Category: Being a girl

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Being a girl Family

Happy Mother’s Day!

Dear Mom,

I don’t know when it’s normal for a girl to realize that she’s turning into her mom, but for me it was around age 23 or 24 when I started hearing your words coming out of my mouth. At first I was a little taken aback – who knew it would happen so suddenly and unexpectedly?

As time has gone on though, I’ve come to appreciate the wisdom in the things I hear myself say, and I know it came directly from you. Things like how you shouldn’t read at the dinner table, and you should converse with the rest of your family. Or when Robb and I used to begrudgingly ask what we should do on house-cleaning Saturdays, and you would say, “Just look around and do what needs to be done.” Or when Drew and I left for New York and you told us to take care of each other. 

I guess I really was listening all those years.

I’ve always known I’m very lucky to be blessed with such wonderful parents. I had a great childhood and I still reminisce about it. A couple weeks ago, when we came back from our Lakeport weekend, all the laundry I’d brought back smelled like home and it caused me a great many wandering thoughts. But I’m also happy to say that I don’t feel like I peaked in my teenage years – I feel like I’m still growing all the time. Because you guys gave me an incredible foundation of faith, family, and self-confidence.

What I’ve been especially lucky to have is our evolving mom-daughter relationship. I like the way it has turned into a friendship. Maybe it helps that I don’t call and ask for money anymore. Maybe it also helps that I was so far away for those three years, so now we are both that much more appreciative of being in the same state. Maybe it’s just what happens when a girl becomes an adult – she discovers that she and her mom have so much more in common than she ever realized.

So thanks for being the best mom ever! And thanks for always being happy to hear from me. And thanks for setting the bar so high and being a good role model. I hope that when I have kids, they love me as much as I love you.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Syche

Categories
Being a girl Dollars Drew Friends Nonfiction

Cute shoes; good husband

Recently my BFF Megan was visiting California from her now-hometown of Washington, DC. Megan and I have a complicated history (not bad, just detailed): we were dorm roommates our first year at UC Davis, the only two English majors in a building filled with 70 computer science, physics, math, biology, and engineering students.

We lost touch after that, and while I was doing theatre stuff and moving to New York, she was going to law school and spending time in Africa. In the winter of 08/09 she wrote a Facebook note about Prop 8 and I read it, and realized that the Megan I remembered had changed a lot. She talked about being on the “No on 8” side of a protest and looking across at the people on the “Yes on 8” side. It was a very personal, fascinating note. And very long. I emailed her a response regarding the religious implications of Prop 8 – and then didn’t hear anything for a couple months.

When she wrote back, we started talking again, and shortly after that Drew and I got engaged. Then Megan said she’d be coming to New York (from Sacramento) for a visit and we should get together. I was nervous (maybe she was too) but it ended up being the greatest idea ever. We started out at Vynl on 9th Avenue for dinner and drinks, and ended up at Juniors for cosmos and cheesecake.

She moved to New York and we spent the summer of 09 walking around Manhattan, presumably for exercise, but it often included lots of gossip, girltalk, and ended with shopping, either for groceries at a chic store (no ghetto Key Foods here) or for clothes…more often for clothes.

So when Megan came out for a visit this month, we had to shop. And shop we did. The week before she came, I told Drew I didn’t have extra money this month for things like lunches out and buying shoes. He said (and I quote), “Please promise me you’ll use credit cards so you can have a good time with her. Just use them responsibly.”

It turns out we may have different definitions of “responsible” credit card use – this became apparent when I came through the door on Friday loaded down with shopping bags. “They’re not all mine!” I said before he could say anything.

But I needed everything I bought. The work clothes – for work! – I mean, I only had so much stuff I could wear to work without feeling shamed. And with summer coming on I definitely needed some warm weather clothes. And the Bare Escentuals stuff – I mean, come on, I had been saying for weeks that I wanted to buy moisturizer and eye shadow. So that’s all fair. And the shoes? Well, the flat sandals are obvious, I’ll wear them all the time when it’s warm enough. The platform heels? I love them! Where will I wear them? I’ll figure it out.

At some point during the day, when I was throwing down my credit card yet again, I did stop to think that maybe this wasn’t what he had in mind by “use them responsibly.” Maybe he meant to say “sparingly.” Oh well.

That he didn’t even give me a hard time about any of this is a testament to how nice he is. I mean, ultimately I was still medium-responsible. And the weekend was so fun that it was totally worth it. But I am grateful that he didn’t grill me about my purchase choices or the final cost of the weekend…he’s a nice guy. So here’s to Drew! And to his understanding nature, and his strong sense of the importance of friendship.

And seriously, these shoes are so cute.

Categories
Beginnings Being a girl Dollars

I’m sorry I doubted you

For every girl who has ever smeared mascara on the ceiling of her car, because she’s trying to put it on before the light changes.

Over the weekend I tweeted about getting makeup advice from trannies in a Bare Escentuals in the mall. I implied that, because they were overly made-up, with bright eyeshadows and fake lashes, their advice was no good to me. But one of them has changed my life.

I hesitantly struck up a conversation about eyeshadow, something that has been intriguing me from a distance, and she asked what I wore. I told her I’ve been wearing some BeneFit thing, in pinks and light browns, but that I felt something was missing from my life. She asked if I wore eyeshadow primer. I said I do not.

The Bare Escentuals girls have tried to sell me on primer before. As a rule I’ve been uninterested in it, especially all over my face. I don’t feel like I need or want a thick layer of something on my skin – that’s why I like Bare Escentuals, it’s light and powdery and doesn’t feel cakey. But if I scrub primer all over, doesn’t that kind of defeat the purpose?

The salesgirl slicked some primer along the base of her thumb, where you try all makeup. (Something about doing that makes me feel so grown up and sophis. I love it.) She let it dry for a second, and then buffed a shiny, shiny purpley eyeshadow into it. It popped like you wouldn’t believe.

“How much is that?” I asked, never one to let a good thing pass me by.

Besides, this was girls’ shopping weekend with Megan, and on my list of things to find were a good moisturizer, and eyeshadow. So it’s not like an impulse buy or something.

When I started adding up the costs of the things that I would need to start my own experimenting, I opted for a “starter kit” type of deal – which would include the primer (which I LOVE), a brush (I only had a cheapie Target brush), a neutral color to use as a base, an eyeliner (which I never wear, but maybe I could start? if a tranny would advise me?), and a tiny mascara with a wand so small it’s hard to do my left eye with my right hand. For $23, wouldn’t you have bought it also?

Bare Escentuals, I do love you so. Partly because of just how pretty all the jars are. I am now the proud owner of a small array of BE products, and I am also now one of those girls who puts on makeup at home every day! (Instead of doing it in the car at stoplights on my way to work.)

My next experiment: more eye colors. I’ve been confused about what colors I’m supposed to wear – aren’t blue and green weird? But now I get it. It’s not powder blue and bright green…I need the dark jewel toned stuff.

Makeup, like any 13-year-old girl could tell me, most likely while rolling her eyes, is super fun.

Categories
Awesome Beginnings Being a girl Drew Nonfiction

Female Driver

New Year’s Resolutions I have accomplished:

     – Get off unemployment
     – Get a real job
     – Submit at least one play to the Samuel French OOB Festival
And now!
     – Submit a “guest commentary” piece to my hometown paper

This isn’t my first appearance in the Record-Bee: In 8th grade I was the school “historian,” and wrote a little weekly piece about what was going on at the school.  Around Christmas I apparently got bored of seeing my name in print, and I started writing under the pen name Ginger Brett.  I had completely forgotten about this until I was going through some old stuff and found the clippings.  But if there was any doubt, the writing is undeniably mine…you can take that however you want.

I was the historian again during my senior year of high school, when my most noticeable column was about the end-of-the-year school trip that a bunch of the seniors were taking to Mexico.  I casually and thoughtlessly said something about how the drinking age in Mexico is 18 and I wondered whether the parents of all those students had thought of that yet. The next day I was accosted in the halls by tearful girls from the soccer team saying I ruined their senior trip.  I spent the whole morning waiting to be called to the principal’s office and reprimanded.

Now I realize that those girls may have overreacted, just slightly.

My latest column will hopefully not offend anyone. It will be printed in tomorrow’s paper (yes, I asked my parents to save me one), and it’s already available online.  But for your viewing convenience, it’s also right here.

===

FEMALE DRIVER

“I don’t think I’ve ridden in the car with you driving in a long time,” my husband Drew remarked casually the other day on a middle-of-the-day trip to Target.  And it was true; usually whenever we go anywhere I make him drive.  I like sitting in the passenger seat and commenting on things out the window, and I also like not feeling judged for my driving.  Not that he would do that to me.

But I have seen his foot touch the imaginary brake pedal on his side of the car, plenty of times.

“You’re right,” I said, “it has been a while.”

“I forgot how fast you drive.”

What?!  I don’t drive fast.  I drive the speed limit – particularly in places where the speed limit is 35, it kills me to watch those cars all cruise along at 30, all in their individual lanes, not giving me a chance to go around them.  Don’t they know the light’s going to the change and we’re all going to get stuck behind a 4-wheeler?

I put on my left blinker and try to move over so I can turn, but the crazy driver behind me seems intent on edging me out.  I speed up a little and manage to squeeze in.

“Just promise me,” he said, as we turned into the Target parking lot and were faced with 4 speed bumps, “that one day when you have a car seat and a baby in the back seat, you’ll take the speed bumps more gently.”

“Like this?” I asked, slowing to a complete stop in front of one and then very, very carefully guiding the front wheels over, and then the back wheels, both pairs in perfect harmony, and landing back on the ground with barely a thump.  The way I’ve watched the cars in our apartment complex do it when I’m sitting behind them, urging them to “Go, please, just go!”

“Yeah, like that,” he said.  “That’s actually the way people do it when they care about their car.”

Well, I care about my car!  I have been through a lot with this car – it was my first car, I got it for my senior year of high school, and it’s waited for me all the times I’ve been away: my first year of college when we weren’t allowed to have cars, and the three years we lived in New York when it made zero sense to have a car.  Always patiently waiting behind…and then allowing me to drive it the way I drive it when I come home.

On second thought, maybe it’s not patiently waiting.  Maybe it just keeps thinking (hoping?) that this might be the time I don’t come back.

I love you, car.  And I promise to treat you better.

I fulfill the first part of my promise when I finally – finally! – get around to asking Chuck, my father-in-law, to help me with putting on the new windshield wipers my brother gave me for Christmas, and to change the rear left turn signal, which I’ve noticed has been out.

(For how long?  Surely that’s the reason I’ve noticed drivers reluctant to let me merge left.  They weren’t the unrelenting jerks – I was the non-signaling lane-changer.  Sheepish, I tried extra hard to leave lots of room when I merged, between the moment I figured out the problem and the moment I got the light bulb changed.)

When Chuck pulled out the bulb he turned it toward me so I could see how black it was.  “Been out for a long time, hasn’t it?” he asked.

“Um…”  I’m divided between what’s a worse answer, “Yes, quite a while” or “I have no idea.”  I settle for “I guess so.”

He’s very nonjudgmental though, and the rest of the bulb changing passes without incident.  And now I have 4 functioning blinkers and windshield wipers that actually clear everything off the glass, instead of leaving two streaks across my vision.  Which is nice.

Actually, now that that’s done, it’ll probably stop raining in the Bay Area.  When this week brings spring and sunny weather, you can thank me!  And Chuck of course.

Categories
Being a girl Books Religion

The Game of Life

I’m reading this book that someone at work gave me: The Game of Life and How to Play It by Florence Scovel Shinn.  I haven’t gotten very far into it but the first chapter has already brought up an interesting concept.

The book is along the same lines as The Secret (which I haven’t actually read, but I’ve read about it and I think I grasp what The Secret is).  Florence breaks down the mind into three departments:

The subconscious is: “simply power, without direction…Whatever man feels deeply is impressed upon the subconscious mind, and carried out in minutest detail.”

The conscious is: “the mortal or carnal mind.  It is the human mind and sees life as it appears to be…it impresses the subconscious.”

The superconscious is: “the God Mind within each man, and is the realm of perfect ideas.”

I learned all the id/ego/superego stuff in high school, but the term “superconscious” isn’t familiar to me, at least not described like this. 

“In [the superconscious] is the “perfect pattern” spoken of by Plato, The Divine Design; for there is a Divine Design for each person.  There is a place that you are to fill and no one else can fill, something you are to do, which no one else can do.  There is a perfect picture of this in the superconscious mind.  It usually flashes across the conscious as an unattainable ideal – something “too good to be true.”  In reality it is man’s true destiny (or destination) flashed to him from the Infinite Intelligence which is within himself.”

A part of me knows this is just one person’s theory; it’s not really something that can be proven or shown through science.  But the rest of me thinks that it makes sense and fits in line with the kind of view I’ve been taking on the world.  I like the idea of The Secret – attracting to yourself the things that you want.  I also like the idea of the Divine Design – that things are predestined for me and that the choices and actions I make resound within this overall life plan that is already in place.

I know that a lot of people are against this idea for just that reason: they don’t want to think that they don’t actually have any say in the way their life turns out.  But the Divine Design doesn’t eliminate free will.

Probably if I’d read this book three years ago I would have dismissed it as yet another psycho-babble self-help book.  But this year the way things have been falling into place, Drew and I keep saying to each other that everything happens the way and when it’s supposed to.

A year and a half ago we had just moved back to California and we kept saying that 2010, after crazy 2009 with its engagement, cross-country move, and wedding, would be the calm year of just working and paying off debt.  But apparently that wasn’t part of the plan for us, and it’s just been this year that we’re finally, finally starting to make great strides forward.

I don’t know whether we managed to finally attract these things to us, or if it was just part our Divine Design, or if our collective superconscious finally made our jobs materialize.  Or a combination of all three.  I guess it doesn’t matter how it happened so much – I’m just so happy that it did. 

That’s actually what caught my eye in those paragraphs about the departments of the mind: that this perfect picture of my future already exists inside me somewhere and that when I’ve had those flashes of the way things could be, it’s not “too good to be true” – it’s inevitable.  That’s a good feeling.

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"Other people" Awesome Being a girl Children

Potpourri 2

Today is the second day in a row that I’ve put 4 brand new bobby pins into my pocket, intending to use them in my hair as soon as it’s sort of dry, and after arriving at work found that I only have 3 bobby pins left.  I’m not sure where the fourth one goes, I mean it must fall out somewhere, but when?  This morning, after realizing that I only had three – AGAIN – I spotted something on the floor of the car in the passenger side, and pounced on it, thinking it was an abandoned bobby pin.  But alas, it was a piece of plastic trash. Lucky for me, the person who sat at this desk before me left a SINGLE bobby pin in a cup of paper clips.  Victory!

Last weekend I went and saw Sam’s new baby.  He’s gorgeous.  I held him for over 2 hours and he didn’t cry.  Just made sleepy noises.  Adorable.  Plus he was dressed in a little froggie onesie.  Why do babies get all the cute clothes?  I want a froggie footsie onesie with sleeves that turn into little mittens.  That sounds so comfortable.

Anyone else enraptured with Charlie Sheen’s downward spiral?

Categories
Awesome Beauty Being a girl Drew Work

How I’ve missed you, weekends.

Collapse production photo

On Friday Drew and I went to Berkeley to see Collapse at the Aurora Theatre.  This was closing weekend and they were totally sold out, but we were #1 on the walk-in list because I called three weeks ago and did industry walk-in because I was too cheap to pay for tickets.

Luckily we got in, and we even got two seats together.  The show was great, funny, and only 80 minutes, which we both loved since it had been kind of a long week, and we had to catch BART back.  Sitting in the lobby beforehand, waiting to be let in to the empty seats, I flipped through the program and read everyone’s bios, and I started to feel that itchy feeling that I recognize all too well: I like being backstage, I like being part of a production team, I like meeting a whole rush of new people every couple months.  Oh no, am I going to miss PA-ing?  One week back on the real-job wagon and I’m already looking for a new fix?

Then, while watching the show, the crew is moving furniture around in a low-ish level transition light, and I’m sitting there, wearing green, out on a date on a Friday night, all weekend stretching ahead of me, and I thought, “Hells no, I made the right choice.”

On Saturday Drew and I went up to Milagra Ridge and climbed around.  The views are gorgeous and it was great to get some fresh air.  Lucky we went when we did, since it clouded up pretty good later than afternoon.

By that time, we were grocery shopping with a little windfall of cash we had come across.  We were also buying girl scout cookies, and I was buying used paperbacks from a thrift store next to Safeway – four Stephen King books (that I need for my complete Stephen King collection) for a dollar each.  (I would have paid up to $4 per book, but don’t tell them that.)  (Today I swung by that thrift store and found Brian Jacques’ Redwall.)

This, by the way, is the picture I took and sent to Erin, to try to convince her to move back to California.

Pacifica, from Milagra Ridge

And what better way to start a lazy Sunday…than by calling the cops on a domestic dispute happening right outside your window?  We were awakened by a man yelling, “Gimme my phone!” and a woman yelling, “Gimme my baby!” and screeching tires.  Still not sure what was going on, but, because of the repeated screaming at each other, the manhandling of said baby, and the fact that I saw the cops outside the couple’s building just a few weeks ago, possibly talking to the same guy…Drew called and requested an officer to come out and make sure everything was okay.  So that was our Sunday excitement.

Both yesterday and today we made dinner and watched Dexter (we finished Season 2 tonight), and just hung out.  Incredible.  I could get used to this.  I could get way addicted to making dinners and packing lunches and going to bed at 11:00 to get up at 7:00 and go to the gym and go to work and watching TV at night and being around on Tuesday nights for friends dinner…you get the idea.  This is living.

Categories
Awesome Beginnings Being a girl Children Friends Work

Children and art

CHILDREN

I got a call this evening from my 10-months-pregnant friend, and our conversation went like this:

Me: Hey there!
Her: Hey, sorry I missed lunch today.
Me: That’s okay.  Did you have a very good reason?
Her: Yup!
Me: What is it?
Her: A baaaaybeeee!
Me: OMG!
Her: It’s so weird!
Me: AND?
Her: It’s crazy!
Me: AAAAND??
Her: It’s a boy!

I am so stoked for her.  She’s still at the hospital but once she gets home it will be all I can do to not bother her constantly to let me come over…especially as I now drive RIGHT past her house to get to work.

Hopefully she won’t make me wait too long before I meet him.  I want to see him when he’s still very small.  (Not that he was THAT small – almost 9 lbs apparently, yikes.)

I might have teared up a little when she told me.  I wasn’t there throughout her entire pregnancy but the last three months (is that all it’s been? doesn’t seem like it) have been all about this moment.  When I didn’t see her on Facebook or gchat for a couple days I figured that’s what was going on.  Weird that I couldn’t just text her and be like “Are you pushing right now?”  Weird when you have to take some time off from instant gratification.

& ART

On the job front…I can’t believe I’m so happy.  I didn’t expect to be SO. HAPPY.  I love it, I’m just having the best time.  It helps that I remember most stuff so I’m not training from scratch.  But I love the team there now, I love the space we’re in, I love the work I’m doing.  The work days are flying by and everything is interesting.  And I don’t think that’s going to disappear, I think it’ll just get better as I get more situated.

Today I spent large amounts of time on a storyboard for an “audio slideshow” – which we use as a show “trailer” on the website.  So I storyboarded the images and text that will go up there to sell the next show in the season.  It’s great having some creative parts of the job to go along with the sales parts.

I’m not sure what’s different about the job this time around, that I’m a trillion times happier there.  (I have a couple theories though.)  I’m just uber grateful that this worked out the way it did, and that I’m now in this position.  It’s a far better situation than I figured I’d be in, back in the beginning of February as I looked ahead.

Because I don’t start until 10, I’ve been getting up when Drew leaves (at 7:00) and going to the gym.  Because there is no way I’m going to come home at 6:00 and then go to the gym.  No freaking way.  I think I’m going to try going every day next week, and then I could take the weekends off.

So happy today – everything is great!  Makes it easy to be thankful.  All color and light.

Categories
Being a girl Memoir My name

“What’s in a name?” “Shut up, Juliet.”

To all the new teachers, substitute teachers, doctor’s office receptionists, and potential employers that I have had in my lifetime:

I just want to say that I’m empathetic of your struggle and I identify with you.  That moment scanning the roll sheet or the sign-in sheet or my email application, and you scroll past the Jessicas and the Tanyas and the Aarons of the world, and then your eye stops on my name, and you think, Poor guy.  Or girl?

In middle school and high school, I grew used to that pause after Goselin or Green, when I knew Hamilton was next and that poor teacher was in denial that, whatever they tried, whatever ethnic spin they put on it…they were about to go down in flames.  As often as possible I preempted the carnage, and just called my name out.  Because I’m a nice person like that.

And I’m not a shy person, generally speaking.  When someone asks me a question I will give them the answer, clear and enunciated.  None of this bs I keep running into with high school students, where the answer is mumbled and quiet and completely unhelpful.  (After two different students  named Estefani, I still have no idea how to pronounce it.)

I didn’t choose my name.  I like it, and I can’t imagine being named anything else.  But given the opportunity to name new people (say, children), I would have to think long and hard before saddling them with something that no one will ever be able to spell or pronounce without practice.

Oh, also, I’d save them the conversation of, “That’s different!  I’ve never heard that before!  Where is that from?”  I have given the full story as I know it (Dutch wedge of family pie; 7 and 9 generations back; we have no idea how it was pronounced originally; possibly a Dutch equivalent of Cynthia?), but I have also, when particularly flustered/in a hurry/irritated, just said, “Yeah, my parents made it up.”  (If I’ve ever given you that bit, I’m sure it wasn’t personal, I was probably just having an “off” day.)

My mother-in-law named her kids Lance and Drew.  This way, there’s no nickname for either one, there’s no lengthier versions, and no one will ever have problems understanding/spelling/pronouncing their names.  I love it.  I’m into nicknames, but it’s frustrating meeting that person who sometimes goes by Michael and sometimes goes by Mike, and you’re like, what do you want to be called?

I recently found out the guy I’ve been calling Harold for a month actually prefers Hank.  But no one ever told me that.  So I’ll make the switch now.  Awkward!

In fifth grade, a family friend suggested I change the spelling of my name to Sysha.  Which might have been helpful.  But I could never really convince myself that I wanted to give up like that.

I recently read an article that said that given two resumes with an equal level of experience, equally good references, etc, the employer will call the one with the “Americanized” name.  (I guess this depends greatly on the employer.)  They sent out equally matched resumes to a bunch of employers, one with “Rachel Miller” on the top and one with “Nikshanta Uluave.”  (Or whatever.)  And guess who got called in to interview?  I have definitely thought more than once, over the last year, about just sticking my middle name up there to make me more accessible to American (and xenophobic?) potential employers.

When Drew first started work at The Lion King and would mention his girlfriend Syche, everyone thought he was dating a black girl.  They were apparently kind of disappointed when they finally saw pictures and I’m just a plain boring white girl with brown hair.

In the end though, there’s more to a name than Juliet thinks, right?  I feel like my name has shaped me in a way that going through life answering to Shannon might not have.

So, strangers who are seeing or hearing my name for the first time, I appreciate your patience and your perseverance.  Please call me in for an interview, I am totally not intimidating at all.

And to the Yazans, Timmurs, Salevis, Siales, Anayelys, and Estefanis of the world (or even just the Bay Area): I really am trying to say it correctly.  It’ll help me out so much if you say it clearly if I get it wrong.

And don’t look at me like that, we’re in the exact same boat.

PS. My favorite name today was a guy named Orange.  And I’ve seen a lot of overly-complicated spellings of regular names, like Raychell and DeNiece.  (I’m not making these up.)

Categories
Being a girl Books Memoir

Ima let you finish, but Injun Joe is the best nickname of all time. Of all time!

When I hear people talking about certain things, I have this deep seated yearning to chime in.  When the people are my friends or family, I definitely just put my two cents in.  But what to do when I overhear conversations between, say, two lower-tier Facebook friends, or the hosts on my favorite morning radio show, or the actors chatting in their dressing room before the show?

Lately I’ve found myself biting my tongue A LOT to keep from piping up with my extensive opinions and feedback on a variety of topics.  Here’s an incomplete list:

Black Swan
Trader Joe’s (and Trader Joe’s products)
The Time Traveler’s Wife (the book)
Mormons
the Mill Valley Health Club
crossword puzzles
that “Why Chinese mothers are superior” article
bacon jam, or bacon candy bars, or bacon and chocolate
The Social Network
The King’s Speech
the Oscars in general
The Office
Huck Finn (the new edition)
Ricky Gervais, in particular his performance at the Golden Globes
Real Housewives
The Bridge (the documentary about the Golden Gate Bridge)
TheatreWorks
The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (the book)
Megan Mullally
Broadway
Big Love (the TV show)
Biggest Loser
Kelsey Grammer
Jeopardy! (especially that Watson the computer is going up against Ken Jennings and Brad Rutter)

So, if you have any questions about any of these topics, feel free to ask me, as I’m ready and more than willing to address any of them.