Saturday List Vol. 3

The Saturday List on an actual Saturday? Well, well. It's 1 o'clock in the middle of the night and I'm waiting for a load of laundry to finish so I can pack for my trip to Worcester tomorrow for Lance & Kaylee's wedding (annnd for hanging out with all of my Worcester people. I've been going through withdrawal). When it comes to packing, I am the worst procrastinator and it absolutely has to do with the fact that it's my least favorite portion of traveling. Over the course of the next month I have three separate trips before I leave to move to New Zealand. Which equates to packing four separate times. Lord help us all. Now onto my regularly unscheduled Saturday randoms.

1. I am such a sucker for Dad jokes. My dad is, well, very stereotypical in the humor department. Whenever I'm around him I can't help but spew terrible puns and jokes. They frequently fly out of my mouth apparently without first passing through my dense grey matter. One time I was reunited with my parents for no less than two minutes when I dropped the punniest pun of them all. Dad was utterly tickled in the most giddy, gleeful way. Mom, well... 

not so much.

Anyways, I actually L-ed-OL at this gem:

(I pinky promise it's worth all 104 seconds of your life)

"Two Chips" / An Animated Short from Adam Patch on Vimeo.

Based on a true story.

Narration by Morgan Patch

3. I partook in some Warby Parker home try-on shenanigans a couple weeks ago, which means that really soon I can get some prescription sunnies! (Once I get my act together and get them my prescription... I need to give myself an ultimatum like two weeks ago). Protect my eyes from the sun and be able to see at the same time without layering my glasses? How novel. This has happened more times than I care to admit and it's a picture of both style and comfort wrapped up in one unfortunate package.

4. I got a backpack yesterday for my move to New Zealand. I'm preetttyyyyy sure I was definitely at least a little bit swindled, but... I know not what I'm doing. Tell me I'm not the only one who feels super uncomfortable going into stores for the adventurous outdoorsmenandwomen among us? Even if I had hiked the AT, canoed the entirety of the Great Lakes, and completed some 100-miler ultra races, I'm pretty certain I would still feel out of place. Just me getting inferiority vibes? Okay. I have a few chances to test out the new pack before my move, so fingers crossed that I was persuaded wisely. Note to self and others: when being fitted for backpacks, it is probably wise to wear a turtleneck because... sternum straps.

5. You'll never notice that I skipped number two.  Or maybe you will.

6.  Laundry's done, so now I need to go pack-slash-actuallyjustmoveallthatcrapoffmybedsoIcansleep. 

Peace out, Girl Scout.

Unsolicited Shoddy Sewing Tutorial /// Infant Swaddler

By no means am I any sort of expert or anywhere close to having a tiny human of my own, but I recently made a swaddler for a friend who is having a baby this fall.  I roughly followed this tutorial and pattern that I found here.

Step 1. Go to Little City Radio and turn on your playlist of choice now because if you're a speed-demon sew-er (not sewer like I just typed. Probably the term would be seamstress, but um... no) like I am... you'll be at this for a while. I blame my middle school home ec (or as my school called it "Home and Career Studies," abbreviated to the ever-charming "HACS" (pronouced "hacks" in the off-chance you were hoping otherwise)) teacher who would dole out speeding tickets to problem students who were putting the sewingmachinepedal to the metal.  

Step 2. Go here follow the better tutorial that comes with the pattern. I'm going to rehash it here in excruciating detail and with mediocre photos for when I decide to make another one in a year or seven. 

 After cutting out and sewing the darts on all four pieces

no visual aid for that because..........

pin those suckers up!

 comme ça

They recommend pressing the seams

The bottom edge kind of makes that impossible?

That, or I'm really dense.

 Slip the shell into the liner, right sides together.

Pin around the top part.

 Those corners are sort of nightmarish.

Real seamstresses would probably have a solution

and/or not be intimidated.

I faked it until I made it...

 ...because you have to navigate sewing over two seams

and deal with that awkward angle,

so I took several mental/ chocolate breaks.

Don't forget to leave a 3-4" opening

so that you can flip it right-side-out.

My favorite portion of every sewing project.

How appropriate.

On like four different levels.

I top-stitched the whole way around the top, per Gail's recommendation. I don't know how people have nice top-stitching that just skims the edge of their work, but I always have a minimum of 1/4 inch because I'm really talented and can also clearly sew in a straight line.  Don't look too closely.  I also  unintentionally stabbed myself with straight pins more times than I could count during this little top-stitching jaunt. Probably because for some reason I felt the need to pin every half inch. Don't do that.

Step 3. Meticulously rip out a seam because the thread randomly breaks (?). Make sure to be sewing the prickly hook side of the velcro when this happens so that every stitch snags. Also be sure that you don't own a seam ripper. 

Using thread that isn't 25 years old also might help to avoid this little conundrum. Or not. Because then you can claim that it's "vintage" and not at all "I never buy thread and instead raid my mom's sewing basket," and apparently "vintage" is trendy or whatever.  If that's your thing. Look at you go! Using that vintage thread! You're suddenly such a trend-follower!

You should plan on a solid 45 minutes to pull out this much thread. 

Also plan to destroy that piece of velcro. 

Step 4. Drop the scissors on your bare foot. Twice. Both times say a little prayer of thanks that they did zero physical damage and only slight psychological damage.

Step 5. Pin & sew on that velcro. You're in the home stretch! Or if you choose to complete this in one day, you're in a special state of insanity.

 I doubled up the velcro on all but the outside left flap because my velcro was on the skinnier side.

**Please note my crochet hook-turned-point turner. I'm fancy like that.

Feeeen.

Baby straitjacket accomplished.

Now throw that thing in the wash to get rid of the evidence of your excessive use of washable marker, Cheryl. 

Here's to hoping a small child will actually fit in this thing.

Cheers,

Cheryl

The Rundown 2.0

Are you a real runner, jogger, speed-walker, regular-walker, mall-walker, or wogger?

Just save your eye-rolls for more worthy causes and x out of this one now.

A. Still don't like cicadas. Or loose dogs. Plural. I passed my neighbor who was sitting in her yard, in charge of two of the three dogs. To her credit, one of them got away from her when the third dog of unknown ownership was taunting it. She escaped on my fourth lap (please note that they live at the very top of the hill aka when I'm most likely to assume death is near and I maybe on one occasion bargained with God that if this is the case to please be merciful and take me before I have to make it to the very top of the hill, so help me You). Anyways, as the dog got away from her I just kept plodding along at a pace that would put zero elderly people to shame. And then on the downhill when I regained a modicum of sanity I began to question my unneighborly decision. We can go ahead and put that extra purgatory time on my tab. To be fair by lap 4 I was seriously questioning whether that was lap 3 or 4 and was about to losemymind if it was only the third, sooo... Perhaps the bearded hippie upstairs will be kind because I had lost enough of my mental faculties to be at the point of struggling with preschool-level counting skills. We'll see, I guess.

B. Miles: 2.85 (or 6 laps around the block. Stopped for a long break between laps 4 and 5 to have a good cry in my backyard. Did somebody say melodrama? Thought so). This loop is a giant hill and it's either a reeeally sucky short 1/4 of a lap or a mostly-sucky drawn-out 3/4 of a lap. First 4 laps were the latter and then I womanned up and went the reverse (steeper shorter uphill) for the last two because... I was in the mindframe of getthisoverwithassoonaspossible.

C. F-bombs dropped: surprisingly merely a single half-hearted only-in-my-head one upon sighting aforementioned loose dog in my path.

D. Number of times I was sure I was dying: 2-3

Inappropriate Emotional Responses 'R Us

....or that time I went to see Les Mis.

Let's just say that the evening started out by getting into Ashley's car to head over to the movie theater and seeing this gem sitting on my seat.

We had an impromptu poetry reading for the entirety of that drive for reasons that should not need to be outlined but just in case you do need such extra assistance take two seconds to glance at that cover again.

Actually, I should back up. The evening really started when Eric showed up with a few bottles of beer stashed in his coat pockets, asking us whether they were noticeable. They weren't. Perfect. Smuggle those in.

It was a late showing on a Tuesday so the theater which never disappoints was practically empty. I already had a massive twelve year-old girl giggling fit going on because in addition to having fun on a weeknight

whoa, Cheryl

...that anthology of poems by cats was unreal.

Sniffles McGee was sitting in front of us and started sniff sniff sniffling her way through every minute of the movie before the previews had ended. Her little debacle did not help with the giggling sitch.

On top of that, I have this little...conundrum I like to call I Cannot Ever Take Musicals Seriously. Usually I just sit there in a state of confusion contemplating the strangeness of the reality that THESE PEOPLE JUST BURST INTO SONG OUT OF NOWHERE AND EVERYONE'S ACTING LIKE IT AIN'T NO THANG. Somebody explain to me why this is happening? Why are we singing and sometimes even choreographed-dancing? Whose idea was this little phenomenon??? And why do people continue to go along with it? Why is the audience acting like nothing strange is happening? Why are the other people in the scene acting like nothing strange is happening??       

???????? Normally I wind up laughing at all sorts of inappropriate moments because welcome to my life.  

What did us all in, though, was when Jean Valjean admits his true identity followed by a beat or seven of his scenemates' shocked silence. Eric made the unfortunate decision to delve into our beverages at that very moment. Classy classy. I will never be able to watch (or read, I suppose) his declaration of "I'm Jean Valjean!" without immediately hearing the distinctive chpppfffft of a bottle of beer being cracked open, times three. Drinking in a movie theater? Game changer. Just do it. #positivepeerpressure 

Aaaanyways, aside from Sniffles McSniffleson in front of us our only other theatermates were a middle-aged couple sitting a few rows behind us. When we got up to leave, it became abundantly apparent that the man was... not doing well. At all. Something along the lines of:

Too much. Too too much. Is this real life?!

Then as we were in the middle of the set of double doors on our way out of the theatre, Ashley busted up laughing. That night, Mama N had graced us with some notlovely freezing rain which had turned the ground into a nice sheet of ice, and as a result Sniffles almost ate it in the parking lot. Windmill arms and all. Naturally, Ash actually did completely wipe out during the course of her walk to the car because karma's a b. That night was bananas.

And thus concludes the story of the time I laughed my way through the entirety of the 2012 film version of Les Misérables.

-Her Majesty, the Queen of the Land of Appropriate Emotional Responses

The Rundown

The title... I'm sorry. Apparently I can no longer contain my plethora of Dad jokes & puns. Alas, a rundown of my most recent running (okay, sad excuse for jogging) endeavors. Basically I pretend to be a runner a few times a week. Real runners, you'll probably want to avert your eyes for this one. Just x out of the page now and save yourself the eye-rolls. 

cliché

A. I don't enjoy being dive-bombed by cicadas. Score one for the human conveyors. A friend recently bemoaned the fact that during his most recent gym session the t.v. in front of him was playing some food show where all sorts of gluttonous and otherwise sinful foods were being prepped and consumed. I replied that this was one more reason to run outside. Although mainly I do that because I'm terrified of running on treadmills due to my hourly bouts of extreme clumsiness. Here is where I confess that I have never in my little life used a treadmill. Mostly out of fear but also because that sounds dreadfully boring. But I suppose you could avoid hills? 

which brings me to...
B. I have basically 2 routes that I run. One involves looping around my street (which is a verrrry hilly 1/2 mile) or a less boring out & back that is 1.5 miles downhill on the way there, which I curse the entire time because whywhywhyyy am I hurting/outofbreath/ready to stop if this is all downhill and also now I have 1.5 unfortunate uphill miles home. Usually in the blistering sun because I plan my workouts sensibly. Today I realized that I could avoid this conundrum by running back and forth on a shorter part of this route so that the entire way out wasn't downhill (thus leaving me with the dreadful 1.5 miles uphill at the end). Only took me like four years to figure that one out.

C. Miles: 2 what's that, you don't include your warm-up and cool-down in your already super short distance calculations? Too bad for you. It took roughly 30 minutes over here at Slowpokes R Us, but I don't have a functioning watch right now, so... guesstimate it is.

D. F-bombs dropped: 2.5

E. I have every intention of purchasing The Non-Runners Marathon Guide. Based on my favorite Amazon feature (the one and only Search Inside), this sounds riiight up my love-hate-relationship-with-running alley. She has some choice words for her friend "Chipper Jen" and all other peppy runners. Although marathon running is only maybe potentially in my very, very distant someday future in case that wasn't crystal clear... I like her style already and fully intend on reading this one while lounging on a beach because that little ironic situation is too good to pass up.

-Super fit Chey

Little Clark Traditions

In between now and my move to New Zealand in just under 2 months, I have four separate trips planned to visit family and friends. I leave for a quick one tomorrow with my parents to head down to my little cousin's high school graduation. I should prooobably be packing for that little jaunt, but instead...I reminisce. Oh vell.

My school's claim to fame is that the one and only Sigmund Freud came to visit and give a series of lectures in 1909. It was his first time in our very own US of A and he hated it so much that he refused to ever set foot on American soil again. We commemorated with a larger-than-life-sized statue of the man himself, right in the center of our campus. He's a landmark. It is a rite of passage as a Clark student to take a picture with Freud. Or many, many pictures. In fact, on admitted students days there tends to be a steady stream of newly admitted students waiting to pose with him. Señor Freud is also a popular advertising location as campus groups frequently dress him up with t-shirts, funny hats, and sandwich board-style adverts. His stern glare only adds to the imploring that you rage against genocide! vote  _______ for student council treasurer! come to the benefit concert tonight! 

Our unofficial mascot:

the Fighting Freuds

Get on that, Clark.

Of course, being the procrastinator and exxxellent photo-documenter that I am, there was nary a Cheryl & Freud photo to be found. Ari (my roommate of all four years of college in case you're just catching on) was in the same rowboat. Clearly our Res Life & Housing office knew what they were doing when they paired us together as freshwomen. After our final finals of undergrad were submitted, on the last day before graduation we decided to become legitimate Clarkies and actually snap a pic with the founding father of psychoanalysis in statue form. 

Evidence:

The tent and chairs do not normally grace our campus green. Those would be a graduation special. Oh, and I tamed my lion's mane! More on that in excruciating detail later. 

Before we nabbed this little gem of a memory, we partook in some other nostalgic practices. There is a fiiiine dining location on campus called the Bistro, which is supposed to make it sound fancy/trendy/hip but is really still the same food service provider as the dining hall (or as I once saw a brochure refer to it: the "campus restaurant" ........riiiight). Most of the "Bistro" food consisted of deep fried deep fry or salads that appeared diseased, but it had a couple redeeming qualities. Ari and I had a tradition that whenever we would both get so stressed that we were well aware that we were being Crazy, we would have a roomie bistro date where we would get these genius sandwich concoctions called Monkey's Uncles (I know). Grilled peanut butter, Nutella, and banana on texas toast sammies. I would order mine sans banana, because let's be real about cafeteria fruit. I didn't need any of that contaminating my Nutella. 

frighteningly accurate

found this on a quick tumblr jaunt, so....it could be from lit-ra-lee anywhere. 

Well. Leave it to our school to wait until we were off the meal plan to revamp the Bistro. I walked in there once and not only had the menu completely changed--for the better--but it looked like a space ship. I was the one wandering around with the perplexed look on my face. Unfortunately, they did away with those sandwiches. Outrage. We had traditions to uphold. So on the last day of our undergrad lives, the last day as roommates, the last day before I moved away, and she stayed. The day when we were trying our hardest to ignore reality, we made our own nutella & pb sammies and picnicked outside the Bistro before snapping our pic with Freud. Take that, change.

I meeeees it.

Boston Day Trip

This post in incredibly long. Gold star for the sticker chart if you make it all the way to the end.

My college had these glorious two weeks between the end of finals and graduation and one day in the middle of this largely uncalled-for, yet delightful, break from reality a few of my friends and I decided to take a quick trip into Boston to be tourists for a day. Elena, Amelia, and I drove in and after a couple of phone calls and "hi I don't actually know exxxaaaactly where we are right now and oh! we are definitely walking in the wrong direction," we met up with Martha, who was already there.

My friends

are pretty.

Elena is too but she didn't want a pic by herself.

openyoureyes

Every picture, Chey, really?

Pull it together.

The weather was b-e-a-utiful.

 and everything was blooming and we all died a thousand deaths of happiness.

And I declared that I could definitely live here.

 Elena, Amelia, Martha, and moi

Amelia is the master at getting strangers to snap pics for you.

Here are her tricks:

Plan A

1. Find other obvious tourists who seem to be struggling with their selfies.

2. Kindly offer to take their picture.

3. Upon returning their camera, ohsokindly ask if they would mind taking your picture.

They now have no say in the matter 

because not returning the favor would make them terrible human beings.

Bingo.

We employed this tactic on multiple occasions.

If there are no struggling selfie-taking tourists to be spotted, resort to

Plan B

1. Search for someone toting a camera. (If you're in a touristy area this should not be difficult).

Hopefully there are numerous people toting cameras so that you have your selection, which leads to...

2. Be choosy with your selection of temporary photographer, if at all possible.

3. Try to avoid people who are walking with a purpose.

Nobody likes to be interrupted by annoying tourists when they have places to be.

Similarly, you'll probably want to avoid people 

who appear to be lugging cumbersome objects and/or/including children.

Ain't nobody got time fuh dat [pitchur takin'].

Or people who really look like they will not be nice human beings. Trust your gut on that one. 

4. Do try to find someone who is toting a nicer looking camera.

We all know that flaunting a fancy DSLR does not equate to being a good photographer

but odds are good that if they are willing to shell out the big bucks for a camera

they are probably at least care a little bit about taking photos.

5. Also try to find someone who seems like they will be kind.

After a few minutes of searching we weren't sure we would find someone to take a pic for us.

But then...

We utilized Plan B for the above photo and

behold!

hit the jackpot because the kind lady toting the fancy camera took not just the one,

not two,

but three group shots
of her own volition.

Thanks, kind stranger with a nice camera! May karma serve you well.

(These were clearly not from aforementioned nice camera).

(and they were nabbed from the 'book hence their extra high quality).

 We employed Plan A here.

When Amelia offered to take the kind couple's picture, per step 2,

The woman enthusiastically exclaimed, "Yes!"

while simultaneously the man shot down the offer.

She gave him the "what are you, crazy?" look.

A little marital strife was totally worth it for a group shot.

Oh vell.

We unintentionally ended up sort-of walking the Freedom Trail in its entirety, and then some.

Didn't hate it.

 lunch at Quincy Market

 and a stop at Mike's Pastry (duh).

We were innocently meandering around when we stumbled upon Clark Street! 

As four soon-to-be Clark alumnae

we were convinced this screamed "photo op"

and blocked all pedestrian traffic on this side of the street to capture our little discovery.

Possibly my favorite:

 We took a brief sitting break in this little...alley?(no) ...plaza?(maybe)

before Elena left to go visit some of her family.

Whatever you want to call it, it also served as a playground of sorts for a school

that happened to be dismissing as we got arrived.

We sat in the shade here

while small children ran about

partaking in their antics

as small children do.

Stealing each other's toys

and then tattling

and running circles around one another.

It made us very happy

that we were not small children

or responsible for them

or in school (two weeks of freedom, we loved you).

Did I mention that this was the most gloriously beautiful day?

We employed Plan A to grab this one

and we're pretty sure it involved less marital strife.

win-win.

After Elena left, Martha, Amelia and I headed over to Charlestown to meet up with Martha & Lauren's (sidenote: Martha and Lauren are sisters and we love them a whole lot. Lauren opted to stay in Worcester on this particular day, hence the lack of pictures/ previous mentions of her) mom, and then headed back to their home for a very generous and delicious dinner and a walk around their incredibly cute hometown. Not before stopping in front of the USS Constitution for some more pics, though!

 Another one of my personal favorite pictures of some of my personal favorite people. 

All in all this was one of my happiest days, potentially of all time. I would blissfully relive it over and over again. 

-Cheryl

It's Official!

.

Don't mind if I do.

photo via trip advisor

Job in place, visa acquired, plane tickets booked and a thousand and one promises to my mom that I will not fall in love and consequently never again return to our very own US of A, so help her God. Okay, so I actually have some medical forms left to complete, but that's the last step before everything is completely finalized (say a prayer, cross your fingers, etc., etc.) for me to move to New Zealand for a year!!!

I'll be working as an au pair (I miiiight be crazy but we've already covered that) in Auckland and I'm pretty freaking excited. Right now my biggest sources of stress daydreams revolve around driving small children around on the opposite side of the road and the logistics of packing my life for a year into a suitcase {Any advice for overseas moves (or what to do during 28 hours of travel, or how to deal with a 16 hour times difference- I can only imagine the level of crazy I will be emitting upon stepping off that plane) appreciated and welcomed, please and thank you}. Oh, and that whole living with a family that I've chatted with via Skype for a whopping forty minutes, who also happen to be my employers. No big. 

I leave in just over two months and in that time there are family and friends to be seen, logistics to be figured out, and unnecessary amounts of worrying to take place. More important and sensible preparations include finally watching The Lord of the Rings trilogy and having Ari teach me enough about rugby to not be a completely bumbling ignorant fool.  We'll see.

Still not sure if this is real life. Someone will probably have to come and pinch me daily while I'm there. Although. I'm thinking my two little charges might maybe possibly render that unnecessary. Hopefully not too often. Weeeee'll see.

I can't wait to meet ya, NZ!

Chey

P.S. I'll be living on the North Island but if I don't make it to the South Island while I'm there... 

Image via laketekapo.com

I will never be able to live with myself.

Music

I have the tendency to find music I like and then binge listen to it and as a result certain songs always make me think of specific times in my life. Jenni over at Story of My Life actually had a prompt about music that is tied to specific memories as a part of her Blog Every Day in May challenge. Which, kudos because she actually did it. Her prompt reminded me that this one had been sitting in ye olde drafts folder for several months. So I figured whattheheck. Might as well finish it off and publish. Annnd I'm a slacker so I didn't finish it in time to link up with hers, or have five songs, but the final day of the challenge late to the technology party, like always. just a normal part of my geriatric ways is "a vivid memory" so how about four vivid memories? ...that happen to be music related? Wellll that's what you're gettin', so... here I go.

Needtobreathe- Wanted Man (well really any of their music)

My dad always plays Needtobreathe in the car. For a couple summers I worked at the (very small...and thus a very Dunder Mifflin Scranton-esque) company where he works and so we commuted together every day. It was pretty great. I don't really listen to them much (or ever, really) but I could listen to the same record on repeat all summer in the car with my dad. Before my grandma moved into a nursing home that's about a five minute drive from where we live, she lived for a couple years in assisted living home that was a bit more of a drive- much of it through country roads. Dad and I used to listen to Needtobreathe on rides to go visit her. Pretty much listening to them makes me think of long car rides, just me and Dad, and it's pretty sweet.

Katie Herzig- Free My Mind

Spring of my junior year of college. I had been running on roughly four hours of sleep a night, seven days a week, for months on-end, and did not stop going from the moment I woke up. It was exhausting and exhilarating and probably very unhealthy but I knew there was an end date in sight. By finals week, though, I was running 100% on adrenaline to the point that my hands would actually shake sometimes. My roommate had left about a week earlier than me and finals week is so isolating as is, with everyone squirreled away in the library or their respective rooms.  Late one night I was  struggling through a paper and listening to music on my headphones because I didn't want to disturb the neighbors (why why why are dorm walls so thin?). It was getting late and I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, but knew I had to keep working, so naturally I decided to have a dance party. By myself. It was only after the fact that I realized I had been playing this song in my head, and was actually dancing to silence. Winner winner chicken dinner, call me crazy, etc. etc. The next day Lorrie and I had an actual study break//dance party and danced to this song. Not before she got some healthy laughing at my expense in. Love her.

Blood- Middle East

Autumn. I was in the midst of a bit of an unrequited love situation (that makes it sound wa-ha-hay more dramatic than it was).  The days were shortening (my absolute least favorite time of year, zero sarcasm or exaggeration) and my heart was hurting, but it wasn't as bad as I was expecting it to be. Sort of bittersweet.  This song was on repeat as I enjoyed the luxury that is the heat kicking on for the first time, while curled up in the afghan my great-grandmother crocheted with a perfectly warmed cup of tea. Well eye twitch this one was awkward.  Moving on.

Brooke Fraser--the whole Flags album

 On one of the upper floors of my college library, in the spot with these massive picture windows that have some surprisingly pretty views. It was my sophomore year and I don't know if it was just me but it felt like that winter never ended. Maybe not because my friend actually wrote songs about it.  I have distinct memories of listening to Brooke Fraser's Flags album while I watched the sky go through a series of pinks and oranges before the sun set behind the mountains and left us with that velvety inky violet-blue as I studied to my little nerdy heart's content.

I lied. Had to include a 5th. More Katie Herzig (because YES) (How could I forget theeeeeis one?):

This whole album was the soundtrack to many late-night heart-to-hearts while Ashley and I drove aimlessly around Worcester in Rusty may she forever rest in peace. Nights like this one. Perfection.

Annnnd I am done.

C