sweater yet for ____’s party?” “Dude, you HAVE TO see this sweater I bought for ___’s party.” Frankly, I’m quite over Ugly Christmas Sweater parties. They were a brilliant idea for whoever started them five or so years ago. But now the idea’s a little stale, and even worse–there’s a serious shortage of ugly Christmas sweaters out there. And did I mention that they’re ugly? There’s nothing flattering about them at all. Call me prissy, but it’s hard for me to get excited about putting on something that smells like my Grandma’s lingerie drawer, and was worn by someone from the Midwest with two chins, a kitchen decorated with ducks and a knackering for scrapbooking. Neva gonna be pretty. Know what I mean?

So, I was talking on the phone last night to Bestie Amanda about what else – ugly Christmas sweaters for a party we have coming up in two weeks, and we were commiserating on how much they suck and how INSANE the ugly Christmas sweater market has become. They’re not available anymore for $5 at The Goodwill. Oh no. I’ve scowered thrift stores the last couple weekends, only to find one lame male Christmas sweater – handmade Norwegian wool with reindeer – for my poor BF who’s probably going to break out in hives from the material. Amanda claims they’re selling for $30 at good ole’ J.C. Penney’s (marked down from $50) and some people are trying to make a killing off eBay, listing them at $50 each. Seriously?!

So, I mentioned something to her about how I’m going to start making my own ugly Christmas sweaters – buy a couple solid colored $2 sweaters from a thrift store, iron on some Christmas patches, add some yarn, sequins and bells – and voila! And she said she’s going to hit up J.C. Penney’s after-Christmas sale and scoop up all their good when they’re super clearanced, which led us to deciding that we’re going into the ugly Christmas sweater business together. We’re gonna call it Sweataz.com with a Z.

*Tony Danza accent* Hey, come get your Sweataz here, kids. We got da best in da city.

Anyway, it’s pretty much genius. Now I don’t have to focus on that 10-year plan anymore. Whew.

Currently Feeling: Super weirded out by my graphic, random dream last night.
Currently Anticipating: Bingo at Jabu’s tomorrow to welcome Adam to the neighborhood?
Currently Loving: The banana chocolate chip bread someone in my office brought in this morning.