My New "Nephew" Thinks He is a Cat

His name is Jenks and yes, that IS a cat hammock . . .

I didn't know there were such things, cat hammocks, but I see years of doggie therapy in his future.

. . . but I could be your type . . .

I could make a dress . . . a robe fit for a prince. . . I could clothe a continent but I can't sew a stitch
I can paint my face. . . and stand very very still. . . it's not very practical . . .but it still pays the bills
I can't change my name . . . but I could be your type . . . I can dance and win at games . . . like backgammon and life
I used to be the smart one . . . sharp as a tack . . . funny how that skipping years ahead . . . has held me back
I used to be the bright one . . . top in my class . . . funny what they give you . . . when you just learn how to ask
I can write a song . . . but I can't sing in key . . . I can play piano but . . . I never learned to read
I can't trap a mouse . . . but I can pet a cat . . . no I'm really serious! I'm really very good at that
I can't fix a car . . . but I can fix a flat . . . I could fix alot of things but I'd rather not get into that
I used to be the bright one . . . smart as a whip . . . funny how you slip so far when teachers don't keep track of it
I used to be the tight one . . . the perfect fit . . . funny how those compliments can . . . make you feel so full of it
I can shuffle cut and deal . . . but I can't draw a hand . . . I can't draw a lot of things . . . I hope you understand
I'm not exceptionally shy. . . but I've never had a man . . . that I could look straight in the eye and tell my secret plans
I can take a vow . . . and i can wear a ring . . . and I can make you promises but they won't mean a thing
can't you do it for me, I'll pay you well . . . f**k I'll pay you anything if you could end this
can't you just fix it for me, it's gone berserk . . . f**k I'll give you anything if you can make the damn thing work
can't you just fix it for me? I'll pay you well . . . f**k I'll pay you anything if you can end this
hello, I love you will you tell me your name?
hello, I'm good for nothing - will you love me just the same?

-- "The Perfect Fit" The Dresden Dolls

I know . . . depressing, but I'm seeming to connect with it this evening. Weird mood. A lot to think about. And all stuff that I should NOT get thinky about. I just have to keep looking right in front of me. Only two sidewalk squares. Because if you look ahead for your house, the walk takes forever. If you just keep your focus right in front of you . . . well, then you are just right there.

My Brother WAS always a Challenge

If you click here and then find the feature on the right called "DD: Lime - Lynn vs. Louie" you will find a feature with my brother and his restaurant . . . doing a "burrito challenge". My brother is the guy talking about the burritos. His dimples are very cute in the picture and he seems to be wearing his natural hair color these days.

The lizard at the end is hilarious.

The whole thing is delightfully cheesy . . . including my brother's little speech. But it does show both (?) restaurants . . . and my brother's handwriting on some white board. Almost makes me want to forgive him for the Nickleback song on his website. Almost.

But seriously, go check it out . . . he is the most charming of the Crabbypants.

Just Kinda Tired

I know, I know . . . it's been a week. But a busy week.

Birthday weekend was awesome. I have such great friends. And there was cake . . . with my name on it and everything. Ate some for dinner this evening in fact. And going to Streetlight Manifesto tomorrow.

And now starts the season of weddings . . . shower next weekend, wedding weekend after that . . . and the long slow side into summer. Am finding it hard to find time to fit in all I want to do. And the lure of summer and unstructured time is frustrating, quite frankly. Better for me to be too busy.

I am going to the concert alone tomorrow and that always makes some great stories. So maybe I will have lots to talk about tomorrow.

April Showers Bring . . .

SHIT. I just killed my first ant.

Possibly Riddled

I gave blood today, for the first time since college.

And perhaps I will again wait fifteen years before I do it again.

The blood drive at my school . . . I always avoid the thing. I don't want to answer the questions, don't want to give my address, don't want to feel exposed.

But one of my best friends is in charge of it now. So I thought, what the hell? And showed up early for my "appointment". Answered all the questions. They had a problem with me going to Europe in the last three years, by the way. Amazing that these vampires can find any available donors. Perhaps that is why they are at a high school, with people who aren't old enough to have lives yet . . . or immature enough to lie if they do.

And there is this strange reverence about the bloodletting. "You SAVED three lives today . . . " Well, no. I did nothing of the sort. True, there is my O negative goodness, "the universal donor". But I certainly did not cleanse any sin by having a pint drained out of me. But the kids see it as all saving. And a wicked cool excuse not to go to class.

The people running and procuring the blood did not seem to notice that I could not spend all day on the little cot that was provided for me. There was a lot of chatting and for ten minutes, when I thought I was draining, the person had just stuck me so hard with a marker that I thought she had injected me with a needle. Once I finally did get a needle stuck in my arm, things weren't "screwed on right" and my blood ended up on the floor. Nice.

And for something that the kids saw as next to Godliness, the staff was cranky and unfazed. I almost didn't make it to class and had to take my cookie on the run. And then felt like shit for the rest of the day.

So much for selflessness. And can't wait to get that "you're a universal donor so come anytime" card. Either that or the "Oh my God, you are riddled with hepatitis" card. Either way, done for a while.

Free Keychain with Every Outing

So I'm heading quickly into the birthday crisis (and at least I'm at least somewhat aware this time) and I don't really want to talk to anyone . . . one of those days where I want to wander an anonymous mall with an ipod plugged into my ears and sunglasses. But instead, I'm going to Stately Wayne Manor to do my taxes. Because I'm too cheap to buy Turbotax myself and what better way to celebrate not wanting to deal with people? Go deal with YOUR people.

"Eat before you come . . ." is what my mother advised me last night and I don't know if that is because they don't have any food in the house, or if she doesn't want me to buy something large, or both. My parents do have the greatest collection of food that cannot be eaten nor combined with anything else in the collection.

And yesterday, I made bead lizards with my cognitively impaired students . . . and it's the first time that my regular ed students have come up with something that I don't know how to make, so I made one too. Because I'm not going to get that knowledge anywhere else: How one makes a lizard keychain out of pony beads and lanyard cord. And I was going out with Princess after work, so I planned to give it to her.

When I did the unveiling at dinner, she made me laugh so hard that I could not breathe and she continued on the car ride home. What made me think that she would want such a key chain? Did she look like someone who has big key chains? Look at this key chain (she pulls out her "Brighton" key chain from her purse) . . . does this look big? No it's not. I can't carry anything bigger than this. And what would make you think that I would want a lizard? Do I look like I like lizards? What would the glitter mafia say if I had that key chain? Did you think of that?

Clearly, I did not think about the implications. And I still have a lizard keychain, lovingly made with cognitively impaired children, who are working on fine motor skills, socialization, patterns and making choices (green bead or red bead). If anyone wants it. Or if anyone "looks like a lizard keychain kind of person."

But You're Not Okay . . . Really

"You sound bummed."

He always says this. He called me late on Monday and I didn't answer the phone. It was a school night . . . and I had leapt out of bed from sleep, thinking that someone had an emergency. And upon seeing it was him, I was pissed, set the phone down and went back to bed, hoping to get back to sleep.

But I called him back today, at a decent hour, thinking that he needed to talk. But I now realize that he needs me to be "bummed".

And while I usually love to muse about the motivations of people, this has become boring. Tiresome. I don't want to hear the lecture that it is going to come to, that it came to tonight. Like he likes to play free therapist. Tonight's revelation: I have some fear that causes me to have conflict in my desires and personality. I have to get over this fear.

Great. I'll get right on that.

Or I could just listen to Dr. Laura for an hour, be just as annoyed, but not have to actually talk. But thank you for playing. So the new plan? Not calling back. Because I do a lot of things to trip myself up . . . I obsess, I think too much, I'm a control freak, I look to far ahead . . . but calling once a week to try and dig through my head, so that quite honestly you'll feel better because somehow you are "fixing" me. Well, that's not working. I don't need fixing. And certainly, most certainly, not by you.

My favorite part is when it was pointed out to me that he was "just being a good friend". So let's see . . . I worked today, walked to the post office, did some shopping, finally got M2's registry, and managed to remember to put the catalog I need for work on my purse so I will remember it tomorrow. Good day. Ruined by returning a phone call. Because you called me. And now I'm pissed because I just got the high and mighty "you need to work on your personality" speech.

Freaking save it for when I actually have a crisis. Geez.

Sprung

Hold the Tomatoes . . . But We Will Take the Expired Green Tea Yogurt

This vacation has been full of discovery. The discovery that I have way too much shit (some of which I donated today). The discovery that my mother wants to control the universe and therefore has my father call me "to get me up" . . . on my vacation. Cause you know . . . wouldn't want to waste a vacation by sleeping. Especially a vacation in which one stayed home.

And I did get up. Out of guilt.

There is also the discovery of the "woodland" animals. It being spring and all. My garbage rules have changed, due to the major construction project in front of my house. No cans anymore. Only bags. Used to be that I could just throw random crap from my car into a garbage can and it would be taken by the trash fairies every week. Now it can only be in bags . . . and certain color bags at that. I don't know what happens if I set out a green garbage bag, for example.

So I got this news like I get all my construction news. A single piece of white paper with some clip art of dump trucks printed on it. Except this one was rubber banded to some clear plastic bags, which are NOT garbage bags by the way. Clear is not one of the mandatory colors. The clear bags are for my recycling, which used to go into a nice little bin. A blue bin that I still own for those who care. And when reading my "new trash rules" I started grumbling swear words because, as a homeowner, I know how much I am charged for trash pickup . . . it's on my water bill and it is a rather hefty sum.

Anyhow, I already had random trash in my can before the "new trash rules". So I just put the required white bag next to the can. And the woodland animals came. And pulled out all of the tomatoes and one radish. Now before you think that I am an awful wasteful person, it was two tomatoes and they were moldy. I had planned to eat them before the mold, but it just didn't work out. Welcome to eating for one and the yearbook being overdue.

But here's the problem. They pulled out the tomatoes and nibbled. Three nibbles to be exact. No nibbles on the radish. And then all of the woodland animals decided that they didn't like tomatoes. Because I left them there for a while . . . thinking that if I rebagged them they would just get pulled out again. Discovery: Suburban "woodland" animals think they like tomatoes, but when it comes down to it they don't. And really, no one likes radishes . . . except my grandfather.

So today, I come back from the Salvation Army donation center and there are green blobs and plastic bits on my driveway. And at the end of my driveway is a nibbled open container of Trader Joe's green tea yogurt. Expired. And all over my driveway. But this time I didn't leave the white bag out . . . it takes me a moment to realize this. And in looking at the can, covered in green tea yogurt also, the lid was slightly open, causing someone in jump into the can, find the yogurt, bring it to the lid, and then sit on the lid of the trash can while chewing open the container. All in the course of an hour. And it must have been a wild suburban gerbil because they enjoyed chewing off all the plastic until they had a sideways yogurt container bowl. Yum.

So Trader Joe's green tea yogurt much more popular than produce. Discovery two.

S. D. F.

So let's talk about my weekend. I'm now two days out, so let's review.

Friday. End of school. Yearbook is done. Yearbook deposit is sent. The end of a rather . . . well, less than pleasant experience. And the students are relatively squirrelly. Rightfully so. I was squirrelly too.

And so we go to the Hardluck. And there is the talking to the couple about sock monkeys. We have already been over that . . . pleasant neighborly conversation. And we DO go to the Cadieux Cafe and have yummy food.

Saturday. Mom comes over and we shop for yarn. I plan to make skully socks for the break. As it turns out, sock making is annoying. I don't really like it. But that is certainly not my mother's fault.

Sunday. Get up. Feel really tired. Go back to bed. Get up at 2 p.m. Decide that I should do something. Go to Target. Feel all woozy at Target but have to go to Meijer to get food. Get grande soy goodness at Meijer and feel a bit better. They are out of yogurt. And I get the slowest check clerk in the store. She bags things by weight . . . all the heavy things together, all the light things together. So I have a bag of carrots and salad and a bag with a half gallon of soy milk, a two liter, and a half liter of apple juice. I watch her do this and think, shit, that is really not going to work . . . but I only have to carry them from my car to the door . . . four feet. AND she double bags things, but stuffs the first bag inside, not lining them up. Like she is planning for the first bag to protect the stuff from the ground when the second bag breaks. Whatever. Four feet.

I'm still feeling like doo doo and so I bought some zinc and grumbled about the demons making me sick for spring break. So I decide to go to blockbuster. Get the full season of Dexter. Sit on the couch and wait out the chills. And blockbuster even has Dexter. And it's cheaper than buying it at Target. Bonus. It's a quick trip because I have frozen food in the back seat.

I get in the car. I put the key in. And it won't turn.

No need to panic. This has happened before. Ironically, also when I had frozen food in the car. Something about the tumbler in the ignition core. Just need to jiggle it. And use WD-40. Where did I put that WD-40? Oh, yeah. I cleaned up and put it back in the house. No problem. I'm sitting in the Murray's Auto Parts parking lot. Walk over to Murray's. They close at 7 pm on Sundays. It is now 7:20 pm. Shit. Damn. F**k.

Call brother to have him order me another ignition core, something that we talked about the first time this happened . . . but I kinda forgot about once it "healed" itself. He is too far to ask for a ride home. I would call bop-bop but he got all "father knows best" the night before on the phone, which has pissed me off tremendously considering the state of his affairs. Spider Monkey has a friend from out of town. And I'm only about a mile from home. So I walk. After all, I have another car at home.

And for all those people who question my two car household, this is why . . . so I can walk home, get my other car and get my damn groceries out of the blockbuster parking lot. So I don't have to call you in a panic as my Lean Cuisine melts.

At home, I get WD-40. I forget paper towels. I drive back up to the Blockbuster parking lot. I try to start the skunk car for half an hour, dousing the ignition with WD-40 (for which I need paper towels, I quickly figure out). Jiggling the key. Putting the key in fast. Sliding it in slow. Anything to get that one stuck tumbler to tumble. I then move all the groceries, breaking all the double-bagged bags (boy, that first bag did keep the dirt off) and take them home. Put all my groceries away, assuming that the frozen stuff is still frozen (which might be quite the surprise later). I plan better and grab a flashlight AND paper towels.

Try for another half an hour or so before E2 saves me on her way home from Grand Rapids and goes with me to the bar. Let the Blockbuster people know about the dead skunk, so they hopefully won't tow it. My brother says he can get the part and will check on the internet "because I think there is an easy way to fix it".

Easier than the whole can of WD-40?

Monday. I watch all of Dexter. I anticipated the first big plot twist but not the second. I appreciate writing that I can not anticipate. My brother shows up after his twelve hour shift, which is sucky, I know. I offered him dinner. We drive to Blockbuster and the skunk is thankfully still there. My brother turns the key, sans any additional WD-40, in less than five minutes. Which was good because I was getting kind of high from the banana smell. Turns out, once you have the key turned, you can pop out the ignition with a screwdriver pushed up into a hole under the ignition. It just pops out. And the other ignition core just popped in. Like magic. A party trick for all of my friends. Look, I can take out my ignition (caution, should not be done without brother around . . . as he is the magical ignition fairy . . . and you will not be able to get the damn thing back in . . . because he is one with the tumblers).

So the weekend is over. The skunk is in the driveway. The key turns. The car starts. I have two ignition cores. My brother is rebuilding the old one. Of course, the first one lasted 160,000 miles, but just in case. And now all I need to steal Neon cores it one's key and a chop stick.

Conversation v. Flirting

Okay, today we are going to explore my inability to make new friends without my current friends making fun of me . . .

Yesterday there was a couple at the bar (we went to the Hardluck . . . evidently our absence for two weeks made us lose our "regular" status, so now we have to keep up with that . . . so see you on Friday, you know where) and they were talking about sock monkeys. No prompting. And how could I give up that chance? They were talking about sock monkeys . . .

They were married. The wife was from Livonia and about my age. So I was warning them about getting addicted to expensive buttons (as I have a stash and somehow still buy more, I mean, does anyone really NEED $11.25 buttons? That's $23.oo dollars for eyes on a $3.00 sock) and we were just getting to selling on etsy when Princess and E2 called me back.

"Stop trying to pick up that couple . . . "

But I wasn't trying to "pick them up". I was just conversing pleasantly about sock monkeys.

They accuse me of this every time I talk to anyone . . . anywhere. And I don't know if it's my intensity or if I seem like I'm flirting (how does one flirt about sock monkeys?) or my body language or what. From my view, pleasant conversation with strangers about things I am interested in . . . seems like the way to make new friends, actually. How do other people do it? E2 even texted her boy about it and then showed me. "Emily is trying to pick up a couple at the end of the bar." (somehow to bother to text, concretes things)

So . . . am I just flirty all the time? And my current friends are immune? Or are Princess and E2 just giving me shit . . . all the time? Because it's starting to make me self-conscious. What about the people I talk to randomly at the grocery store? Or the book store? Or in my life in general? Am I flirting with everyone?

And if I am, shouldn't I be way more popular?

Easter Hair

So I just did my hair (and nails) and I am amazed at how much less mess just doing your highlights is . . .

Jennifer (my hairstylist) had stripped out pieces and then dyed them purple . . . which immediately washed out with the first shampoo. So I had brown streaks for a while. And I'm sick of brown streaks. So for Easter, I found some purpley stuff at Noir (called "Burgundy Wine") and kinda painted/mushed some on the brown spots.

Voila! Easter hair.

Not really school appropriate . . . but what the hay, there are a lot of things going on there. And no one seems to notice my hair, except the students. Will probably dye it all black if we have parent teacher conferences or something. But I can do that myself with some other temporary stuff. So now I have purple . . . well, red violet, spots. And my bathroom does not look like anyone was killed. So definitely going with the one skunk stripe for summer. Fun hair. Less mess. Everyone wins!

And yes, I promise to have pictures. Did you not just read the last entry?

List

I am off next week . . . which I need after today's little disaster.

So the list from this morning:

Next week I want to . . .

Go see an artsy movie
Go to the Tiger's Opening Day . . . or just a Tiger's game
Check out the Town Pump
Road Trip . . . although a short one and I don't know where
Go to the Hardluck on Friday
Sock Monkey for Harry . . . must be done
find out more about bit torrent
NIN downloads
record shopping -- MIA, Adel, and that lazy eye song
Breakfast at Forte . . . or at that Breakfast place on Woodward in Detroit . . . or both
find waffle iron
do taxes
add pictures to blog
curtains for sweater cubbies

More to come. I just need a list and I cannot lose the internet, so I'll make it on here.

In Between

I know it's Michigan . . .

but I really would like the powers that be to decide that it is Spring.

I LOVE my phone AND I LOVE Matthew Good

There are no t-shirts at the Matthew Good concert.

Correction. There is only one t-shirt on the table at the Matthew Good concert and it is brown. Brown with light blue lettering that states "in it for the money" in very loopy script.

I am not in it for the money.

And I don't wear brown. So no concert t-shirt. So no matter how much I desire to have "Matthew Good" scrawled across my chest, it was not in the cards.

And as stated previously, the opening act was cute. I liked her. (Not Rachel Ray cute . . . there was a discussion about that . . . more like baby chick cute . . . I didn't want to take her home, lest she grow up to be a chicken, but she was nice enough to listen to . . . I bought her little CD)

And Matt? He was much, much more strong musically than I had anticipated. He sang two songs a capella. It was impressive. You always think that they fix things in the studio . . . but he was just as strong live.

The people in the crowd? Not so impressive. No wonder Matthew Good hates Americans.

The three girls behind me would NOT shut up and kept taking pictures of each other with their phones. BLAH, BLAH, BLAH, click. There were two people next to me who talked on their phones the entire show. HEY DUDE. YEAH. I'M AT MATTHEW GOOD. YEAH. LISTEN. (holds phone up in the air) COOL.

And then there was drunk girl.

I like to think that Spider Monkey attracts them . . . but I'm beginning to think it's me. Drunk girl started the show much like the phone girls but with loud proclamation about how she loved Matthew Good. All statements were either made to the stage or to her assumed boyfriend. But as the show went on, drunk girl became more intoxicated . . . and thus, LOUDER. And more random in her statements. She yelled about her love of pretty much everything to her boy during Avalanche . . . a very slow and somewhat soft song. If Spider Monkey wasn't between us, I would have elbowed drunk girl . . . causing her to yell about how her side now hurt.

Oh, and I made poor SM stand next to the speaker, which was above the call of friend duty.

So Matthew Good awesome. Matthew Good fans, not so much.

And yes, I know I'm one of them . . . and my bad anger vibe and the thoughts of pummeling probably didn't help.

The last song was "True Love will Find You in the End". Sigh. It was good.

Kills Me

Have more to post later . . . but . . .

Listening to the opening act for Matthew Good, which in Detroit is Emily Rose. She has this song called Eggs and Bacon . . .

"She's your eggs and bacon, baby . . . she's your chocolate cake . . . " and something about being just "your side dish".

And the person I was with mentioned "cholestrol girl", to which I replied, "Well, what would you want? Would you want to go with chocolate cake girl? Or broccoli girl?"

And his answer, after a bit of thought, was "broccoli girl" . . . which makes me sad . . . for multiple reasons.

I think everyone deserves to be with their chocolate cake girl.

Can Hardly Contain Myself

Goin' to see Matthew Good. Yayness.

Quote of the Month

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious." -- Oscar Wilde

Cinnamony Surprise

So much to write about . . . so little time . . .

Well, actually, I have all night. As long as I get up occasionally to stir the chili.

First, Matthew Good is tomorrow. 26 to 28 hours away. And I invited a boy and am now having second thoughts . . . Spider Monkey may not understand my crush, he might distract from the crushing, or he might keep me from meeting other MG fans . . . he is amused by the whole thing. So I am celebrating the almost Matthew Good-ness by listening to all the songs I own. And musing if I can make the Cleveland show on Thursday night. Oh, and Mr. Good is sick with food poisoning so the whole thing might be cancelled anyhow.

Okay, now to the stories. On Friday I met Princess in Detroit for drinks and dinner. She had a meeting at the Ren-Cen and thought it would be cool to meet before and then drag me to the meeting. Now I haven't been to the Renaissance center since . . . well, I think I was ten. And when I was ten, I had adults to worry about how to get down to that floor . . . yeah, that floor with the Starbucks . . . how do I get to that floor? But I can see it . . . so how do I get to it?

I manage to find Princess with some cell phone help and we are off, escaping the cement. Out into the open air which is Detroit in early spring. We linger at the Dumouchelle's window, looking at the statues of space aliens for sale. And we find our way into Sweet Lorraine's for an early dinner. 20 minutes later and a stern talk to the manager later, I drag a hungry Princess to the people mover to try Greektown. "Oooooooh, Andiamo's . . ."

And so we ride the glorious people mover across the street, back to the Ren-Cen, for Andiamo's. Two bottles of wine. A very good dinner. Dessert. And off to our meeting. Well, Princess' meeting . . . I'm just an art teacher. A slightly tipsy art teacher . . . a slightly tipsy art teacher who is told to keep her mouth shut, which becomes increasingly hard as I realize that the people in the meeting might be out of touch with the very thing they are meeting about. Princess' elbow firmly thrust into my ribs keeps my mouth from opening . . . but not my eyes from rolling. And the meeting goes on for eternity. I go to the bathroom and watch the North American Bridge tournament.

And notice how much the interior of the Ren-Cen looks like the Death Star in the first Star Wars movie. So much so, that it almost needs battalions of stormtroopers marching around.

The meeting ends. We somehow find our way back to the people mover (but I can see the CVS . . . it's just over there three floors down . . . now to just get to it . . . maybe we can repel) and ride to Greektown. Turns out Princess loves the slots. Wheel of Fortune slots, specifically. And truthfully, it is quite a rush to watch the wheel spin when you get one. And I am the fun governor . . . telling her to cash out repeatedly while she is ahead. I win $50. Princess, who is willing to risk more, wins $200. It is a great night.

Saturday, I go shopping and buy $25 dollars worth of expensive buttons, at half off . . . so $50 worth of buttons . . . again. I go out to Stately Wayne Manor and then the mall for cheap sunglasses. And expensive soap. Addicted to Lush's bar shampoo (thank you Princess, for another expensive addiction). Then make a sock monkey well into the evening.

Sunday, I am to go to the St. Patrick's day parade. I am hesitant, as I do not like parades . . . and I really do not like drunken crowds. And it's in downtown Detroit, which could go either way. But it turns out to be very fun. G
o to Mexican town for dinner, mistakenly thinking that NO ONE will go to Mexican town, as it is St. Patrick's day. Wrong. But am taken to the most amazing bakery at the end of the road . . . you walk in and there are cafeteria trays and tongs and cabinets and cabinets of yummy stuff. Ate something shortbready with chocolate AND cinnamon this afternoon. The cinnamon was a very nice surprise. Oh, and they had little mini-birthday cakes . . . so we got one for Spider Monkey. I had forgotten how good the margaritas are and dinner was cheap and yummy. So good day. And so taking Mr. Crabbypants to that bakery. Although, when mentioned to everyone I know . . . it seems that I am the only person who doesn't know about the bakery.

And did I mention that Matthew Good is tomorrow?