You thought I was going to write about valentine's day didn't you?  Well you're right, I am.  I'm writing about the squishy-sexy-sensuousness that underlies our day to day actions, our every smile, every gesture, every touch.  But mostly, yes mostly, I'm talking about a situation comedy based around scabies.  Scabies is an underrated disease, mostly forgotten as the overweight cousin of crabs.  But nay NAY, no more shall scabies be a mere crusty sore on the ass of humanity's collective consciousness!  I've got a great new slogan for birthcontrol in this country.  It's not about not having sex (we all know that depriving the youngsters of their sex makes them cranky and their gonads explode<---they do I seen it!), but instead, it's about not having babies.  We shouldn't be regulating sex, we should be regulating babies!  I mean christ, it's babies that we're all afraid of, babies rhyme with rabies, and raccoons are scary little critters.  Scabies not babies!  Scabies not Rabies!  Scabies not....african...killer....bees...you get the idea...I...SAY I"M YOUR MOMMA.  Sure AIDS is an issue, but who can be afraid of such a catchy acronym?  After all it is a large part of the popular antacid and shit suppressant rolAIDS.  Speaking of shit suppressant, there needs to be more advertisement for champagne enemas.  DID YOU KNOW THEY HAVE THESE?  I mean shit, if I were to get done up the butt, and I wanted to get drunk these would be the fucking way to go!  Your rectum has like a million blood vessels which absorb the alcohol at ludicrous speed, and on top of this you're getting something in your butt.  HOW CAN YOU POSSIBLY GO WRONG!?!?  Nothing says 'sophisticated lady' like a giant dissolvable pill of enema glory.  And the best part is, you won't have to hold those darn flutes for so long, not wanting to break them, or accidently spill anything onto the carpet.  Sure you might have a stain in the back of your pants or skirt, but that's normal right?  SHITTING YOURSELF IS COOL RIGHT!?!!??!  THEY DIDN"T LIE TO ME IN GRADE SCHOOL DID THEY?  I"M HIP RIGHT!?!?  So that's what I'm saying, we put this show about scabies on the air, on MTV.  We get kids to start having sex with eachother and passing parasites, killing babies, and shoving alcohol in their butts.  IT"S FUCKING UTOPIA.  Once we have the youth passing scabies to eachother and everyone's itchy and gross, I can pass like a normal fucking person because all the scratch marks from the fleas won't look so out of place.  OH GOD I ITCH PLEASE KILL ME.  MY GROIN.....MYYYYYYYYY GRRRRRROOOOIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNN.  Jock itch is a big problem in this country, and as far as I can tell it has to do with this sexuality problem.  Jock itch creates the inevitable date rape situation, which leads to more and more laccrosstitutes losing their scholarships due to side-cockery.  Frankly this disgusts me.  These beautiful talented young women should not be getting kicked out of college simply because they want someone's forarm jammed up to their cervix.  Doesn't cervix sound like a kickass name for an X-(wo)man?  Maybe not, but I still think that having a forearm in there can't be good for the babies.  THAT"S IT.  WE DON"T NEED TO GIVE PEOPLE SCABIES, WE JUST NEED TO JAM OUR ARMS UP TO THEIR ELBOWS INTO WOMEN"S VAGINAS.  THIS WILL KILL THE CHILD WITHIN.  (Believe me I am working with full capacity as to the horrendous ramifications this will have should anyone read it ever--remember--lighten up, this is a joke--wait no it's not)  ONCE THE CHILD IS DEAD, WE CAN GO BACK TO GIVING EACHOTHER SCABIES. 

I love you spartacus.

Hi, I'm an overpayed malefactor had just forced you to wait in a dirty hotel lobby for the past three hours.  I wasn't able to find you in this lobby, despite the fact that it is ONE ROOM--ONE COMPLETELY AND TOTALLY OPEN ROOM.  I would have trouble finding my prick in the morning, if it wasn't surgically attatched to my sphincter.  I will deny you any attempt on your part to question my statement, as I have already raised one of my finely crafted eyebrows in response to your outfit.  Who designed your clothes, a blind monkey holding a firecracker?  I am so witty, it makes up for the fact that my girlfriend left me for a traveling parapeligic mime.  I spend my days drinking rhino cum straight from africa while trying to make other people feel bad about themselves.  So you come from a small liberal arts college do you?  How cute?  I'm sorry honey, but you won't make it into our school, I'm afraid they didn't teach you how to do cocaine and talk pretentiously about fashion as if there's a difference between J-Lo's ass and my ego.  Don't get me wrong, I love small liberal arts colleges, and if I had children I would send them there, but it doesn't prepare one for something like our school.  After all, I can't have my children growing up knowing their daddy was addicted to RASPBERRY CHAMPAGNE (ed note--this makes me extremely angry for some reason) and spent all his time on 'business trips' picking up hookers and sleeping in a horse carcass.  We may be able to get around my proclaimation of your lack of skill if you take the time to touch my groin.  After all, networking is what hollywood is all about.  Maybe your brief phsyical contact will be enough to lift me out of my deep emotional depression and alienation from humanity so I don't have to spend yet another day of my life with a derringer in my mouth screaming for that picture of Bee Arthur having sex with a baby giraffe to get out of my head.

Ignore the previous entry and instead imagine a clown dancing around a dead mule.

It has come to my attention that I might be the teensy, tiniest bit crude when I'm around people, perhaps to a level that is SHOVE A GIANT DILDO MADE OUT OF DRIFTWOOD AND SIX INCH SCREWS INTO YOUR EYE SOCKET perhaps a little too much for the public sphere.  You know what it is?  It's this friendliness we've talked about.  When I was still a strapping young lad, busting caps and taking names.....or more likely.....listening to hardcore in my room and wishing someone loved me<---hah ohhh man, those people that liked me had a pretty high opinion, I was always polite, truthful and helpful.  But once I get in a good mood, well shit, I just spout crazy until my foot gets lodged in my throat.  There is a direct connection to me going through a period of self-loathing and everyone giving me icecream and australian handshakes to when I try to be friendly and outgoing and end up just shitting in someone's mouth while they sleep.  So what's the plan?  That's right, be less friendly.  I don't need new friends, all my old friends work out just fine, and they've already worked a pretty keen ass groove that I can't really expect someone else to fit.  So fuck you new kids, I'm not even going to try anymore.

It's a difficult process really.  I'm sure everyone experiences it sometime in their lives.  No no I'm not talking about stashing a body inside a beached whale, I'm talking about the familiarity stage.  I was talking to my friend Caralyn the other day, and we had a conversation on my humorous (although often extremely offensive) social skills.  Now there was no doubt that I do reasonably well with people...at first.  You know how you kind of have to be polite to people when you first meet them because you don't want them to beat you up or you have some sort of need to feel like they're attracted to you or you just hope that once, just once people might call you sir without having to add 'you're making a scene.'  Well, I've been doing that less and less lately.  That is not to say that instead of shaking hands I sniff the person in question's crotch or just hit them on the back with a folding chair.  No, I'm just friendly, seemingly, as Caralyn explained, sometimes over-friendly.  This gives people the wrong idea.  I try to be a buddy, though for some reason, this seems to make people think I want to get them pregnant (which I do, but that's part of a secret endeavor to implant an alien fetus into their chest cavity.......more on that later)  So this familiarity will lead to jokes being made, crude things being said, and just general tom-foolery.  After all, I try to get to the friend stage fast, hopefully so fast that my target never really realizes it and by the end of the week I'm stopping by with movies and funny stories to tell while they're still asking 'who are you and what are you doing in my bathroom?!?!?'  Is there something wrong with this?  I'm such a sucker for people on some level that I just constantly seek out company in order to make the time pass, because we all know that the kitchen knives get even closer when you're alone.  (<---holy shit that's emo, somebody get me a black sweatshirt and some kleenexs)  And what's wrong with hugs?  People nowadays grow increasingly uncomfortable with the hug.  Now, granted, more times than not I'll leave you with a smell that will take a few days to forget, and your wallet might be missing a few bills, but we've all got to eat right? 

Which brings me to another point.  I AM NOT AS DIRTY AS YOU THINK.  Now, granted, all of my pairs of pants have writing, or paint splotches, or are torn, or have patches or what have you.  SINCE WHEN DOES THIS MAKE THEM DIRTY--THEY GET WASHED(ok admittedly, sometimes I just put them in the washing machine with straight water and no detergent......but that stuff is expensive and alot of it has been tested on animals)  AND ANOTHER THING.  I SHOWER EVERY DAY.  SURE MY HAIR LOOKS CRUSTY...BUT THAT"S JUST THE LICE, THEY LIKE THE RUSTIC QUALITY.  I PROBABLY SHOWER MORE THAN MOST GUYS ON CAMPUS, BUT NO....JOHNNY I WEAR TOMMY HILFIGGER COLOGNE AND SPEND HOURS FIXING MY HAIR WITH WHALE CUM AND USE A RAG TO WIPE OFF MY ASS BEFORE I GO OUT APPARENTLY LOOKS ALOT 'CLEANER' THAN ME.  NOPE APPARENTLY I JUST HAVE THIS SIGN THAT SAYS 'DANGER--CRUSTER COMING THIS WAY' ON MY ASS THAT MAKES PEOPLE THINK I"M SOME KIND OF SWAMP MONSTER THAT HAS PHENOMENAL VERBAL SKILLS.  SO MAYBE THERE"S PACKAGING TAPE ON MY SHOES, AND MAYBE I WILL BE LIVING IN A DUMPSTER AFTER COLLEGE, BUT I"M STILL IN COLLEGE RIGHT NOW, CAN"T YOU TREAT ME WITH A LITTLE DIGNITY!?!??!

Who's up for a roofie coolata?

Moosirin: im taking intro to piano
Moosirin: my book is called
Moosirin: 'adult piano adventure 1'
Moosirin: doesnt that sound kinda like a porno
Slayngren: hahahahah
Slayngren: oh man
Slayngren: very few things make me laugh out loud over IM
Slayngren: that was definitely one of them
Slayngren: ADVENTURE!?!?!?
Slayngren: WHAT THE
Slayngren: i'm dumbfounded
Slayngren: they really should have worded that better
Moosirin: hahahha
Moosirin: noooo
Moosirin: i think they probably worded it as best as possible!
Moosirin: btw i posted to your post from yesterday
Slayngren: rock
Slayngren: dude, you should show up all ho'ed out to class
Moosirin: hahah
Slayngren: 'i'm ready for my 'lesson' professor'
Slayngren: it would be perfect
Moosirin: im ready for the adult adventure.
Slayngren: i know i would laugh
Moosirin: http://www.fjhmusic.com/piano/apa.htm
Moosirin: bahhah
Moosirin: One of my adult students moved to Richmond last year and started lessons with me, using the adult lesson book (not FJH) she had started with her previous teacher. As a 40+ adult beginner, she has been making excellent progress for many reasons
Moosirin: thats so ambiguous
Slayngren: yes
Slayngren: yes it is
Slayngren: this is my new favorite website
Moosirin: haha yeah right
Slayngren: adult piano adventures 'all in one' lesson book 2--solo--technique--theory
Slayngren: .......
Slayngren: BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
Moosirin: hahah:-)
Moosirin: youre realyl reading it!!
Moosirin: ahha
Slayngren: HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT
Slayngren: the theory right there in the book, and best of all, the little spaces at the beginning to let me know where my hands should be.
Slayngren: She was so excited, proud of her performance, and happy, that she reminded me of a child on Christmas morning.Slayngren: shit this is getting on the website
Moosirin: ahhahahahahha
Moosirin: holy fuck!
Moosirin: ahhahah
Slayngren: dude this is obviously an escort service

So here's how it went down, I won't embellish the experience at all, but I will make sure that none of you are bored.

Katy shows up in my house, being generally suspect.  I'm currently occupying the bathroom, as I have had a continuous battle to the death with the great hall's flank steak for the last four hours.  Granted, it was a messy battle, but I'm happy to pronounce that I triumphed.  So upon exiting the steamy bowels, I spy Katy peering into my room (probably trying to catch me naked, I mean jesus who wouldn't......don't answer that)  So I tap her in the shoulder and ram a collander into her crotch.  Well not so much a collander as a friendly hello.....into her crotch.  So she alerts me of a party going on at her friend Casey's house, and that we should be attending, as I was informally invited.  Donning the best of my party gear, which consisted of an orange gas station worker's shirt and a plaid jacket that would make even the greatest used car salesman eat his own dandruff in envy, I set out with Katy to the house.  Upon arriving I immediately knew this was not going to be my scene, no one had spiked hair.....and no one was crying....two sure signs that there aren't any of my people about.  Doing my best to blend in by pretending to be a lamp or a festive totem pole, I awkwardly stand in the corner hoping I can make it through the night without peeing myself or falling on the floor...  These dreams of triumph would surely be short lived.  Luckily, there are a few people there that I know, Mariana (I don't know if that's spelled right), Davide (not that one either), Jackee(god knows) and of course Katy, whom I had hoped would be my bodyguard against coolness intrusion for the evening.  This was all well and good, because although I do not know these three, they are good company, and for some reason have not picked up on the fact that I am a social barnacle on the boat of life.  So the sketchiness begins, as I gyrate like a drunken caribou amongst bodies who can seemingly move in time with the music eight thousand times better than I can.  So what? you say, so what you can't dance, you have friends there.  That's true, friends lessen the tension.  BUT I CAN"T STRESS THIS ENOUGH.  SMALL ROBOTS MADE OF TIN FOIL AND MONKEY URINE CAN DANCE BETTER THAN ME.  I WOULD HAVE TO BE COACHED FOR AT LEAST 200+ HOURS TO UNDERSTAND WHAT THE "BACKBEAT" IS.  As if this weren't enough, a particularly sauced mammallian gentleman comes over and grabs me, says 'let's dance' and puts me in front of four girls I don't know.  See, here again you say 'how could this be bad'  I"M A NERD YOU IDIOT.....And sure we've talked about this, I have tons of female friends....but that's just it....they're friends!  THEY ARE NOT POTENTIAL MATES OR WHAT HAVE YOU....I DON"T KNOW THESE PEOPLE, THEY WILL STEAL MY COCKTHUNDER(not to be confused with cock-thunderor....which is a nickname of mine I earned at space camp....ok so I've never been to space camp and I took that joke to far....let's just put this all behind us and get back to the story)

So I get immediately staggeringly uncomfortable with the whole situation, wanting to just go home and hide under my bed until all of this blows over.  I wander away, seeking Katy for refuge, and briefly find her.  Everything's cool, and I return to a different part of the floor to return to my hideously awful dancing.  This is when the trouble starts...which is cause for another interlude in this little tale...

The trouble's name is Xena.  No not the warrior princess....but sort of....well in a weird sort of way...yes precisely, the warrior fucking princess.  And it's my fault really, because you know what?  Xena is fucking cool, pretty goddamn cool, at least from what I've been able to pick up.  Here's the dilemma.  Two years ago, or maybe just one I don't remember, I hit Xena in the head with a hackysack.  I remember the day as if it was yesterday...  I was hackysacking with friends out on the patio, the day was warm, not groin grabbingly warm, but warm enough so the sweet slickness of your sweat slides down the crease in your ass and nuzzles itself lovingly against your scrotum.  Nate was showing me up as usual for at this point in time he was better than me (ahh how the tables have turned), so I decided to teach him a lesson I was going to wail one right at his groin.  My aim was off.  Xena sat minding her own business, talking with Jackee and another young lady.  My sack was right on target, hitting her square in the side of the head, sending her hair into disarry and her french fries scattered on the patio like so many urine soaked tampons.  Her look, was that of death.  I had been permanently disgraced.  At first I thought she was undressing me with her eyes, and then I realized, she was undressing me with her eyes.....with razors.  From that moment forward I truly and totally believed that Xena totally and completely hated me.  I was a reviled dirty bum(which as we know is not that far from the truth) and so I avoided her like the plague--while continuously telling the tale of my narrow escape, a story told down by nerd from generation to generation.

In the recent past Xena and I had been civil, as I began to hang out at Katy's more often, and Jackee and Xena had been close friends for most of college.  It was only natural that eventually we would run into eachother.  We never spoke of the 'incident' though it pained me every time she shot an icy glance my way.  But at the very least, I was sure that she wasn't going to take the opportunity to stab me in the chest should such a chance present itself.  In fact, at this party, Xena was being downright nice to me.  My heart grew three sizes that day.

So all is well right?  Old emnities have fallen away and perhaps the buds of friendship are coming in.(Can you tell I'm trying to make this poetic?  If it gets too lame try and imagine making me eat donkey feces, you'll feel better, and frankly, so will I)  So I loosen up a bit.  Apparently, this must be the signal for women to 'make keith uncomfortable.'  And I get slight words of encouragement from both Jackee and Xena.  This is when the genes kick in and my formal training somehow keeps me alive.

I freak out.

No joke, I think it was the sight of both Jackee and Xena (whom, it should be stated, are both very attractive) as well as others dancing in my viscinity that kicked in the traditional nerd reaction of AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH GGGGGIIIIIRRRRRRRLLLLSSSSS!!!!!  So the hormones kicked in and my heart fluttered like a diabetic hummingbird.  It was fight or flight, I had no where to go.  The mosh instinct overtook me and I thought of just windmilling through the crowd.  Luckily, the overload was too much and I fled instead.  Thanking Casey and Xena (whom I found out also lives in the house) for the evening, short though it was, I attempted to leave.  I was met with still more kindness, and an invitation to come back later in the year and fully party...when my booty shakin and so on had been brought up to speed (I'd say between 4-6th level).  This took me over the edge.  I was not used to this environment. 

I ran home.  Crying.  No actually I didn't cry but wouldn't that have been badass?  It would have been like a shitty episode of my so called life, only this time the main character would have a penis...  Oh and I'd be there too.

goodnight.

Lately I've been really amazed by some of the things that I have in common with people.  For instance, especially at my school, it appears as though things that are 'funny' are also 'invisible' to pretty much everyone.  Like literally when people look for funny it's like swimming around in the kiddie pool with your grandfather playing 'find the eel.'  It's dangerous business, and frankly, even when you're done, all you get is disappointment.  But for some reason, some of the new people I have met this year and befriended are actually funny.  No I don't mean like stand up comedy funny, I mean like putting gum in someone's asscrack so they create explosive methane balloons kind of funny.  So in other words, not funny at all, dead serious in fact.  When I get a balloon from a forlorn clown flipping flap jacks in an abandoned taco bell I expect quality and nothing less.  It is important to note that none of these funny people are a part of the school's improv group, which I'm not sure if I've ever talked about but can be summed up with the phrase frag grenade in your ear canal.  Those people wouldn't know funny if you forced them to have sex with their dead cat.  In fact they're not nerds either, which really surprises me, because more and more as I grow older, I'm starting to realize that I can only relate with nerds.  Normal people ARE NOT INTERESTING.  THEY HAVE NOTHING TO SAY.  No really, think about this for a few seconds, you talk to a nerd and you can talk about the eating habits of orcish mercenaries, how to correctly fire a plasma pistol, the intricacies of mixing the philopophical ideals of a simultaneously taoist/existentialist visionary whom seeks to control the world.  Hell you can talk about ANYTHING.  YOU TALK TO A NORMAL PERSON AND YOU KNOW WHAT YOU GET!?!??!?!

Here are some examples:

"Dude I got so drunk last night I almost had sex with a bus-stop."
"Did you hear that so and so got a new job working at cockcorp cleaning toilets and crying with a shotgun to her mouth?"

But see, those were fake examples, the real examples are EVEN MORE BORING....IF THAT"S FUCKING POSSIBLE

Mostly they talk about what they're studying or what they're interested in(which is always something like 'politics'<--translates to, please kick my chest until my lungs cave in--HOW THE FUCK CAN YOU BE INTERESTED IN THINGS LIKE POLITICS OR HISTORY OR TELEVISION--WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!?!??!?!??!  BE A FUCKING PERSON), or they talk about someone else, because no one can ever get beyond that shallow level of small talk that only allows you to connect with someone if you are judging someone else.  Seriously, of all the people I know at this college, I connect with very few non-nerds(this applies to my artsy friends and a few select others).  Non-nerds are just fundamentally useless.  Sure, later in life, they'll be happier, more successful and just generally better than me.  But I think I'd rather be some idiot with his head crammed in his butt dreaming of battling ancient evils and visiting far away lands than some guy/girl who sits behind a desk each day wondering which orifice their boss is going to violate them with a broom handle in today?

For goddsakkes learn how to play roleplaying games, get interested in the fantastic, something outside of your boring little world of money, sex, and alcohol and be a person for once.  Just once.  <---This kid is preachy as shit, somebody better jam an iron bar into his pelvic cavity!

Oh and one more thing, if you are normal and you feel offended, I'm sorry.  I would continue to lie to you and say that I didn't mean any of those things, but we both know that I would only say that so I could have sex with you.  At least I'm being honest right? 

How many marshmallows can you fit in your rectum......Well suffice to say you'd be surprised.  Now I know how all those guys get all that cocaine smuggled all over the world, they hide it in their rectum.  This seems to be a space I have overlooked all my life, instead more interested in the other various holes, nooks, and crannies of the body.  Crannies are a space overlooked all too often in my opinion.  What we need for these crevices are accessories.  Hell those kids are piercing their tongues, clitori, and what have you, why not accessorize your holes?  The first of these accessories would be the rectum pack.  It'd be like a fanny pack but without the embarassing neon colors and gigantic bulge adding to your already voluminous ass-weight.  It's nearly invisible in fact, and would be able to hold things like make-up, wet ones, and the occasional rocket propelled grenade.  In fact, this would phase out the need for purses and wallets because you could keep your 'roll' jammed right up in there.  I can't believe no one has cashed in on this yet.  THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF FEET OF CUBIC HUMAN SPACE THAT WE ARE WASTING!?!?!  WE COULD DO HYDROPONICS UP IN THERE!!!  WE COULD FEED THE WORLD!!!  FOR GOD SAKKES GET OUT THERE AND START CRAMMING THINGS IN YOUR BUTT!

It's that time of year...yep end of semester.  And we all know what that means....It's time relive all the hilariously melancholy aspects of my life that force me to cry in dark holes until break is over and I re-emerge ready to get punched in the groin for a few more months...  So let's spin the wheel of emo shall we???

First, I'm sue you're all dying to know what happened between me and my friend that I had the uber crush on.  Well the crush came to fruition...in that she crushed my heart into a fine pulp and spoonfed it back to me while I was still gasping for air and going into shock.  Basically after telling me that we should stay friends, which really I'm totally fine with, I continued to pry like a jackass--as is my way.  Essentially the deal was, she was going through alot of issues, and although she liked being with me, it wasn't the right time or place (I also assume that I'm definitely the wrong person--but you know how girls like to let you down easy)  So all was well and good I suppose.  I was disappointed of course, after all, I totally poured my heart out to her and I would really really absolutely love to get closer to her.  But whatever, such is my constant position in life--to be the perpetual good friend to every--single--woman I know.  That wouldn't be such a bad thing if I had like 4 or so female friends.  No I have like 10-12.  This only serving to be another nail in the 'gay coffin' as I see it.  So we'll see, I'll sleep with a few men over break and perhaps it will all work out.  Far more likely I'll pine over this girl like a fucking asshole for a while and feel sorry for myself.

What makes the whole business worse is that I'm totally wanting to go back to our good friendship, and I try to be all friendly and happy and I don't act weird or anything.  She just ignores me of late, and when we do see eachother its this weird fucking awkwardness that feels like I just ate her puppy and she walked in on me and her great aunt petunia doing it in the bathroom.  Like seriously, I got rejected and I'm ok about it, I just want things back to normal.  Sure, I thought that I might be falling in love or what have you, but I can suck it up and deal, I'm pretty damn good at it.  So this shit is like the icing on the cake and I don't know how to handle it because if I confront her things will just get weirder, and if I don't she's just going to keep up this awkward half-assed friendly politeness that makes me feel like a real cock smuggler.  All I'm looking for is just a reasonable facsimile of the way things were before I started to advance upon her at full tilt. 

SO--THERE"S DEALIE NUMBER ONE!

Dealie #2 has alot to do with just general shit.  Lately I've just been feeling the year is passing me by, and that I'm totally unprepared for life (which is totally true oh god).  Yeah sure it's because I'm immature and I'd rather write stories and watch cartoons then get a job or cut my hair.  So my solution?!!?  That's right suicide!  Pfft yeah right, like I'd take the sucker's way out.  No no, the solution is probably going to involve fruitcake and alot of visitings.  I've resolved that sometime this season I've got to let all my friends know how much I care and blah blah EMO BULLSHIT.  As I get older I realize that I don't really care about the rest of my life as long as I'm with the people I care about...so when I'm homeless please let me come sleep on your couch...I love you...