Like Whoa.

Pretty sure I heard this egg come out of the poor gal.

Growin up.

The peeps out strolling with Red Momma. 

The A.M's.

Its two a.m. and I hear Reveille stirring in the bassinet next to our bed.

She can't be awake right now....she just fell asleep at 10:30?

She'll usually sleep till at least 4-

But for the past couple of nights she has woken up for a big bottle at 2 a.m. and fallen asleep quickly after finishing.

I let her stir for awhile, while I pass in and out of sleep.

But its inevitable.

The hunger cry.


Part of me waits for that one cry to jump out of bed and run downstairs to get her bottle.  There is a sort of superhero feeling that comes with it while you makes a bottle and the house remains asleep.  You have the ability to do the correct amount of ounces- heat it to perfection- go up and down the stairs (without falling) give the bottle- burp her- and put her back to bed as comfortable as she can be- and then pass out yourself.  The superhero feeling that comes with it is the ability to do this all on a lack of sleep for the past four months. And to do it joyfully. Willingly. Lovingly. And with so much fullness.
Like I said there is part of me that waits for that cry to jump into action and feel important to this new little someone.

And last night as that little cry came, and the bottle was given, I fell into my routine.....but Reveille did not.


She was awake.

Not like awake to eat the bottle.
I mean awake.
We call her Michelle Phelps for the way she kicks her feet out of excitement.
And last night she was Michelle Phelping it up in the bassinet.
What was she excited about?
Only her and The Lord knows.
But she was awake.
Momma was tired.

I grabbed her out of the bassinet to rock her in my arms hoping that I could coax her back to sleep.  We are taught as American women that babies need schedules, schedules, schedules!  But when she is ready to rock and roll at 2 am, and rocking in my arms isn't letting her know that its time for sleep and not play makes me want to take the schedule idea and throw it out the window.

I look out the window, as I rock her back and forth and kissing her head.
Our yard is illuminated by the full moon.
I can see the white beehives glowing.
I see shadows moving across the lawn and imagine that it is Ash beebopping around.
I'm admiring the quiet beauty of this late summer night, and wishing for sleep at the same time, when I heard it.
Her laugh.

Rev does this new thing. She cracks up after eating.
All you have to do is hold her near your shoulder, and something causes her to laugh.

It was then, at 2 a.m. while trying to get a baby to sleep on a beautiful night that her laugh broke my spell.

She melted me.

I could have cared less what time it was.
My baby was happy.
She was enjoying herself.
She was full.
She felt loved.
She was awake.

*sigh


We ended up going downstairs where I put her in her swing with her pacifier.  It took all of ten minutes for her to fall asleep, but by then I was wide awake and played around on the internet while she happily snoozed.

I ended up staying awake till 5 a.m. but it didn't matter.  Those three hours of being awake in the middle of the night while our daughter let me know how happy she was was quite possibly the best three hours of my adult night life.  What does it matter if I sleep when I want to. I got a chance to peak into my daughters life and emotion, while the world was still. There was nothing else to do. No chores, no errands, no phone calls, no text, nothing else to do but to admire God's sweet little gift.

They say nothing good happens after 12 o clock.

But they must not have children.

war.

its waged.

This time with reinforcements.








I was out admiring the hives today pondering what the crap might be going on inside them at this time (nothing new) when I saw it. A chick-a-dad killer.  Or better known as a Cicada killer ransacking my hive. (don't ask about previous name..)

Whats a chickadad killer?


Exhibit A:

But just picture this (insert swear word of your choosing here) about two feet big.

Ok maybe not TWO feet but at least two inches.
And that's no exaggeration.


So I know that at this time of year when Templeton is at the carnivals collecting 'crunchy," signs (anyone?) that the wasp and other such bee's will be trying to get into my hives to get honey.
(Little do they know there is none)


Wasp of the paper kind- hornets, yellow jackets of all sizes are buzzing about at the end of summer. And they seem to get the signal call when I open the hives. They buzz about smelling the hives sweet smell trying to get in.  The honies attack and the wasp usually give up.

So upon looking at the weaker hive that I have recently merged (that has an entrance reducer (thank goodness)) I saw them.

I knew that they were there.
Even suspecting them as the ones that came and robbed previously.
Saw them try to get in before.
Know where they live.



They live in my house.


WHAT WHAT?!

Yes, friends. We have these giant bee's (if you should even call them that. I prefer mutant (insert swear word of your choosing here)) in a crack of our house, on the outside. They are not inside our house as in, watching TV with us each night, but more or less making a nest in a minuscule crack beneath a gutter in the back of our house.

You can at any given moment of the night be whacked upside the head by one if you happen to be closing up a chick coop with a flashlight. (which I happen to be doing every night)
And let me tell you. I may play with hundred of thousands of bee's (for fun) but I am scared (insert swear word here) -less of these things.

David has been pretty regularly spraying them with poison every week at night (cause I'm too scared too) but they keep coming back.  My guess is that the brood is hatching and since the crack in our brick house is home- they (the newly hatched babies) then themselves lay their brood which hatch and do the  same. (They are in fact a communal bee)

I've watched them for a few weeks now. Although I am terrified of these mutant sized bombers I am still interested (because I like bees and bee things). And they appear to be "kind of"  interesting.

The mutants have a bee line across the field (like my honey gals) but other than that I didn't know what else they do (beside kill cicadas, drag them into their lair, lay an egg in them, and wait for their brood to hatch)

But today I saw it.

One at my hive.

No biggie I thought.

Can't get in.

Honies will kick its ass.

It will take off?

Oh No.

I came to the entrance.

Fell.

Got back up.

With a honey bee in hand (or four)

and took off.

Its taking my bees.

This is war.

Tonight.

Its on like Donkey Kong.

I hated that game.

I was scared of the monkey.

I'm scared of these bees.

But enough is enough.

You've over stayed your boring welcome.

Tonight this Yank will get the Rebs.




(calling "suspect," on wiki.  These wasp are not solitary nor are they non threatening.  I'm watching as they live with many other wasp in my house
as well as seen one sting a visitor while they were being "non threatening."  They also bop me upside the head each night just for carrying a flashlight near them)
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sphecius_speciosus

I ain't here for your money. I'm here for the banks money.

Its always the good guys that get shot during a robbery right? 

The ones that try to save the day?

Well that's what happened to me today.

I got shot during a hold up.

I have three hives at the moment. One strong. One mildly weak, and the other was wicked strong.

You see last Monday I went into the wicked strong hive and was over come with bee's.  No they didn't swarm up all me or anything, but when I opened the hive there they were - massive amount- clumps of them.

Its what you expect in late August.  Hot weather and hot and "slightly moody bee's."

They could be in a good mood and just hanging around bored and lazy, or they could be ticked cause they are bored and hot.

Bored cause they ain't no mo necta flo.

True dat.

So anyways, yesterday I went into the wicked strong hive to give em some feed. Some nice freshly made sugar syrup.

I opened it up and saw tumble weeds roll by.

Where the crap did they go?

I broke down the entire hive only to find piles and piles of bees- healthy bee's and brood laying dead in a big crumpled bee mess.

If this were last year (my first bee charming year) I would have cried right then and there and sought revenge on what force of nature did this to my friends.

Meteors? 

I'll kick your ass for doing this?! 

Sasquatch??!! 

I know where you live!

I have since come to realize that here at Glory Downs Farm- all and everything weird that CAN happen to bee's. Will.

My bee's are apparently Irish and go by Murphy's law.

So as I broke everything apart I ended up seeing the queen. Stately, beautiful, and looking to lay eggs.

Hmm.

Weak hive check- 

no queen.

Hmm.

I take the weak hive, add it to the used to be wicked strong hive and I get halfway decent hive.(Maybe?)

WH+UTBWSH=HWDH.

How do I do that?

Well I won't bore you with too many details, but you basically leave the queen at the bottom hive box and put newspaper on top of it. Then take the other weak hive, place it on top of that and the bees will chew there way thru the newspaper in order to get close to the queen. All during which- they will get used to one another. No fighting, guys ok. We all get along. Bunk beds mean more space for activities.

So today I'm outside looking at this enormously stacked hive and I start to see some odd bee-havior.

They're all over my house.

On my porch.

On old hive equipment.

Me.

These little bastards better not be planning on swarming cause they owe me rent now.

I give it some time.

I look again.

Yup. They are getting robbed.

So during a robbery, the best thing to do is place an entrance reducer on the hive to help the bees IN the hive fight off any bees trying to get in.  I had already done this like a good doobie anticipating that THIS might happen.

The next best thing is to take a tarp of some sort and throw it over the hive!

I have one- better yet I have a clothe tarp.

So I walk with my glock fully loaded (actually its a clothe tarp) and as I approach (in civilian clothing)  annnnnd I get chased by bee's.

Little monkeys.

And yes, as a beecharmer (who ain't so good at charming) I run.

Just cause I like playing with hundreds of thousands of bees (weird) I don't like having them come at me pissed (normal)

So I wait a bit and then approach. Clothe in hand I throw it like a girl over the hive!  

It falls.(Naturally)

I bend and look to see if it at least covered the entrance-

It did!

Pow.

I got hit. 

I slap my hand and run (like a girl) all the way to the house where I can lick my wounds, swatting and pulling at my clothes in the off chance that one "got in," somewhere.

The best thing to do if you get stung is, well a couple things. 

One- toothpaste. Don't ask me how, but the mint in it soothes the sting once the sting is out.

Two- onion. Yup onion. And if you look up uses for onions you'll be surprised they are great for a many of other things than making you smell bad at the gym.

Three- mud. That's my favorite. It'll pull the stinger out and soothe you. Plus its a good excuse to put mud on you.

So what is a bee charmers response to getting stung by the lovelies?

Ouch.

Yes, you never get used to it.

Yes it still hurts.

You ever stub your toe?

That never gets any better feeling the next time you do it right?

Right.

So we will see if my vigilanteness works. If not - eh. There are more hives to be had next year!

Take Five.

How I feel before I write.

How I feel during writing.

Pretty cool huh?  I can feel like both- a rock star and a man! Yes ladies don't lie to yourselves. Sometimes you have felt like a man. Whether you changed your own tire, or dug a hole in the dirt- or even drank coffee black- you have at one point happened to feel like a man. Mine just happens to be a rock star man before I write.

And yes, during writing I feel like an empowered black woman, who happens to be named Beyonce.  even my legs at this moment feel her size so its possible that (while NOT looking in the mirror-) I might actually be channeling an inner Beyonce.  My hair at times can be pretty big. I even sing JUST like her in the car with the windows rolled up and no one else on the road.

So what does this have to do with "farm," life?

Let me tell ya.

This blog was design (by google) and with the purpose of "giving an honest and humble view of farm life." And I emphasize that fact.  In the past post I have been VERY honest at what is going on in life. Not all times I have stuff to write about that has to do with our animals. Sometimes I don't feel like writing about them because I may be pretty discouraged that some chickens have died and I don't know why- or the fact that after last weekend my hens have abruptly stopped laying. Why? I don't know. But yah. Sometimes I DON"T want to write those things.  Other times I want to write about what emotions I am going thru. New things I'm learning as I come into Motherhood. And those involve both good and bad emotions. But truthful emotions. This is a space for me to share those feelings freely- honestly- and humbly. And that is what I really, really, like to do.
Honest.

The past two weeks have been extremely difficult for me. Emotionally that is. (men block your ears)  I am unable to nurse. That I have talked about on fb pretty clearly. And you know what- I'm really ok with that now. I don't need to fix anything. I don't need to talk about it. It took all of these three months to finally realize it. But I now know. Its ok. I am not poisoning my baby with formula. In fact my baby has never been healthier. You try nursing your child only to have her throw it all up within moments. Screaming for hunger pains. Then give her a bottle and watch her slowly drift off into the most comfortable sleep she's had in days.  You try it. Then judge. I love Gerber. Gerber loves my baby. I am grateful to have freed her of the "need," and "pressure," to breastfeed. Cause you know what. Only my husband and I know whats best for the baby God has give us. And bottle it be.

Now all that being said (men continue to block ears) hormones (ahhhhhh!!!) have flooded back in.     I was a blissfully happy pregnant woman.  But as breastfeeding fully comes to a halt hormones charge forth. And that's a little scary.  But after having a baby you can't have a good cry- or even eat a gallon of ice cream without someone telling you about how your hormones are affecting you. You know what? I'm well aware of what hormones are doing. I have been pretty aware since I was a young girl. If I need a good cry let me have it......and say a couple prayers for my amazing husband:)

Not that these hormones are outrageous. They are just back. I AM a woman you know. Sometimes I don't feel like smiling when I'm in a room full of people. Sometimes I like to sit back and listen. (that's for you Kittens Mittens)That doesn't mean anything more. I am not unhappy. I just don't sit around smiling like an idiot at all times.

So whats good for me to do during times where I'm contemplating shaving my head (thinking that might be a good idea) and feeling a bit weepy?  Write.
Yes ladies and Gentlemen.
Write.

You ever have a diary when you were a child?Well blogging is modern day adult diaries. This time though they have been unlocked and left opened and encouraged to read. You won't get in trouble reading someones diary nowadays.

So I started to do that. Two weeks ago. When it all came out.

I started to write on my blog.
I wrote all over facebook.
Crap-  might have even tagged a few walls down in D.C. one night.
I wrote it all out.

The loneliness I felt.
The fatigue.
The utter, unavoidable joy that explodes in your heart when your baby smiles at you.
The distance I felt from my family.
Then the anger.

Yes anger.
I am a Christian, but that does not make anger unavoidable. It just makes it firey hot at bad times.

I upset some people.
I backed down.
I apologized.
I upset some more.
I apologized more.
I cried.
I wanted to hide.
I had no place to hide.
I stopped writing.
Tore down all my favorite posters on my wall.
Started to question the who am I
Tossed aside favorites.
Stopped hitting like
Status updates were no longer updated.
No more diary entries.
No more sharing.
No more honesty.
No more humbleness.
No more.

So what then.
what did I have, to write on.
My diary had been burnt up.
Traded with someone for one more cup of coffee to get my energy out.
I froze.

Then one morning I awoke to a facebook message from a distant friend.  She told me that she actually had time to write me a message (and I understood the time thing:) ) and I was prepared to read something not good.  I was fully ready. Gut in gear. To read how I might have upset another....

It wasn't that.
 In fact-
It was about how I helped her.
I did?!
I helped her by "being real."
Me?
Real?!
...........
I kinda burst at that moment.
You mean someone was listening?
Someone read my diary, all of my diaries, and was ok with them.
Bliss.

Bliss captured in a picture.

Remember that saying back in kindergarten- "Mind your own beeswax?"
Yah that one that's equivalent to "Go Fahck yuself." (read out loud my Non New Englander Friends- it really does help to understand:) )

Yah that saying was pretty crappy to have thrown at you. But back 25 years ago there WAS such a thing  as "minding ones own beeswax."  If someone told you to do it- It meant "get the hell out of my business."

But you see you can't really say that to anyone in today's world. Not with facebooktumblrblogginggoogleplusyahoochatsyouallknowmyfavoritebrandofunderwearandwhoithinkisthemostawesomeestbandatthemomentkindofworld.  No not when you upload a picture of your every move and then tag yourself at each location of your house that you are in.  Nope. Can't mind your own beeswax. Not anymore.

But lets clarify that for a moment.  And I will use the help of several thousand of my golden gal friends.
The bees.

You see in the hive wax just doesn't magically appear.  It doesn't sprout from trees and flowers outside. It isn't gathered by a glittery fairy and dropped off in the dead of night to the bees hive doorstep.  No. It comes from their gut.

Huh?
Yup. Their gut.

Wax is produced on the belly of the bee.
Its something that naturally happens on a day to day basis.
The bees have to remove their wax.
The bee's in order to get rid of their wax. Scrape the wax off their belly and share it with the rest of their hive.
They put it to use.
They use it to put tops on the honeycomb in order to store the goods.
they use it to blanket the baby bee's.
They use it for comb.
They use it to build a stronger hive.
Its a communal thing.
Not private.
Bee's never mind their own beeswax.
They share.
So really the bee's were the first to log onto a facebook kind of world if you think about it.

I realized this last night when me and my husband went to the fair.  Naturally we had to go see the bee exhibit as we have a friend that runs it.  At the exhibit there was beeswax of all kinds on display. Some light, some fragrant, some golden as the sun, and some dark.
Yes their is dark wax.
That's usually voted as the "not so good wax."
huh?

You see when wax gets judge at the fair its usually the lightest one in color that gets first place.  The more pure looking and whiter in color the better quality it must be!  The darker the wax the poorer quality it is.
But you see when wax is that light and pure, the bee keeper who processed it took out all it impurities. They rendered it to the point of "perception of pureness."  All the realness taken out. No pollen mixed in. No honey drippings exposed. No bee parts. Just pure white wax.
Where's the realness? Where is that wax scraped from the bee's belly?
Gone.
But its the whitest of the wax that wins?
The less real?
The one that's rendered to be almost fake looking?
The one that's processed to the point of being of quality that everyone is comfortable with?
You mean no one is comfortable to touch wax that has pollen, honey, and bee parts in it?........even though that's the real one? Yes that white wax IS beautiful, lovely, almost magical. Who doesn't like it? For real.....its very stunning stuff.
But for real- the real is to amaze....

You see the irony is, that the bee's don't mind their own wax. And we don't either. We don't like to. Its not human nature to do so. Facebook allows us to mind everyone else beeswax. And we often enjoy it. It builds a community.  Sometimes there is other wax that we don't like, but all in all its still wax. Its still scraped from the bellies of our other bee friends and used in some sort. But if we then take that beeswax- render it- process it to the point of oblivion. Take out allllll the realness, juuust so everyone likes what they see, touch, feel and taste. Where then is the good stuff gone to?

My friends.

Love who God made you to be.

If that is someone who enjoys something that not everyone else does- so be it.
If that means to like a baseball team that other people think suck. So be it.
If it means you like to eat peanut butter out of the jar when no one is looking so be it.

Be yourself.
Be who God made you to be.
Cause you know what- theres gonna be alot of people in this world who don't love you. But He does.
And that's what really matters.  Not whether someone disagrees with what you might be doing on this fine Saturday, but whether God thinks your a pretty cool chick.


So thank you to my friend who in the past sent me a sweet gift of beeswax candles (no lie) thank you for sharing in the beeswax with me. Thank you for letting me know that God thinks I'm a pretty cool chick. You have done more for my courage in the past moment than I could ever fully explain.  Much love to you and Peace from the Father above<3

So lets then- continue to share our beeswax in this community we choose to have. Lets share and if there is some that is not the color you so like. Just pass it by. Its someone else's wax that they need to scrape from their belly.

Weekends off.

Notice the gal on the fallen tree? She's eating up all those ants living inside it- smart gal!

We all deserve them some times.

Today was the first day that I let the gals out of their big yard into our big yard in awhile.  With the hawks and a giant mangy fox (not Ash) that pays them a visit every now and then, I have been leary to.  But we have been home all day, and David has been working outside so it was long over due for these gals to let loose.Literally.

They didn't quite know what to do at first. I opened both their gate and the coop door, so while I did that they ran back into the coop. When they actually realized they could run around OUR big yard- it was game on.

Somehow its medicinal to me to look out the kitchen window while washing bottles and see a flock of 30 some odd chicken running loose.  To then step outside and have the three growing peeps greet you at the steps (cause they've taken up fort underneath our porch)  I just love it.

On another awesome chicken note- more peeps have hatched today!  The red Momma has faithfully sat on those eggs for 22 days now- and away they hatched!  SO far I think we have six, and she is still sitting on a good number of eggs, so were not quite sure how many we will end up with.  We were not sure initially what eggs were fertilized and what were.  We did lose one chick already though- it was fully developed but looked as if the Momma knew something was wrong with it.  Only its feet were out of the shell and the chick was still folded up inside.  Its sad but I'd rather it not make it from the very start- than to have it lose its life later on like our other chicks did.  The colors we got are a light almost white gray, some yellows, and a black chick with a white chest- much like a penguin:)  Pics to come as soon as I can see them all!

A Peep Portrait.

They've taken a liking to hanging out on this little seat next to our porch.  They're too cute not to admire.

Rescue Mission.

Leave your door open and the bee hive gloves close by and your bound to get the stray girl who smells the honey on the gloves.  At least she is trying to get out on her own.  But some assistance looks needed:)

Dog Olympics.

The porch be their arena, and weird laying positions be their skill.

Hum.

Its a hum.

Definitely a hum.

Not a buzz.

Buzz is for busyness.

The kind of hum that's almost electric. Like a fridge running at 3am in your dark kitchen. No one is awake, not even the mice.

Not the hum of a ac unit outside of an industrial building in the city. No not that kind of hum at all.

the hum of atmosphere after a storm has passed....
Yah, after the storm.

A hum.



I was able to go to the bee yard this morning, while Reveille took her morning snooze.  I needed to feed them (long over due) and just see them.  The bee's are medicine for my soul. And even though I was in a rare mood yesterday- and telling David I didn't even have the gumption to go take care of the bee's. I knew I needed too.  Like having to take cough medicine when you have a cold. Its gross to swallow down but the relief is instant....

So out I went, to bring bags of sugar water, and as soon as I opened the first hive I heard the hum.
Relief.
Instant.

Even the chickens seem to stop and listen.

Which they did.

The bees were as expected (+a few hive beetles).  They were full and bored. Hot and in the hive.  But oh so sweet in this early morning.


I am soothed.

Tree Down.

We were outside the other day walking around and enjoying the "cool," breeze when we heard a crack.

We ran into the back yard just in time to see this. 

Hen house, bee hives, and dog yard - thankfully untouched.

Pretty big tree to come down with only the slightest of breezes.

Bad day for the chickens....

So it started off with two chicks missing this am.

David went to let them out at 6 am when he left for work to see that they had already broken free out of their cage. No surprise there. They have done this before. But two were missing in the little flock.  

I looked around alllll day. My heart is broken.  I saw no sign or evidence of our foxy friend taking the chicks. (Yes Ash. Cause at this farm you are guilty until proven innocent. Even the other hens were part of the interrogation.)

I walked Ash's path to see if there were any feathers. Nothing.

Then I checked and recheck and triple checked their pen. There was no sign of anything digging at the cage to get ahold of the chicks. There was no sign that Momma put up a fight in anyway... I was at a loss.

Then I saw it.

I went out to get the mail and check on the chickens when I saw the hawk flying away from the coop.

She had just gotten one of the hens.
And had taken another hours before.

Two hens and two chicks, gone.

It was a really sad day today.

The chicks broke out of their cage early this am. Two are missing.



I'm very sad....

Why is he wearing a bandit hat?

David is a really good cook.

I'm not just saying that to be a kind wife- but he has me spoiled.

He is a really good cook.
 He takes the time to prepare food and cook it correctly where as I hurry up and cook things till the point where they are burnt. When they are burnt then they are done. I like the taste of burnt. I got used to it. As I learned from my Grandmother- "its time to turn the meatballs when the smoke hits the living room."

So tonight was like any other. We are eating late, cause its what we do. David is cooking a steak on the grill that he had marinating for a number of hours in a new marinade recipe that he was gonna try.  He had just placed it on the grill and lit a black and mild to smoke, when he had to come back in the house for something.  When he went back outside Ash was there.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Or at least "pretending," too.
Both of us had not put hotdogs out knowing that Ash would get any steak scraps left over.

When he saw Ash he (quite literally ) said "Oh Hey Ash, hold on- I'll get you something!" But went to check his steak too.

The steak was gone.

And in an instant, Ash was running off with it.

IT seems that he watched as David went into the house and appeared innocent when he came back out, having already stolen his steak.


Then, not wanting to get caught red pawed and (wearing his bandit hat) took off with David's (well marinated and slightly warmed) steak.


Ash ate very well tonight.


David did not.

The Peeps Turn One Month Old!!!

And Getting cute ugly!

They got dem big ol dinosaur feet and losing all their peep feathers.

I haven't handled them at all (unless I have to get a loose one into its coop at night) and I did that on purpose. I want these chicks to be solely raised by Momma and to do so as natural as possible. Once again emphasizing the fact that these chicks are NOT medicated, wormed, neutered, rabies vaccinated or whatever else the chicken "man," tell you you should do to them.  (Once again I emphasize that I'm NOT against medicine for your pets if need be (example - Ash)- but when it comes to a pet that provides you food- I do not agree with any medication at all. (Mind you I'm a self proclaimed Snow White- and I love my animals)

That being said- I want to raise hens like my great grandfather did- the old way:)

As of late though- I have been trying to get them used to my presence and voice. I go out daily to call them and throw them some bread or what have yous.  I'm doing this so that if these girls (and the guys) are totally a free ranging flock, then they will know when its suppertime by my calling.

Its pretty cool watching their transition.

As for our other broody hen ( the red head) shes doing a great great job. She hasn't moved! Often I look at her to make sure she hasn't turned to stone. Which she hasn't.

Those peeps are due August 10th- really looking forward to that!!!!

"If you want to know who your friends are, get yourself a jail sentence."

Life in the big house.