5 Wheel Car

WoW. Amazing!!!

-

I've just heard a huge thunder clap

It is disappointingly cold. Throughout last week the sun shone and the Mr Whippy vans were out in force around campus. It felt like summer. I had my shorts off and one of my many dykey vest tops on and I felt great. I always associate sunny weather with sitting in an exam room. I've had three exams already and I have another 5 in a couple of weeks time. One day I will have a summer with no exams. Life after university seems like a big black void at the moment. Scary stuff.

A friend of mine always says "You know you're got exams coming when the best part of your day is eating and sleeping". But this is a problem: I have thing to eat. I managed to scrounge a rogue Pringle off a housemate (which really was the dish du jour) and have lived off rice and bran flakes for a little too long now. The exams are looming.

I have no food either in M's house or my own. As I am dividing my time pretty much equally between the two places I find that it is pointless doing two lots of shopping as stuff just rotts and I haven't yet found a suitable shopping strategy. Clothes are easy; we are both the same size. Frozen is definitely the way to go and I have made the decision to haul my ass off to Asda sometime in the near future. I need to avoid eating rubbish food as it would completely negate my efforts at the gym (which has been going very well lately I might add). I accidentally left my swimming costume there a few days ago and it has come back green and yellow instead of blue and white. They thought that they had given it to a charity shop, but then found it in the "skip" and returned it to me. GREEN AND YELLOW for gods sake. Why? < /despair>

If anyone has any problems with loading this page could you tell me via the comments box. Apparently the thing takes an age to load but I have no problem myself.

"What's up vagina ferg-vaginason"

Experience, shmexpirience......

"Listen hon, you need to be peppier," said my manager, pulling me close and sounding exactly like Marge's sister Patti on *The Simpsons.*

"Is there a problem? I mean, am I not being friendly enough with the customers?"

"Oh, no, no," senora husky voice said, "when you aren't helping clients, you act like you aren't excited enough to be here."

"Mmm-uhmm."

[On the inside it was more like "ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME YOU MOTHER FUCKER? I DON'T GIVE A GODDAMN ABOUT THIS FUCKING FUCK-HOLE, SO GET A UTERUS AND LEAVE THE FUCK ALONE!!!" But on the outside, I kept the rage to a straight-faced "Mmm-uhmm."]

I know this may come as a shock for you, my dear readers, but your Amanadoos life if fraught with danger. Not the 'hot biker chick in chaps' kind of danger...mmm...more like the 'at any moment your family, sanity and relationships could all completely fall apart simutaneously' kind of danger. I was in just such a danger zone yesterday when duty called when I drove my mothers embarrassingly tacky car the 1 hour it takes to get to Snippities. Once there, I immediately started working my bull-riders-esque hands into frenzied oblivion, smiling at every costumer and speaking in the warm, invitational tone they tell us to use in the training videos.

But then something slowly but surely began happening. My manager started asking me to do things that just made me look busy. FOR INSTANCE; at Snippities, there are these neat-o vacuum cleaners that come out of cabinets in the walls. You just open the cabinet, attach the hose to the hole in the wall and suck up the hair. It's wonderful.....for the stylists, whose job it is the clean up the hair at their station. Ohhh yeah. It's THEIR JOB to clean up THEIR CLIENTS HAIR.

But I digress.

I frequently clean up the hair if I have a sec., especially for the girls who are nice and I know hate to do it. I don't mind doing it AT ALL.

But for some reason, the manager kept telling me to SWEEP up the hair with the TINY BROOM...instead of vacuuming it up while she rang up the client. WHY I couldn't suck it up I'll never know. Why I couldn't use a regular-sized broom, I'll never know. For that matter, I have no friggin' clue why I couldn't ring up the costumer while she cleaned up her own hair. I mean, that's my job! And getting the hair is hers! What the fuck!

And then, when I got back from my break, I clocked in and was heading for the utility room to get the broom to sweep the waiting area (which I'd already done twice mind you). While I was on break, the silent partner of the ownership of Snippities came in. AS I WAS HEADING TO THE BROOM, "Hey, what's your name?"..."Amanadoo then, hows about getting all this hair off the floor in the waiting area?" I said 'Yeah.' and continued on my journey when ol' husky pipes grabbed me by the arm and admonished me for not sweeping the waiting area. Yeah, on my break folks. I stealthily continued onward. When I finally arrived at the broom, the wicked witch of the west side hissed, "I was about to say...don't you know one of the owners is here girl? You better clean that damn floor fo' he sees all that damn hair." For her, I had no response whatsoever.

The entire day was like that, me getting orders from several different people to do jobs that aren't even mine to do several times. By the time I clocked out (at 4:12), I'd swept the front 4 times, washed the windows 4 times, dusted the shelves with a duster twice, dusted the shelves with Pledge 5 times and so on and so on...

As I was preparing me to leave, the manager pulled me aside and ran through the shit list of stuff Amanadoo doesn't do right that the silent partner had already given me half an hour before. I greet wrong, I'm not PEPPY ENOUGH, I mop wrong, I do the mirrors wrong, I do EVERYTHING wrong. Which struck me as odd since, technically, only the greeting clients part is actually MY job. For a silent partner, that guy never shuts the fuck up!

And then the clencher. As I was walking toward the door and un-repetitive freedom, husky McHuskins called out, "And, Amanadoo," {waits for the pause and turn around to see what she has to say now routine I've so recently mastered} from now on, when you're scheduled to get off at 4, expect to be here until at least 4:30. Ok? You're prolly gonna have to plan on 5 actually."

Instantly I knew I could not work and hour away from home, to get paid $6 an hour at a place that schedules you to get off an hour before they actually plan to let you go even though you only do busy work the whole day and there's no good reason for you to stay.

And with that, I slinked out the door, drove off in my moms embarrassingly tacky car, went to bed, woke up this morning and called off for today. I'll tell them I'm quitting tommorow.

Skip to the end for the synopsis

I mean, you need the practice. And you want to do it. And if good intentions ruled the world, you'd be in good shape.

Yet.

It is frustrating. You've been doing this for four weeks. ON MANNIQUINNS.

It's true that the haircuts were your idea. But the color jobs and highlights were not. It's true that you told them to be brutally honest because anything less wouldn't be at all helpful. But it is not true that you really wanted them to tell the truth. And when they were totally honest (albeit totally polite), it's true that you freaked out a little. The polarizing effects of hormones mixed with stress and sheer nervousness were really getting to you. However, it's also true that you don't really care whether they love their hair or not. It'll grow back...they know you're in school...they didn't pay you...and you really, truly, honestly think that they look great. They do too, now that they've lived with it a coupla days. It's just that their hair is, you know, the opposite of what they'd expected it to be.

Whatever bitches! That's the price of getting some young hip kid who's new on the scene to color your hair. I mean, you wouldn't let a freshman in college perform open heart surgery on you or your beloved now would you? No! I don't like doing color and I probably never will.

Which brings me to my next point. I do not like color. I do not like nails. I really really like cutting. I've never done styling (updos and such), so we'll se about that. But I LOVE, LOVE, the skin part. Esthetics. I don't even mind learning all the bones, muscles, nerves and veins in the face, neck, arms and back to do it. What I'm saying is that I hope this leads me to a great career. I can very much see myself doing it long long long-term. And see, I was sorta getting worried (not a lot, this is the beginning afterall) because right now in this field, coloring is where the money is. And I hate everything about doing it. You can make really good money cutting, but only if you get in with an awesome (generally a "concept") salon and train under the top guy or gal there for like2 or 3 years. And then of course, you have to stay in that viscinity if not that same salon forever, because that's where your clientele is. Even if you left and went to work at a new salon somewhere else where they had a high-end clientele, you'd be building your client roster for a few years before you'd have a comfortable financial situation going on.

Anyway, coloring is where the money is because you can automatically charge upwards of $100 (depending on the service), right out of the gate. And then, of course, keep going higher as you gain more experience. And colorists are in high demand right now. Color-only salons are popping up all over. It's just the in thing right now. Way back in the day, the people who were especially skilled with rollers and perms made a killing because woman wanted it done like mad. It's the same.

Unlike colorists, estheticians have slipped under the radar even though they too are very much in high demand. I think the reason for that is that the word-of mouth advertising (the most important kind beautification-wise) is different. When a woman sees someone with great highlights, she asks WHO did them. But when a woman raves about the facial or the massage she got, people ask her WHERE she went. See the difference?

So basically, people will someday pay me extra good money to do something I love doing. Isn't that fabulous!

viernes

Green eyes, you're the one that I've wanted to find.

Oi. Probably no one is ever going to read this. I've lost all of you to blogs that make frequent, interesting updates. It's sad really.

But I'm happy to be writing this post. Because writing this post means that I am done with my Juniors exams. You know, the ones I've been totally stressed about and studying for since last Thursday. Five days of 6 exams a day. You wouldn't have blogged either. Writing this post also means that I am currently in the eye of the hurricane of friendship trouble I've had of late. Since I'm in the eye, more is to come, but we won't think of that right now. Also, at the moment I'm not being treated like one of the guys by my BF, which is irksome. I should have demanded more gifts at the onset of our relationship. Because I do not want to be treated like everyone else. Not by him. But I'll stop there, I'm quite parched and the heavy sighs just won't do.

I havn't found a satisfactory job yet, but I will soon. I'm sure of it. Well, I hope for it anyway. Tuesday is my first day at my new school (it's just a different campus). I've made some genuinely good friends out of a few of the girls at school. Others I've discarded like stinky socks.

{An anecdote, give them an anecdote}

One of my new buds from school, Andrea, had me cut her hair last week. She's super obsessive about her hair, and freaked out with every snip. I was done with the cut but she told me to angle it down from the face. So I did. Aaaannnd then she remembered she hates it when her hair is angled down from her face. So she hated it. Ok. I wanted to cry. I felt lousy. But at the same time, I'd done what she'd told me to do, and I'd done it quite well. So I hd mixed feelings. She gave me a hug and said not to worry, she'd get used to it and that I hadn't really doen anything wrong.

You sould know something about Andrea. She's Columbian. And she lives with her sister. And when they don't want people to know what they are saying, they say it in Spanish.

Last night, Kristy and I went over to Andrea's house to color her hair. We were setting up shop and her sister was standing there and said, "Andrea, you know you shouldn't mess with your hair, it's going to turn green."

And then Andrea said, "It's not going to turn green!"

And then her sister said, "You'll regret it anyway. And when you do, I don't want to hear you bitching about it...Like you were bitching about ho you hated your haircut the other day."

And then Andrea looked at me. And then Andrea said, to her sister, "La muchacha que cortó mi pelo."

And then her sister said, "myyyyy baaad."

And then I said, "You know I was going to move to Spain right?"

"Yeah."

Me again, "So you know I can speak Spanish right?"

Andrea, "No you can't!"

I looked at her for sec and she said, "So what did I just say?"

"You said, 'that's the girl that cut my hair.'"

The emotional turmoil I went through for cutting that girls hair: free.
The look on her face when I busted her out: priceless.

posted by Mana @ 20.8.04 2 comments
miércoles
Somebody touch me!

Amazing how quickly things change.

For instance, I walked into Wal Mart today smelling like Gradenias. 17 minutes later, I walked out, and just like that, I had a new smelly spray thing-a-ma-gig.

But seriously, I suddenly realized that I'm, like TWENTY. Not old. Not young. Not quite legal. Oh the joy!!! On the bittersweet side of things, I find myself with friends...and places to go...and things to do....and inevitable drama. But it's great. BF and I are in better shape than we've ever been. 'Cause I miss him. We aren't together 24/7 anymore. It's fantastic. Ad you wanna know what I'm doing tommorow night? Do ya, do ya, do ya? I'm going to a bonafide sleep over. 7 or 8 pretty ladies (plus the one girl that no one invited and who's kinda creepy).

On the subject, this past Friday I went to an eviction party for one of BF's friends. Thanks to Mister Bud Weiser, I had the kind of good time where you forget what you're supposed to do after you pee (wipe, but you knew that). Good thing BF remembered. But there was this one girl there, who was really nice. Too nice for me. She thought I was a lot more drunk than I was and she kept trying to get me to drink water and take meds and stuff. She was going nuts with it, like putting water in beer bottles and telling me it was vodka. Which begs the question: why would I want to drink a beer bottle full of vodka?

Anyway, what I find ever so slightly troublesome, but mostly fucking sweet, is the fact that I've never had a hang-over. I can hold alcohol like nobody's business. That night at the eviction party, I drank 15 full bottles of beer plus whatever I could find. Conservative estimates put me right at about 20, 21 bottles of beer in 2.5 hours. That seems like a pretty high number to me, but I dunno. Maybe that's because I'm not a big drinker? And with no effcts the next day whatsoever? C'mon, I've gotta be some kind of super hero...surely my parents aren't telling me something...like they found me inside a glowing green orb floating in Bacardi. Ha, yesss! But I GUESS it could just be that most of the fam has had a substance abuse problem. I'm sticking with the neon Bacardi though.

In other news, I went and got all 'don't talk to me about Jesus' on one of my classmates yesterday. See, I happened to look over at Krissy, who was getting water all over the place with a squirt bottle. I laughed and said "Jesus Christ Krissy! You're gettin water everywhere. hahaha"
Lisa, who was sitting across from make a yelping noise and said, "Don't say that!"
"Say what?"
"Jesus Christ. That's the fucking worst thing you can say." {And yes, that's a direct quote}
I could have shrugged it off.

But no.

Instead, I looked her in the face and with intensity than I'd meant to have said, "Jesus Christ is not my Lord and Savior, and I will say anything I want to say, including his name."

A hush fell over the class.

I realized how I must've looked and sounded.

I felt all the blood fall out of my face.

"You're the one goin to hell, not me," said Lisa after she recovered from her midwesterly Christian shock of hearing a pagan like me denounce Christ.

Perhaps.

I said "sorry if I offended you back then" sometime later. But I immediately regretted apologizing. True, I may have offended her sense of right and wrong. But she offended me by trying to censor what I can or cannot say. Even whn I was holier than thou back in the day, I thought that calling 'goddamn' or 'jesus christ' taking the lords name in vain was too literal a translation. But whatever. I'm the one going to hell, what do I know?

Not that anyone wants to read this crap...

But it is my blog damnit.

Maybe it's my newly aquired old age.
Maybe it's the wonderful lay I just had.
Maybe it's the 3 cups of sugar I put in the tea.
Maybe it's the fact that I know I have to wake up in 5 hours to go to work and perform various third world guerilla torturing rituals on my sad, sad feet.
Or maybe, just maybe, it's the Chocolate Fudge Frosting I'm currently eating straight from the jar with my ring finger (the spoon fell on the carpet and got all hairy...I concidered wiping it off or walking my lazy ass to the kitchen for a new one, but I strongly feel that neither of those choices are right for me at this point in my life. And the ring finger is probably the cleanest. Right?)

But I gotta tell ya, I'm in a fucking great ass mood.

As BF and I sat in the theater waiting for *Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle* to come on, I was telling him about my house. You know, my house. He was kinda offended that I didn't callit "our house," but shit, until we send out thank you cards for all the wonderful wedding gifts we just got, it's my house. Thinking about my house always makes me happy. If and, uh, when I get this house all built and tricked out, it's going to be soo awesome.

And I'm gonna have 1 baby and I'm going to be fucking great mom. There was some dude at BFs house this afternoon, and he had his 4 year old son with him. That kid was so freaking cool. We raced, did flips, burn paws, ran in circles til the weakest [me] collapsed...et cetera.

And I'm going to be a fucking fantastic hair dresser. Mom and RL Wriggle were the first recipitents* of my semi-professional hair-cutting and coloring skills. And, with the risk of sounding modest, when they woke up this morning, they looked better than they have ever looked and will ever looked again.

MMM, sleep.

Like Macbeth sans incestual humping

Oh you guys. I havn't been writing like a champ lately. For the two of you that care, I'm sorry. But I've really, truly been way busy. I finally found a job. And it's really pretty lucky that I wasn't able to get one sooner, cause I would have stopped looking. See, now I'm a receptionist at a salon. Could I ask for better experience than that? No. Between the 12 and a half months I'll spend on the floor [meaning I'll be doing hair] at school and working at the salon (which I'll call "Snipities"), I'll be totally prepared to get out there and do a really good job by the time I graduate. Either that, or I'll be burned out on the whole business and move to Spain. Ahhh.....Spain.

Anyway, I'm definetly underpaid. I make a big fat $6 an hour. Aannndd, it takes me 45 minutes to get there. I kinda like the drive when I'm headin' to work because it gives me time to catch my breath. But coming home is a different story. By the end of the day, my feet are absolutely worthless. I'm on them ALL DAY LONG. It's worse at work than at school because at school, there are so many smoke breaks. But, like, yesterday after working ten hours, I was limping out to my car. I literaly had to take off my shoes and tap the bottoms of my feet, cause I couldn't feel them. My heels were totally numb. It's steadily improving though.

But I like this gig. The one really bad part about it is that some of the stylists have a great big chip on their shoulder about me. Or, rather, about the fact of my job. See, Snippities is pretty new. And they've only recently hired two receptionists. Before that, the stylists had to do everything themselves. You'd think that my helping hand would be appreciated (the title 'receptionist' is misleading...It's more like 'salon wench.' I spend the majority of my time running around cleaning and organizing and getting stuff the stylists need--all with a smile on my face mind you.) But no, the stylists don't see it that way. The have so much resentment because of one teeny tiny facet of my job--taking their tips from the customers and putting them in the safe, where only the manager can get at them.

It seems that, until I arrived on the scene, someone had been making a little cash on the side. By swiping it from everyone else's tip money and occasionally from the register. So now I take tips (from the customer, it's not like I go back and take it off their station), seal them up in an envelope, label it and drop it in the safe. One woman in particular has a huge problem with all that. So guess who everyone thinks was stealing the cash? And guess who breaths down my neck when the manager isn't there? And guess who maliciously (and obviously) tryed to make it look like I'd messed up the drawer my second day there? Yeah, the wicked witch of the west side.

Damn, I hope she doesn't work today.


In other news, my 20th birthday was thursday. I can hardly believe how fast I'm growing up:) My birthday itself sucked way bad. All my friends except S forgot. BF didn't even think to call off for that day. And I generally wasn't made a fuss over--the first time that's happened. Mom and RL Wriggle gave me my presents the day before. And Dick Lucas just threw some cash at me. When I went shopping to buy much-needed clothes with that money I was, you guessed it, alone, all alone. I just always have high expectations for holidays. So that holiday-anticipation molecule in my brain was the last to get the messege that if you have low expectations, you won't be disapointed--generally the status quo in these parts. Why do you think I'm so giddy half the time? Cuz I don't expect anything good. So when I see good things, I say "Yayyyyyy!" right out loud.

Speaking of good things, yesterday on the way to work I passed 1 mommy deer with 2 babies, 1 mommy deer with 1 baby and a flock of geese with lotsa lotsa babies. Actually, the geese passed me more than I passed them. Those things are fearless. I guess the geese on the west side havn't gotten the goosey messege that I ran over one of their own on a golf cart once. I THOUGHT IT WOULD MOVE!!

If God takes life, he's an Indian giver

"But if it makes you skinny, I don't see why they don't put it in diet pills," said she. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Cut to 89 seconds before she said that:

Whitney Houstons torrid rendition of the infamous Dolly Partons "I Will Always Love you" sailed from the *Musak* speakers in the ceiling to our ears, manifesting itself in a collectively unconscious sigh. {Wordy much?} Someone to my left said "I love this song."

Then someone to my right said "But what the fuck happened to Whitney? I think she started going downhill when she married that thug Bobby Brown."

Someone in the corner chimed in, "Eww, yah I know, she's all cracked out now."

My seemingly (but decievingly) cracked-out self muttered, "Phhh, crack. Hahuh, she is gross and skinny. Crack."

Then it was Christina, genuinely confused, foot-permently-in-mouth Christina who said, "But if it makes you skinny, I don't see why they don't put it in diet pills."

We paused. No one spoke or moved for a second, waiting to see who was going to say it first.

"Cause crack is bad for you man," said I.

"But if it works so well..." she pondered.

I tryed again, "It's wicked addictive dude...and it'll mess you up hard core."

"But...but, you could take it 'til you lost the weight..."

Valerie jumped in, "Crack is illegal Christina."

"Ohh. Yeah, that makes sense."

Again with the pausing.

Giggles all the way around.

See why I like these girls!

DON'T YOU REMEMBER YOU TOLD ME YOU LOVED ME BABY!

"Don't dick me around Amanadoo. We're talkin last chance, ok?"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^That up thar is the first thing Dick Lucas said to me when I told him I'd like to go to cosmetology school. You, gentle readers can probably understand why he said that. Concidering, you know, the fact that I changed my mind about the next step at least a dozen times.

Still, it's the next thing he said that I was thinking about today... "I just wonder if you'll like being around those people."

THOSE PEOPLE

Despite the mild offense I now take to it, I understood what he meant when he said it. THOSE PEOPLE, salon people. People that talk your ear off. People that give you false compliments. People that say Hasta Luego as soon as you hand them their big fat tip. People that don't rub your head quite long enough. People that allow itchy hair to reach unspeakable places (OHHH, you KNOW they do it on purpose). Likewise, people who get water in your ear so that you have to say "huh? huh?" everytime they say something. Those people.

And the truth of the matter is that I had my doubts about those people as well. On the few occasions I opted to go to a salon instead of doing it myself as usual, I always ended up with the fake tan, big bouncy boobies (that were repeatedly thrust in my face during shampooing) and way, way, way, way, way, way, way too much excitement at the prospect of doing my hair. They talk and talk and talk and talk and ya know what? I never had anything to say to those people.

And on Monday, the first day of class, my worries worsened. 12 girls. All young, all [but two] really pretty. We sat there, waiting for someone, anyone, to give us a task. No one talked. It was high school all over again. I mean, a room full of girls your age is intimidating. The bitchy, rumor-rampant, back-stabbing possibilities are practically endless. If there were only one guy, the tension would be gone. One guy is all it takes to fashion a sort of black hole of distraction. But alas, it is just the twelve of us.

And it's great. Everyone gets along fabulously. There is one girl in the class that's already taken the whole thing. But for some mysterious reason, she quit, so now she's taking the whole thing over again. She says the reason she quit is that she didn't like the location (there are 5) she was at. But I've talked to several girls that have been around a while that have transferred because they didn't like their other location. Anyway, she's constantly bored. None of it is new to her. And instead of making it less boring by like making friends, she seems to resent the rest of us. In the very least I think she resents our enthusiasm. I personally could care less, but her hostility (whether imagined or not) kinda gets to some of the other girls. Cause everyone is really nice to her. Like today, she wore really cute earrings and really cute shoes and bracelets and a neat-o hair extension thingie. Everyone was giving her compliments (cuz the stuff was cute) but she wouldn't smile or even look at you if you talked to her. And whenever she gets the chance to exclude herself, she does. She's buds with one other girl and they totally stick to themselves. I can see where she's coming from, but she's, like, obvious and rude about it.

But other than that, everyone's awesome. If for no other reason than it's awesome to be around other people that jump at the bit to get their hands on a new hair dryer or in a sink to wash some hair.

Here's to Amanadoo making the right choice!!!

posted by Mana @ 14.7.04 3 comments
domingo
Beauty school drop out?

Things are 'a changin!!!

The template here, of course.

And the small matter of my having to actually wake up at a certain time in the morning!!! Instead of, you know, rolling out of bed at 3 in the afternoon.

I hope I make friends with my classmates.

I hope I'm good at it.

Ar, I hope I get up on time!

posted by Mana @ 11.7.04 3 comments
The bargain store is open, come inside. You can easily afford the price.

S and I are close.

We have to be.

We've seen each other but-ass naked.

Like, EVERYTHING.

Don't ask, it's a long story.

Well, actually the entire story is that when we vacayed at the beach a coupla years ago, her bathing suit was too big (so it moved around a lot) and my bathing suit wasn't long enough (so it came off a lot).

But anyway, we're close. She was with me when I got my sweet sweet ink, and I was with her yesterday when she got hers. The point I'm trying to make here is that while she was getting her tattoo [yeah, I refer to it as "sweet, sweet ink." Whadaya gonna do bout it?], she was scared, as we all are, and I held her hand the whole time. I bring it up because at some points during the deal, it was like she was giving birth and I was there, holding her hand. And I thought it was neat. Because I'm glad I've got a friend like that, that needs me to hold her hand


In other news, I found my greatest hits of Dolly Parton tonight. My mom had stolen it and subsequently it's managed to get completely scratched up. But I digress. I was driving her car (which used to be mine) because she'd blocked Chuck the truck in. It was just like old times...I popped Dolly in, put that slimy bitch Jolene on repeat, drove way too fast down backroads and thought about my old boyfriends...Every last A-hole ex boyfriend.

That's how I like to roll. On thirteens.

Remember kids, school starts Monday!!!