No, really...take that off.

Today I saw a girl that not only made me scream on the inside, I screamed a little bit on the outside, too. This girl was at my niece's graduation. THIS GIRL just graduated. And like all of the other girls, my niece included, this girl was wearing the dress that she was going to wear to the dance they were going to after their graduation.

I should mention that *this* was an 8th grade graduation, I guess.

At first, I was like NOOO, she can't be a graduate. Except, she's wearing the "I just graduated" lei, and she was running around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to get pictures with the girls who still hadn't come out of their cap & gowns, AND ALSO? MY NIECE TOLD ME SO. 

To say I was slightly horrified would have been an understatement. WHERE IS THIS GIRL'S CLOTHES? Where are her parents? Who let her leave the house in this outfit?! Get off my lawn!

There are so many things wrong with this outfit:

1. It's ugly. I'm sorry, it is. The back of this dress sort of scrunched (rouched? is that the word?) up, making it look even shorter than it already was.
2. It's too short. Even my evil stepmother said, if she sneezes, she's going to show everyone the business in the front and the party in the back. I'm paraphrasing. Maybe she was really talking about somebody's mullet. But still.
3. IT'S TOO OLD. You are a pretty, 14 year old girl. By the time you're old enough to wear a dress like this, you will know better than to wear a dress like this.
4. Leopard prints on the boob-al area. Just, no. 

I mean, seriously. I know that we can't always pick what our kids wear, and that we need to give them a chance to define their own style (The Brat wore a Rolling Stones tee and a gypsy skirt to the graduation. Don't tell ME I don't know about giving teens some latitude), but I also think that when they are young --and she was young, SOMEBODY should be showing her how to pick a dress that is flattering and makes her look pretty without making her look like she's been shopping in the teen prostitute section of the JCPenneys. 

Find something age appropriate. Save the barely there dresses for your 20's when you're trying to sneak into your first club with a fake ID. C'mon. DON'T ACT LIKE IT WAS JUST ME.

My Dad: Well maybe she's wearing something under her dress...?

Me:  Yes, Daddy. They're called panties.

So, your kid is sick...

I'm not trying to be a jerk. REALLY.


But. If your kid is sick, TAKE HIM TO HIS PEDIATRICIAN. Let the GD DOCTOR decide if she/he is sick enough to see a Specialist and IF IT IS A MOTHER FUCKING EMERGENCY. This is why they are the damn doctors. Unless you are actually a physician, there's a pretty good chance your Pediatrician knows his shit*, and won't steer you wrong.

Sometimes, your Pediatrician does want you to see a Specialist. But not RIGHT THIS MINUTE. Believe me when I say, if your Pediatrician wants your precious to be seen toute-de-motherfucking-suite, he will get his ass on the phone and make some phone calls to make sure this happens. 

IF, however, your kid has had some sort of oozing rash for going on 6 weeks, and hasn't even seen his Pediatrician, AND the only reason that HE MUST BE SEEN RIGHT NOW, is because you are going on vacation TOMORROW? We will   judge you not treat you as an emergency.

*****

Okay, so your Pediatrician agrees/announces: You should make an appointment to see a Specialist. I know...this is your baby and now that you know you need to make an appointment, you want to get this over with as SOON as possible. So, not really an emergency, but who really wants a doctor's appointment looming in the distance right?

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but doctor appointments, far and wide, are rarely convenient. You can usually have the DAY you want, or the TIME you want, but not both. This is a universal truth. 

Sometimes you get lucky. They have the elusive perfect day/time. (This is as rare as one of those good hair days where you just sorta combed it out and everybody kept asking did you get your hair done because it looks THAT. DAMN. GOOD.) But more often, they will not. Try to be flexible. You can't expect for them have an appointment for you the same day you call. Some Specialists only see patients on certain days, so they book up quickly. SOMETIMES THEY CAN SQUEEZE YOU IN ON A RANDOM DAY. SOMETIMES THEY CAN'T. Work with them boys and girls. They're doing the best they can. REALLY.

If you feel that this cannot wait, because your baby boy/girl is SICK! ACTION MUST BE TAKEN IMMEDIATELY!! And the Specialist is unable/unwilling to DROP EVERYTHING (Other patients, obligations and the like) to see to your VERY SICK KID (your emphasis, not your Pediatrician's), go to the Emergency Room. THIS IS WHY HOSPITALS HAVE THEM. For Emergencies.

Maybe they just really can't see your kid today. FOR WHATEVER REASON. Maybe, their assistant has already tried sweet talking them into seeing them anyways, even though we know they don't have the time, because Mom is crying and/or hysterical and baby is screeching in the background making us feel EVEN MORE GUILTY that we can't squeeze you in. Maybe.

We're all people here, folks. We actually ARE here to help,  AND a lot of us have kids, AND we know how it is to have sicky mcbabyface coughing/snotting up/feverish/puking/fill-in-the-gross-thing-oozing-from-your-kid's-orifice-here.

You know what DOESN'T help? Giving the person who is trying to help you the business because we can't kick some kid out of their appointment date they've had for month, because you have decided that your kid's sick > some other kid's sick.

Also? It makes you look like an asshole. I'm just sayin'



*YES. There are exceptions to every rule. If  your Pediatrician  DOESN'T know his ass from a hole in the ground, WHY IS THIS PERSON TAKING CARE OF YOUR CHILD?! If you just disagree and think this is truly an emergency (yes, this bears repeating), Emergency Room. Go there.


** This was a post that was SUPPOSED to go up on Thursday, after being bitched out by a parent who clearly had no concept that everything in the world did not revolve around them and what was convenient FOR THEM. Clearly it did not.


*** But. I can almost guarantee that a parent is going to call Monday FIRST THING insisting that their darling be seen RIGHT NOW because they've been ON DEATH'S DOOR since Friday. But not sick enough to go to the Emergency Room. So. Still. THIS.


****Also? I work for Specialists. Which means that we are NOT the first call. We will ALWAYS ask if you've contacted your Pediatrician. NOT BECAUSE WE'RE ASSHOLES. But, because that's what you're supposed to do first.


***** Okay, I'm really done now with the asterisking. 

Reply All

It all started last Thursday. I received a random e-mail which CLEARLY was a mistake. Of course it was sent to a bunch of e-mail groups. But. Do you know what *I* do when I get e-mails that are CLEARLY sent to me mistakenly? I ignore and/or them. Unless I receive more than one. I mean, because, really? How many times will people:

1. Reply ALL
2. Request to be removed from the mailing list

 Let me tell you: MORE THAN 50 TIMES.

Remember how I said that normally, I just ignore/delete them?

Yeah, so apparently, all it takes is for me to come in first thing in the morning and find ONE. MORE. E-MAIL. And then this happens:

Hello Everyone (including: various MDs, my supervisor, AND my manager*),

Perhaps you are not aware of this, but TO THE LEFT of the REPLY ALL button, is the REPLY button. If you are unclear on when it is appropriate to use, please use THIS GUIDE.

THANKS! 

*It also went to the Manager of SOME IMPORTANT DEPARTMENT. He said he will be sending that link to his staff. So. I guess they don’t plan to fire me for my insubordinance. YET.

This is why opinions are like assholes...

Because everybody has one.

I have been told that I am not very black. Which...What does that even mean?

Who gets to decide how black is black? I'm not black enough because I grew up in the suburbs? Because I went to predominately white schools? Because I speak WELL (which is usually phrased as "you sound like you're white"...which is another thing I don't understand)? Because I prefer alternative music to hip hop? Because I go to Renaissance Faires?  BECAUSE I DON'T DO THINGS YOU THINK BLACK PEOPLE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO?

The list goes on and on.

I grew up in the suburbs because my parents wanted to live there. At five years old, I was in no position to have opinion on where I lived. Also? I should mention that I have gone to schools catered to gifted type students for as long as I've been getting an education. Yes. I'm a super smart motherfucker. And on top of that, my father would pop me right in the mouth for saying things like "huh?" and "yeah". So there was additional incentive to speaking properly. And just because I PREFER alternative to hip hop, doesn't mean I don't ever listen to Jazz, or R&B, or even rap. If I feel like it. I go to Ren Faires because they're fun. And my mom used to take me when I was a kid growing up. And I am keeping the tradition going by taking my kid when the Ren Faire returns to Southern California.

But these things are neither here or there. Because I'm going to let you in on a little secret: There is no measuring stick on blackness. I am black; therefore, everything I do is something that a black person does. Even if that black person is just me.

I'm black because it's what my father is, and what my mother (mostly) is. Like most, I am a mixture of other things. But I identify MYSELF as black.

So who are you to tell me I'm not?

You can blame this rant on mochamomma and grace. And the fact that people can be assholes.

Yep, even though I said I was going to do NaBloPoMo I didn't, because I can't be trusted to do anything for 30 days and so I haven't blogged in a week, but now that I have, it's a whiny post about my Fantasy Football. Deal.

So this team on the left, yeah...that's mine. YES. I AM SO LAZY THAT I DIDN'T EVEN COME UP WITH A NAME FOR MY TEAM. Although, quite frankly, I don't know that Mona Monday is better. But, WHATEVA. Because she's kicking my ass. I'm getting my ass kicked by a girl on a stripper pole. Gah!

To be fair, a lot of my starting team was on a bye week (for those unfamiliar: they were off this weekend. Probably boozing it up or sending pictures of their junk to random females, or whatever it is those athletes do when they've got some time off) But still. My Kicker, who I picked because apparently my competitive streak overrode my absolute hatred of all teams Boston, went randomly injured reserve. And my back-up kicker was what? ON A BYE WEEK. 

Also? Those players on their P's (Probables) and Q's (Questionables)? Yeah. When I left them on the bench they got points in the double figures. But of course, when I start them then they want to act all too injured to play well. I mean, really? EITHER YOU ARE INJURED OR YOU AREN'T. STOP PLAYING WITH MY EMOTIONS.

You would think I would be mollified by the fact that Steve Smith got no points. But that would be negated by the fact that MY STEELERS GOT NEGATIVE POINTS. Negative! Points! I love you Steelers. I do. But why were you so bad that you didn't just get NO points, you went backward in scoring?!  From the team that lost to the Browns, JUST. LAST. WEEK.

I don't even want to talk about how I had OchoCinco who got 21 points his first game and hasn't been able to catch a pass since... or about how we both have a Monday game tonight and both of our players are on the same team, and how I need for MY player to get more than 6 points and for HER player to either get injured and get zero (OR NEGATIVE) points.

Nope. I'm just gonna sit here and dream the impossible dream - the one where I actually WIN this week's match up. After all, this is FANTASY football, right? 

/rant

$&(#*&@(*@^!! <--That's me trying not to drop an F-bomb at work

This is MY desk.

On my desk, I have a bajillion paperclips, a shit ton of post-its, the Lakers 2009-10 schedule, random pictures (Yes, that is a question mark. I hold it over my head when I want to know WTF you are talking about) and pens. The pens that I don't mind losing because I am a pen freak and hide my favorite ones. And a plant, because my co-worker across the walkway is constantly staring at my computer screen. Gah!

I'll bet you're wondering why I'm here today talking about my desk. It's because the other day a co-worker was digging around in my drawers HE CLAIMS looking for keys. Keys, I might add are always HERE on the side of my desk in that basket thingy.

Another co-worker caught him at my desk while I was out shopping for lunch. To be fair, I thought I had locked my desk, and if I HAD this would have been a non-issue. But uhh...in the years that I've worked here the keys have always been THERE. (see previous picture). NOT here.

When I found out, I went from my shopping induced euphoria to fighting mad in less than six seconds. I hate, hate, HATE people digging around in places where they don't belong (Yes, I hate going to the OB/GYN. Why do you ask?). I went right over to his office to rip him a new asshole, but lucky for the both of us, he was probably wondering the halls looking for another desk to violate or maybe, you know.. working. Whatever. His being gone probably saved my job.

But when I DID run into him, and please believe that I made it a point to do exactly that, I explained that it has been my understanding that the keys have been kept in the hanging thing there on the side of my desk, where I've seen you get them many times over the years...if not forever, for at least for the THREE FUCKING YEARS that I've been here. And you, "sir"...have never, not once found keys in my drawers.

Also? Rifling through my desk without permission is the same thing as digging through my purse. Which... I'm *sure* you would never do, right? Riiight.

So lets make a deal. If you don't see something on my desk, just wait for me to come back and ask me. And I never have almost cuss you out at work again*. KTHXBAI. (jackass)

/rant

*That's me. Keeping it professional while I'm tearing you a new one.

Not so much looking fondly back as I am looking forward expectingly

I mean, not to sound ungrateful...because it could have been so much worse, I could have been stabbed with a rusty splinter, or hit by a car, or hell.. even robbed at gun point...none of which happened to ME, but you know what? This year pretty much sucked big fat hairy ones, and I would like to go on the record as saying Fuck you, 2009. Fuck you right in the ass.

On one hand, I got a big ol' raise because my jackass boss screwed me over last year, The Man finally retired from the Marine Corps, and I returned to school and am *this close* to graduating, I also went to Vegas a ridiculous amount of times, and met some of my blogger/twitter friends IRL.

On the other hand, I went to war with The Man over a "friend's" relationship, only to have her stab me in the back and force me to kick her ass out of my life (like Mary J. says no.more.drama). The Man, who finally retired from the Marine Corps has no idea what he wants to do with his life, is home 24/7 - which I've never had to deal with before. I returned to school and couldn't really afford it AND I can't use his GI Bill AND can only get a few dollars if he were permanently, totally disabled, or dead (really?! WTF VA?), and along with my raise came MORE WORK while my other fuckwit co-worker cries about how busy he is while spending most of his day trying to beat his friend's bejeweled score of one hundred million, and to top it all off, I found my neighbor whom I've known for freakin' 18 years and called my Auntie, dead and I JUST RECENTLY stopped crying every time I look at her house, which coincidentally faces mine, so every time I walk out of my front door, I see HER front door.

And this just the stuff that happened to ME. Not close friends who just found out their father has cancer, or whose sister had a heart attack, or have been laid off for the better part of 2009 and may possibly lose their house.

I'm not really sure who the fuck I pissed off in 2008 to make this year so relentlessly depressing. Oh wait, NOBODY - because last year I tore my Achilles and was off work for 3 months, while my jackass boss fucked up my paperwork, so I didn't get my disability money AND my husband lost his grandmother AND one of my best friends moved to freaking JAPAN - I actually was thinking that 2009 was gonna be my year because of how much 2008 sucked. Fooled my fucking ass. 2009, you pretty much sucked harder than 2008, and I didn't even think that was possible.

So I'm saying all that to say, so long 2009. Don't let the door knob hit you on the way out. It's been real, it's been fun, but it has NOT been real fun. Don't keep in touch, don't send me an e-mail to see how I'm doing now that you've moved on, in fact let's just pretend that we never met, hm?

And 2010? I've got my eye on you. I'm expecting rainbows and unicorns and a bunch of other really cool shit to happen this year. In fact, I refuse to accept anything less, so consider this a warning.

I'm ready for the new year and it's going to be motherfuckingfabulous. Or else.

Because I know all about fashion

I was talking to my sister the other while I was on the way to work (YES, I was totally wearing my earpiece. It’s the LAW) and while I was sitting at a light, this guy is crossing the street walking his daughter (?) to school. The girl was in her school uniform with the cutest pink backpack I ever did see and the guy was in a uniform, of sorts. A wife beater and jeans hanging down to his knees. It aggravated me to the point that I completely veered off topic and started a tirade. I think that this whole saggy pants thing has gone too far. There. I said it.

It may be that I’m used to STANDARDS (very rarely will you see a military guy sagging something ridiculous, even in civilian clothes – you do NOT want to get caught out looking like a thug by your commanding officer at the mall), or that I’m OLD, or old fashioned, you can even say that I’m not hip. But seriously. WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Back when I was a teenager (yeah, all the old people start their tirades like this, don’t they?), my boyfriend wore tapered khakis (new school skinny jeans. Ahem. All things old are new again). Yes, I keep it old school. And YES, there was a teeny bit of sag. I mean, who wants to wear DAD JEANS?

Now I have to see your WHOLE ASS? WTF is that about? Why is that supposed to be cute? I thought we were in agreement people. I thought crack (ass crack, crack pipe, ALL CRACK) was wack. ‘Member? Whitney Houston said? Not only do I have to see your raggedy draws, I have to watch you duck walk across the street because your pants are so down around your knees that the belt you have on (why are you even wearing a belt?!) is completely superfluous and the only way you can keep your pants from falling around your ankles is to walk like that, while trying to hold up your pants with one hand. THAT? Is not sexy.

It also makes me want to cause you a thousand years of pain.

So I guess it’s lucky for me that 1) I’m married 2) I’m CLEARLY not the kind of person these boys (because I am unable to call you a man when you are dressed this way) are trying to attract and 3) I STILL don’t have a camera. Because I totally would have been taking pictures of all the ridiculousness that I’ve seen over the last couple of days.

Although I will say that this has motivated me to go out and get one, this weekend. (No, really. I’m going to get a camera. For real this time)

I've got mail

I have several thousand e-mail addresses. The one that I've had since I've had a computer (an AOL e-mail address if you can believe it). I keep it so that people who have lost touch with me will always have a way to find me. I always check it, and it's also generally the one that family uses. A Yahoo one that I use for "other stuff": paypal, promotional e-mails for stuff like RueLaLa, discount hotel offers to Vegas (please stop it. I can't afford to go back yet and all these super discounted rates are mocking me. MOCKING ME), concert information - because I go to a LOT of concerts, it's also linked to my Facebook, and...back in the day..I even got porn to that e-mail address. Long Story. I have an "I'm a professional" e-mail address, a work e-mail that I sometimes, okay...OFTEN get personal e-mails sent to, and the one for here: youbethekettle (at) gmail.com.

I got a lot of fucking e-mail addresses. But, I'm going to talk about my yahoo one. Why? Because it's becoming the bane of my freakin' existence right now. I've never had so much mail in my entire life. This yahoo one... generally, if I sign up for something, that's the one I use. Unless I'm mad at The Man. Then I use his. I know. Fuckery at it's finest. But at least he knows my horoscope, and when Tom Jones is going to be in concert. Moving on. I signed up for Facebook on a fluke. Because a friend of mine has all of his pictures there, and I couldn't see them until I signed up.

ANYWAYS, for a long while, I never used it. Then my sister was all "Hey, DINOSAUR, get with it and get on Facebook." Which, SURPRISE! I was already on but not using. So then I'd posted an update:

I signed up for a fantasy football league. I have no idea what I'm doing and draft day is Sunday. Suggestions, comments...HELP?
Yesterday at 8:54am · via iGoogle Gadget · Comment · Like · Remove

Let the crap-tastic amount of e-mails begin: "...XXX commented on your status..." Heaven forbid that you mess around and comment on somebody ELSE'S status. Because then? You're getting eleventy thousand emails every time ANYBODY comments "..xxx also commented on JoeBlow's status". And I don't even know these people, more importantly could care less what they think. More to the point, I would prefer not to get an e-mail everytime somebody says BOO.

These e-mails add up. Facebook will send you e-mails if somebody:

• sends a message
• adds me as a friend/ confirms request
• posts on my wall
• pokes me
• tags me in a photo
• tags one of MY photos
• coments on my photos
• comments AFTER me on a random photo
• leaves a wall comment
• comments AFTER me on somebody ELSE'S wall story
• sent me an drink, or a smile, or a chug it request, or a sorority life thingamajig
• does anything at all to me
• the list goes on and on....

My e-mail was blowin' up y'all...and not in the good way. In the "Fuckin' A...what the hell is all this shit?!" way. I was deleting messages so fast that I was actually MISSING the stuff I wanted to read. Don't you hate that? You're all in the zone and before you know it, you've deleted that pre-sale info about NIN's final tour and you threw it in the trash because you thought it was another g.d. facebook message?

So. I went back and changed everything. Unchecked it ALL. I don't want y'all sending me e-mails about anything. I will check my own friends requests, and respond to those people I want to respond to and ignore everything else (No more pillow fights, food flings, what kind of rock star am I, no kisses, no hugs...just...NO)

I can just feel my aggravation ease now that I am no longer receiving crazy amounts of e-mail. Well... I mean I *STILL* receive crazy amounts of e-mail, just...about stuff I care about. Like $35/night room rates in Vegas, and pre-sale info for various bands (speaking of...WTF Paramore?! I can't/won't take a 13 year old girl to a concert on a THURSDAY, she's got school on Friday), and upcoming boutiques. Even though I'm sort of on a haitus for shopping/concert going, I still wanna know what's going on in the world of people who go places and people who do stuff.

So I'll content myself with reading e-mails from cousins, of the next 9West sale, jokes from long lost friends, and comments from you.

YES, *YOU*. I see you reading this. Now, pop on in the comments and say "hey!"

I can't afford it

Ticket scalpers, ticket scalpers
Why are you so mean?
You take $50 tickets
And price them so obscene

I just wanna see my favorite band
Sing my favorite songs
I don’t want triple-priced
Does that make me so wrong?

But no!
$100, $200 to $800 or more
I’d need a second job
Probably as the corner whore
(after all…they make pretty decent money and no taxes)

If you’d give real fans a chance
To buy some decent seats
Ticketmonster is bad enough
With crazy “convenience” fees

Do you have to get in on the action?
Selling out concerts super fast…
YOU jack the prices crazy high
While real fans take it up the ass

So F.U. ticket scalper
For the things you do
To keep the prices high
Now….do you have tickets for U2?

I need my fix

Dear HBO,

You do this to me every. single. time. You get me all sucked in to your crazy good shows, and then...season finale that knocked my socks off. That would be okay if I didn't have to wait until SUMMER 2009 before you aired a new episode. What the hell?!

Why are you torturing me? All I ever wanted to do is find out the deal with Sookie and Tara and WTF happened to Lafayette?! And you're going to make me wait SIX whole months. Now that's just cruel and unusual punishment from somebody who should be grateful I didn't come down there and firebomb your offices after you took Carnivale off the air. (I mean...really. It was only a 3-season show. WHY would you show the biggest cliffhanger EVER and then not return to clean it up? JERKS)

So now I guess I'll be tracking down the books (did you know it's a book series?) to kill time until next season starts. In which case, please don't stray too far from what happens in the books, because I'll be watching and picking it apart and wondering why THAT didn't happen on the show like it did the book and.....

On second thought...Doesn't the new season of Big Love start soon? Maybe I'll start watching that instead

Psht...Mahna Mahna

It was one of those days...EVERYBODY was getting on my nerves at work. I work in a MD Administrative Office, but don't let that fool you. It's a cube farm. There are 9 people in a teeny little area AND NO WINDOWS...which may not be a big deal to SOME people, but it's a BFD to me.



I'm barely in the office, I check my mail and mumble something to myself. Probably something about needing an EXTRA LARGE cup of caffeine just to get me through the day, and my co-worker comes over and looks over my shoulder to see what I'm grumbling about. Because I know I am at my most dangerous when I am MSing (because there is no PRE- about it), I don't speak...I just look at her. I hate invaders of personal space*. Unless, I have invited you to look over my shoulder, just don't do it. Or I may be tempted to push my chair back and hope that I crack your pretty little pedicure or/and maybe break your toes.



I don't get my coffee, I can't walk that far. I drink some chamomile TEA (it's supposed to be SOOTHING, right?)and take the world's biggest Motrin and hope that my uterus does not fall out at work.



My co-worker's phone WON'T STOP RINGING. Which would be okay, except she's not answering it, so they're calling the main line and it's MY DAY to answer the phones, so I have to keep transferring all the calls BACK to her even though all the patients say they've been calling that number and NOBODY is answering that line and can I please help them but I can't because I'm just the hired help lady/sir not a doctor and have no idea what you're talking about and so no, I can't give you advice about your chest pains, or meds...I can just transfer you to the right department, so sorry, leave a message and hopefully she will call you back before the turn of the century[transfer line].



I'm now drinking HOT WATER. Because my co-worker is going through her own "personal summer" and keeps turning the air conditioner down to the antartica setting because she's on fire from the inside. Hey heffa. GET A FAN. I live in LA and do not have a parka I can bring to work to accommodate your hot flashes. Geez.



Then THIS SAME CO-WORKER gets into an hour long argument with another co-worker over why she doesn't have her own fax machine at her desk. HE does, her other co-worker does...it's just not fair. Blah, blah, blah...bitch bitch bitch...moan, moan, moan. I am TWO seconds from ending up on Snapped! because I was getting ready to snatch up the fax machine and shove in place where I'm pretty sure she wasn't gonna wanna reload the paper tray.



My other co-worker/partner in trouble-makin' sends me this:

Even now, I think this is the funniest thing ever. And laughing is really the only thing that kicks me out of a bad mood. So fuck it, mahna mahna. Heh. I feel better already.

*The only time you may invade my space is if I invite you. Or you are unarguably gorgeous and are buying my next drink.