Tag Archive | sex

Self love. Yes, THAT kind.

Please be advised this is no pervy, whack-off post. Any of you who found this by Google or other key words, just go elsewhere. This is about parenting. If you’re looking for anything otherwise, move along.

Masturbation.

Yep. That word. It’s a doozy. What comes to mind when I hear that? That character on Family Guy, was it Master Bates from the Morning Wood Academy?  Ha ha. Insert frat humor here.

Okay. Have you had THAT talk with your kids? I’ve had that talk with my kids. But I’m talking about this talk. The other talk. You know, where you tell them that if they touch themselves they will go blind. Or their hand will shrivel up and fall off. I’m kidding! I just said that small puppies will die. Okay, seriously.

I have NOT had this talk with my kids. We’ve talked about sex and how a baby is made. Emma is pretty clear on most things between a man and a woman. I mean, you know, the basics. She’s had family life in school, she knows about STDs and drugs and alcohol. She’s got it covered.

Okay, well maybe I did have THIS talk about Master Bates with Emma. But it was not on purpose.

My children have always been, uhm, you know, precocious. They are big farters and announcers about their farts. They talk about their privates. ALL. THE. TIME. We’re pretty comfortable talking about pretty much anything.

And then, the other day, Owen asks me if it’s true that when you rub your nuts your penis gets hard. Well, I said, I don’t have that equipment so I can’t say from experience. (Yeah, I know, easy way out.) But that if at any time you want to touch your privates, it’s totally fine to do as long as you are by yourself and privately at home. And then I asked him where he heard this bit of information. And he said a kid at school said that rubbing your junk makes it hard. Lovely.
AWKWARD. So I just casually said that if he had any questions he should probably ask his father. And that if he ever feels like touching himself, it’s totally not a big deal and again, reiterate that it is to be done in seclusion. And to please not talk about it with anyone outside our family, like at school or the playground.  It’s best to just come to me or dad with questions.

I think I handled that pretty well.

Moving on to a different day and Emma makes a joke about rubbing the cats balls while she was petting his belly. Technically he doesn’t have any balls, since he is neutered, which is also more fodder for discussion and jokes in this house. We like to talk in funny cat voices and talk about his missing balls. It’s a whole ‘nother story.  I said to please not molest the cat, it invades his privacy. One should only rub their own privates not anyone else’s or any animal’s for that matter. (Seriously, I need to have these conversations? WTF?) So she says, “Why on earth would anyone ever want to rub their privates?!”

Uhm. Well. Uhm. No reason.

Is what I should have said.

But instead, I start to pontificate on the benefits of self pleasure. Well, not exactly. But I said that masturbation is totally normal and nothing to be ashamed or afraid of. It is perfectly common for when you start to reach adulthood and sexual maturity to want to touch yourself only with the means of making it ‘feel good’.

Insert big shocked face from Emma here.

“Oh my gosh!! There is NO WAY that I’m just going to stick my hand down to my vagina because I WANT to! Do I just start flapping around my labias and clitoris for fun? NO!” (okay, this girl knows her parts and it kinda freaks me out every time she uses them in context!)

Me- “Well, your brother was discussing that boys at school talked about rubbing their privates and it felt good, so I was just making sure you were clear on the whole parameters on that kind of thing.”

Her- “DISGUSTING! So dad rubbed his junk when he was a teenager? Like I want to think about that!! EWWW!!! No thank you!”

Me- (Totally not trying to crack up and make her think I think this is a joke. She makes Taylor Lautner pectoral jokes all the time, now she goes all prude on me?) “Hey, that’s fine sweetie, whatever you are comfortable with. And if you have any questions, feel free to ask.” (please, please, please, don’t have any questions.)

Her- “Okay, well thank you for that mom. I’ll just go to bed now and try not to have nightmares about this sort of thing.”

Drama queen much?

So there you go. If you ever need any advice on how to talk to your kids about anything sexual, feel free to ask me. No, actually, I’m kidding. You’re on your own.

But I have said this- as much as we parents squirm and dance around this stuff- if your kids can come to YOU about it, Elle Woods finger snaps to you.

Because parenting is about being there. And then blogging about it after they walk away.

Sky rocket’s in flight….afternoon delight.

Wait a minute. This isn’t going to be a post about…..about…. sex is it? Actually, it’s a post on the fact that it’s time to clean my shower and marital relations under running water can be dangerous.

It was a Saturday just after lunch. Both kids were out of the house and me and the hubby were just home alone. <eyebrow raises> Yeah. Alone. Now I don’t know about you, but after the kids are in bed, one of us, is usually snoring on the couch. There’s drool involved and the dog curled up next to that person. We are just SO tired by the evening. If we don’t figure out a way for any interludes during daylight, there’s usually a long spell of no relations.

So I go upstairs to take a shower. I casually mentioned, “oh, what do you know- we’re alone and the kids aren’t home. Excuse me while I go take a shower.” Hint hint.  Eventually, I’m in the midst of deep conditioning my hair when the bathroom door opens.

Dialogue exchanged:

Me- “What took you so long stud? (in my best Mae West voice) Are you serious about this? (changing immediately to my own worried voice) One of the kids could be home any minute.” (Emma is far too aware of things that go on behind closed doors.)

Him- “It’s okay, I’ll lock the door. We’ll be quick.”

(yeah, that’s true actually.)

Me- “You sure? We kind of suck at shower sex. One of us could get hurt. Like me.”

Him- “Hey, might as well try, I’ve got to shower anyway.”

He walks into the shower and wraps his arms around my waist.

Me- “OH MY GOD YOUR HANDS ARE LIKE ICE!!! WARM THEM UP FIRST!!!”

Him- “Sorry, I’ll put them under the hot water.”

Me-“AAAAAH….THERE’S WATER IN MY EAR….. YOUR DRIBBLING WATER IN MY EAR WITH YOUR HANDS UP AGAINST THE SHOWER HEAD LIKE THAT!” (I hate water in my ears, just so you know.)

Him-“Sorry, I was just trying to warm them up.”

Me- “Here, let me suds you up ala Christian Grey style.”

Him- “Who’s Christian Grey?”

Me- “nevermind, I’ll just wash you down like all sexy, ‘kay?”

Me- “OH SOAP! THERE’S SOAP IN MY EYE! I THINK IT’S FROM MY CONDITIONER! Wait a minute….Okay…. that’s better.”

Him-“Let me get your back.”

Me-“Yeah, here’s a loofah, I’ve got some black heads I can’t reach back there. It’d be so great if you could scrub them for me.”

Me-“Oooh, your hands are warmer…. so is the rest of you… AAAAAHHH WATER IN MY EAR AGAIN! COULD YOU MOVE SO THIS DOESN’T KEEP HAPPENING?”

Him- “Sorry, it’s kind of cold out here not under the shower. We need a two person shower one of these days.”

Me- “We need a whole new bathroom one of these days. These gold fixtures are the worst in tackiness and the grout is coming apart.”

Him-“Yeah, tell me about it.”

Some kissing and smoochy stuff ensues. Trying to be uber sexy while my hair is piled on my head in a deep conditioning mask and not slipping on the shave foam residue, is a little tricky.

Eventually I try to take things to the next level.

Me- “Uhm, maybe you should like, squat. You’re too tall. Our privates don’t match up when we stand.”

Him- “You could bend over.”

Me- “You could fly off a bridge. What’s that smell? Ew. Do you smell that? Oh yuck! It’s this mildewey shampoo bottle. Look at the bottom of it. It’s all black and it stinks.”

Him- “Could we focus on the reason we’re in here.”

Me- “What’s that sound?”

<From the hall> – “MOM, I’m home!”

And scene.

Shower sex just isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in the movies or romance novels.

Yep, parents have sex. Ew, gross!

Like the Modern Family episode- the Anniversary- the kids walk in on the parents to surprise them with breakfast in bed.

They get more than they bargained for.

Luke- “It looked like they were wrestling and dad was winning.”

.
I should send the following dialog to ABC. I think they would appreciate it. My screen play is in the works.  Okay, I will try to capture every essence of the HORROR my daughter experienced during this conversation:
(Some background, my daughter is 12. She is a very mature 12. Knows the birds and bees stuff. But she still thinks sex is icky (thank GOD) and she definitely thinks the thought of her parents having sex is SUPER ICKY)

Me: You and your brother need to go to bed before 10 tonight. You guys have been staying up too late. Plus, mommy and daddy need some mommy and daddy time.

Her: What do you mean ‘mommy and daddy time’?

Me: Well, you know, it is after all, your father’s birthday. It would be nice not to watch Phineas and Ferb before we go to bed, and also get some time together. (So trying to be subtle here.)

Her: Eww!!!! WHAT???? You do not DO THAT??? Are you saying you and dad do THAT in the house??

Me: Where would you like us to do it, in the back yard?

Her: MO–om! I mean, don’t you like, DO IT when we are gone?

Me: When are you and your brother gone and we are home alone? Never. So yes, when you go to Grandma’s in a couple weeks, we’ll have some time then. But every other week, we gotta do it under the same roof as you.

Her: So, when we are home sleeping in our beds, you and dad are all, like, kissing and stuff NAKED??? What if Owen walks in?

Me: We take our chances and lock the door. (seriously, I’m grinning so hard on the inside during this convo.)

Her: Well, then I’m coming in your room at night from now on to prevent that from going on!

Me: You sure you want to do that? I mean, what if you come in at accidentally the WRONG time?

Her: OHMYGOSH!!!! YOU’re right!! I’m never coming in your room again. Oh, I’m going to throw up.

Me: Seriously, sweetie. It’s no big deal. We had to make you and your brother at some point. Just think, each of your grandparents did too. And THEY have 3 kids each.

Her: OH MY GOD!!! SCRUB MY BRAIN SCRUB MY BRAIN!!!! WHY did you SAY THAT??? Now I can’t help but think…… oh….. EWWWWW!!!

Me: <giggling> I’m so glad we had this talk sweetie.

Her: I’m going to go scrub my eyes and watch kitten videos on YouTube. I might vomit first.

Me: You do that honey. Just remember, bedtime is 9:30.

Her: <No words just the hugest eye roll EVER.>

 

Sex (or lack thereof) and the Married Couple

Or as I should call it, How 50 Shades of Grey ruined my sex life. That’s right. I said ruined. I know, I know- you’re like, ‘WTF FRUG, you were all gushing about it in your music video. Yeah, well, that was back then. Now, unless my husband reads those books, (has any guy read them?) or any other middle aged-mom-soft porn, I can forget getting hot and heavy like Ana and Christian did. My husband will never look at me with smoldering eyes, fingering one of his silk ties in his hands, while he strolls on over to me wearing ripped up jeans and carrying a riding crop, telling me to ‘hold still’.  Our idea of kinky is when one of us gets a neck cramp during ‘relations’.

Who the fuck has time for hot sex anymore?  I’m talking monogamous, happily married, tear off each other’s clothes, pretend like you haven’t been married for 15 years sex. My body isn’t a robot. I don’t have a ‘TURN ON’ switch. So if it isn’t the time of the month, fatigue, sciatic nerve spasms, gas from too much bread at dinner… it’s a miracle there’s any relations going on at all. Seriously, mom- this might be where you stop reading- or put your fingers in your ears ‘lalalalala…I can’t hear you.’

Is it nature’s job to just mess with us? And by us, I mean women. It’s not that I don’t want sex, necessarily (oh dear God, mother, I am so sorry), it’s just that the urge for it really is sporadic. Here is a typical cycle of my libido in any given week-

Monday night= staying up to catch up on DVR shows and blog. Plus, my crops in WeTopia are far overdue to be harvested. Hubs is asleep on the couch. #Sameoldstory.

Tuesday= 11 am, started reading a book/ article/ or was watching Last of the Mohicans on one of the Encore channels with Daniel Day Lewis wearing deer skin pants- the only movie he’s ever looked THAT good- and think- hmmm, if hubby was home right now I would SO tap that keg.

Tuesday night= hubby’s home- and awake, but I have gas from that new quinoa and white bean recipe I tried. Plus, I snarfed that bag of Doritos when no one was around earlier, so the MSG is bloating in my intestines. This equals unsexy for sure.

Wednesday = Hubby’s working from home but I’m feeling glum and sad over how my jeans don’t fit me after I take them out of the dryer. I wish he would give me a back rub. And by back rub, I mean, back rub. And bring me donuts.

Thursday= holy hell- was surfing the web for blog material and happened to come across a whole handful of hot guys which got me thinking how nice it would be if hubby was working from home today. But he’s not. Once again, two ships- different ports.

Friday night= fell asleep in front of my lap top at around 9:30 surfing the web for swim suits that will never fit me. Got distracted and started watching cute kitten videos on YouTube, but my eyelids were so heavy, so now I’m just snoring on the couch. Maybe hubs will carry me upstairs, undress me and put me in to bed, which will wake me just enough for me to be aroused and he’ll pleasure me luxuriously for hours. Wait. Scratch that. Hubs hasn’t picked me up EVER since I weigh as much as he does, and he sure as hell wouldn’t make it up the stairs carrying my fat ass, especially with his bum knee. Plus he’s fallen asleep on the couch while updating his roster for Fantasy Soccer.

Saturday= went out with girl friends and got all dolled up to impress other ladies and get hit on by men that don’t mean anything to me. Stumbled home around midnight and took some Advil and went to bed.

Sunday= still recovering from the night before’s outing. Hubs gives me THE LOOK while we are brushing our teeth getting ready for bed. I’m like, “What?”, He’s like, “hey there”. I’m all, “hey there yourself”. Put in my night guard, throw my hair up in a scrunchie and call it a night. 6:30 am isn’t waiting for nobody and Monday mornings are always hell trying to drag my sorry ass out of bed. So no nookie for you my dear. Sleep time.

And there you have the random week in the life of a married couple that wishes, just wishes, that Afternoon Delights, Hotel Sex, or Anniversary sex, could come during random times of the day, conveniently when there’s no time of the month, gassy stomach bloat, constipation, or children around to bother or in their case, be bothered. OR telemarketers or the Mother In Law calling, or the dog whining at the bottom of the bed.

Yep. I went there. My next blog will be- ‘Why you shouldn’t blog about your sex life and humiliate your ultra, introverted husband.’

Stay tuned.

50 Shades of Unrealistic Foreplay and (S)Expectations.

***SPOILER ALERTS****

Not that it matters. This book is not necessarily some M. Night Shyamalan movie that will be all messed up if you find out what happens at the end before you actually finish the book. Not to say the ending is anything special. AND, I think it’s safe to say, everyone pretty much knows what’s going on in these pages.

Here’s the 101-

50 Shades of Grey– smut/soft porn/ romance novel. I think what’s crazy about this book is how popular and main stream it is. Judy Blume and other authors have written some crazy sex shit in their novels too, and no one talks about it. This however, is all the buzz.

You saw my Music Video last week. You know I read the book and was obviously ‘distracted’ by it.

But let me break down to you where I call some serious ‘bull shit’ out to Ms. E.L. James and her big tease she calls a novel. This is not to say I didn’t enjoy the book. Which I did. Very much so. And after all you folks telling me you bought the book after seeing my video- Ms. James should thank me. I like Sephora gift cards- thankyouverymuch.

The author is married and has kids- so she obviously knows what ‘married’ sex is like. This book is after all, fantasy. And fantasy, means, we separate ourselves from reality. And yes, the characters in the book are not married. They hardly know each other. So the reality being that my husband will never play piano with his shirt off and send me texts and emails that are so witty and bantering, or tell me to eat my breakfast because he’s worried about me. HA HA! No sir-eee! One thing my husband has never had to tell me was, ‘to eat’!  I’m pretty good at doing that on my own. Nor will he buy me an Audi sports car and fill my closet with brand new clothes.

BAM- THIS is the fantasy ladies- A CLOSET FULL OF CLOTHES THAT FIT YOU PERFECTLY!!! Of all things in this book, this was my favorite. Does this Ana bitch know how lucky she is??? Oh my gosh- to never go in a dressing room with hideous florescent lights?? Heaven on earth!

Some points I would like to make as well-This is where some points of the book cause me to roll my eyes. And yes, if Mr. Grey caught me rolling my eyes, I’d get a spanking in the Red Room of Pain. Speaking of, I would not survive the ‘can’t roll my eyes’ clause thingy. Just get me a mini fridge and a futon in the Red Room of Pain, cuz I’ll be living there with my sarcasm.

When in the hell does Anastasia pee after sex??? All that massive thrusting and you know what– makes for a serious UTI. That’s Urinary Tract Infection, for those that don’t know the speak.

All I could think of was, ‘this girl better go pee here before she falls asleep or she’s going to have a raging bladder issue in the next 24 hours’.  And, you don’t automatically eliminate the risk of getting pregnant after taking your birth control pills for just 3 days for the first time ever in your life. PUHLEEZE!!

Then- the courtship of witty exchange, nuzzling with his hands in her hair, smelling her skin…. blah, blah, blah…. SERIOUSLY??

Unless you are on some tropical getaway with your husband to some remote island and you haven’t done it in ages so you’re ripping each other’s clothes off in your villa- it’s more like, ‘hey- do you need lube, watch my hair, your elbow is on it. Could you get me a pillow- my neck is cricked and oh, move the dog, she’s like, right next to me. Why is it so cold in here? Can you just make this quick, I’m not even taking off my t-shirt’.

You get the idea.

My husband is so preoccupied when he walks in the door. He doesn’t drop his laptop bag, throw down his Crackberry, grab me by the waist and pull my hair back to bring my mouth up to his and plant a deep kiss on me. If he did, I’d probably gripe about his scruff scratching my lip, tell him he shouldn’t leave his laptop bag there since one of the kids will trip on it, and ask where his commuter coffee mug is so I don’t forget to put it in the dishwasher overnight, and did he bring the sour cream I need for dinner that I texted him earlier about.

The character, Anastasia, tries to be all upstanding in her principles. Yadda, yadda, yadda. We get it. She can’t be a total floozy or we’d lose interest. There needs to be tension between the two characters. He wants to shower her with fancy things- she wants to make it on her own. Okay fine.

But seriously- I wanted to give her a head thump on the forehead through the book. Are you insane??? Take the guy’s offer!

Clothes that fit, a car that you will never have to take to Jiffy Lube for a tune up and wonder if you should go for the transmission flush AND the new air filter or not, since you are still paying for the new tires you had to put on back in January.

Clothes. I keep coming back to this, I know. Maybe it’s because I have dreams where I go in my closet and there are clothes I’ve never seen before with tags on. It seriously is the best dream ever. They are beautiful clothes that fit me and I don’t remember having to pay for them. I’ve had this dream since 7th grade. It just changes from stirrup pants of the 80s to pencil skirts and Manolo Blahniks of the present.

If my husband bothered to tie me up during sex, I’m pretty sure  both of us would fall asleep before we were finished. Leaving me still in the bonds. Which when I finally did wake up, he wouldn’t unstrap me and give me a massage on my shoulders like Christian does, I’d have to nudge him in the head to free me, which I’m sure he would (maybe). My hand will have fallen asleep so I’ll be walking around the room, waving it like a lunatic to regain blood flow, then stub my toe on the laundry basket over by the dresser that I can’t see in the dark. Then he’d roll over and steal the covers and double check that his alarm clock is set for the morning, while I remind him of the fact that tomorrow he needs to take the boy to Cub Scouts,  bring home cat litter and call his mother.

Christian in the book, doesn’t let Ana, touch him, but he does all kinds of ‘things’ i.e. caresses, spankings, massaging… to her. Okay, fine with me. Let HIM do all the work. Do any of you ladies know what the ‘race track’ is? It’s the figure 8 pattern your husband sleepily draws on your back when you’ve asked for a back rub and he lays there half asleep with one hand pitifully ‘massaging’ you.

Oh, and I almost forgot. Hired help to make breakfast. Another deal sealer in my book. Not having to do breakfast dishes, make the coffee and wonder if I remembered the milk… priceless.

This is some serious porn in my book.

So don’t get the wrong idea. Like, I said, this is fantasy. We want to escape when we read novels. And yes, I did, for the most part. But I guess I’m so firmly entrenched in my way of living, that all I could think of was the minutia of details. I’m thinking Christian puts his socks in the hamper. What do you think?

That's more like it.

Am I too old for Cosmo?

A recent article online featured trends that women love but men hate.

I’m going to say, most women I know, don’t care for them either. Unless this article  got their stats from Cosmopolitan or Seventeen magazine, then I’m pretty sure, no one I know is sporting any of these trends soon.

Here’s the article:

Make up Women Love but Men Hate

I will be turning 40 this year.  I’m good with this. There are parts of me I would like to trade with my 20 year old self and then preserve them forever by means of exercise, diet or habits. But that’s not going to happen. If I could talk to my 20 year old self, I would say, work out because the skinny doesn’t last and the flabbier you are, the more it sags with time. I would also say to that 20 year old self, stop trying to get a tan! Ahh youth, wasted on the young, right?

Most of my friends are in their 30s and 40s as well. So last I checked, no one I knows wears neon lipstick, bold eyeshadow or  thick, cakey makeup. Where does Yahoo get their stories from? Who are these women that ‘love’ these looks?

My day pretty much consists of- my home, the bus stop, one of my kids’ schools, a PTA meeting, a trip to Target or the gym, and maybe coffee with a friend. So unless I’m sporting glitter at the PTA meeting, I’m not partaking in the latest make up trend.  I guess I could start wearing glitter to PTA meetings and then everyone will wonder if I’ve started moonlighting as one of those bikini baristas or something to earn some extra money.

This really brings out my eye color.

How's this for a natural 'day' look?

Confession-

I DO have a subscription to Cosmopolitan. I have to hide it from my kids. It’s embarrassing. And let me just say, the only reason I have it, is because I got a Groupon and the subscription was 12 months for $10. I figured I could benefit from the bedroom advice, and maybe beauty articles. Obviously, I am not the demographic this magazine writes for! I am not 20, I don’t have a boyfriend I’m looking to snag, I do have children, and I don’t need advice on a pushy boss that is out to get me. Most everything in these pages is over the top. Am I that much of a prude or am I just acting my age?

HINT- there's a few articles about sex in there.

Literally, working my ASS off.

Yep. I’m going to the gym. SHIIIT. I have to admit, it’s the only thing to get my ass in these jeans. Cuz here’s the shiz, peeps. Why am I talking like Snoop Dogg, I have no idea.  I am on a very limited shopping budget. We are saving for a family trip to Europe this summer. I need to save my pennies and not buy new clothes. So in the effort of not looking like Mariah Carey stuffed in a sausage casing- I need to work out.

The fact is- I’ve tried vitamins, low calorie intake, the nap diet- (I made that up, it’s where you nap and burn calories sleeping. It beats eating a whole cake in one setting) and just casually walking the dog. I went up a size. Yep. So while a lot of you are saying, ‘yeah, no shit sherlock, doing nothing gains weight’, I thought if I just did like French women and nibbled a little here and there, I would fit into Chanel off the runway. Insert snort through nose disbelief sound here.

Not to sound like Dr. Oz, your mom, your doctor, or that damned annoying Jillian Michaels- working up a sweat helps you feel better. Period. Oh, and that reminds me, it helps your periods. It’s true. It’s a vicious cycle of feeling like a slug, not working out because you’re feeling like a slug, time of the month comes, you’re feeling like a slug, on and on it goes.

Exercise helps with migraines. I don’t know why, I just have less when I burn a sweat at the gym a few times a week. It lowers your blood pressure, helps your heart, helps your endorphins. And yes, endorphins are those little happy molecules that apparently all you sorry saps out there reading my blog, need more of. Including me.

I also read somewhere more exercise helps with better sex. I will spare comments on this subject. I think if James worked out too- there would be something to write here. Since I’m doing all the work…let’s just say…I’m doing all the work. Ba da bump.

Oh, what else? Cancer. Yes ladies, and gents, exercising reduces your risk of cancer. And if you’re having a glass of wine each night to help your heart, you’re upping your risk of breast and ovarian cancer. I know, that sucks. So work out, and you can off-set that factoid.

AND, it helps build bone mass so we don’t end up looking like our grandmas all hunched over. Posture ladies- it’s true. We suck at it. If we were put in a time machine and transported to the 50s we’d be fat slobs slouching around with our muffin tops hanging over our pajama jeans. You know those women’s health and fashion magazines that say standing up straight makes you look 5 lbs lighter? Well, they’re right! It does. I can’t stand to see a pretty girl hunched over. Suck in your gut, squeeze your bottom and throw back your shoulders. What are you afraid of?? Okay, I’m scaring myself because I sound like Miss Minchin in A Little Princess.

I’m not preaching here, I’m just sharing. I’ve read all the articles, all the magazines and there’s no short cuts. So enjoy, don’t kill yourself, and work out for reasons that are more than skin deep- like your brain, your heart, your uterus, your boobs, your bones. Those are good reasons, right?

Remember this from “Friends”?

Hint- I’m Phoebe.

This will not be my form of working out. Not that James wouldn't mind.

Again, not me. Don't be intimidated. Just Do It.