The Rest is Still Unwritten

This blog post is dedicated to Robbie Williams who saved me from my snowed in predicament earlier today and took me on a much needed coffee run. You are a lifesaver and a gentleman.

Well this day certainly hasn’t turned out as planned. Woke up in the morning, feeling like P Diddy, without power, and literally snowed in at the house in Sisters, Oregon. Or I guess my car was snowed in. At first I figured the 5 inches of snow wouldn’t be a big deal but as I attempted to hit the open road my car got stuck before it had even left the driveway. The fact that the snow was deeper than the lowest point of my car didn’t really help the situation. After spending 30 minutes digging out the car and returning it to the garage I had built up quite the appetite. I opted for a cup of drip coffee and a peach Activia Yogurt that expired on January 29 because it was the only thing left in the house that was edible. That is, aside from a single slice of salami and some month old grapes that at this point could have qualified as raisins. As I impatiently waited for the snowplow man to make a visit to South Redwood Street, I figured I should seize the day and channel my emotions into a blog. I mean Jack Kerouac would have killed to be in this situation. Home that resembles a cabin in that it is made mainly of wood and is covered in black bear and moose decorations? No electricity? Far away from the lights of the city? Snowed in? His only complaint may have been the fact that the only alcoholic beverage in the house was a half bottle of cherry Nyquil.

Randomly, or as Jess Miller would correct me and insert the word IRONICLY, my friend Robbie just happened to be hanging out in the Sisters area for the morning and offered to pick me up and go grab some coffee. After a short jog to his car that was on road that was actually plowed, I got to spend a delightful half hour at the Sister’s Coffee House catching up on life. It was a nice distraction from the ever looming question of “HOW THE HELL AM I GONNA GET HOME AND HOW WILL MACY’S SURVIVE IF I’M NOT ABLE TO MAN THE ACCESSORIES COUNTER TOMMORROW??” Robbie had just driven me back to my development when I spotted it. The answer to all of my problems. THE SNOW PLOW. Running as fast as my little legs could carry me I approached the man in the plow and between large gasps of air and asthmatic wheezes I was able to somehow articulate that I needed his help. He said it was no problem and began work immediately. Then came of the challenge of getting my car out of the garage. Seeing as the power was out I had to do the whole damn thing manually and of course the garage door behind my car was jammed and not opening which left me with the other door as the only exit. I don’t know if any of you have ever tried maneuvering a car around in a two-door garage with a divider in the center but let me tell ya, IT AIN’T EASY. I basically had to rearrange the entire garage to allow for my ninja like maneuvers and after several minutes of multiple crazy moves and even more really really loud exclamations of four letter words I was free and homeward bound.

To put it lightly, the past 48 hours have been a whole lotta crazy. First off, as many of you know I sold Burt. I hated to do it but all good things must come to an end and at 130,000 miles he was having trouble keeping up with my fast paced A-List lifestyle. I put up a Craigslist ad and within a few hours a man named Mike had called and said he wanted to have a look at Burt. Now I had never sold anything online before and I had some reservations about meeting with a complete stranger so I told him to meet me near the duck pond at Pioneer Park. I figured someone would see or hear my screams if he did in fact turn out to be the next Craigslist killer. I called Mama Sesser to notify her as to my whereabouts and assured her that if I ended up missing that she should dredge the pond for my body but not to plan for an open casket funeral. As a precaution, mama also decided to take on the roll of undercover cop by circling the perimeter of the park as Mike and I went on a test drive. At one point we drove past her but we played it cool and didn’t acknowledge each other’s existence. I didn’t want to blow her cover. Mike and his wife loved the car, and especially their Labradoodle who also came along for the ride. They made an offer and even threw in a bottle of wine so it was pretty hard to refuse. I will admit that I shed a few tears on my way to drop Burt off at his new home and it was slightly concerning how attached I had become to an inanimate object during our ten years together. And Burt, if you’re reading this, don’t you ever for a second get to thinking you’re replaceable.

Fairly soon after selling Burt, I located a car that I REALLY wanted. It was a blue Toyota Matrix located right outside of Monterey, California. My mom had talked to a salesman named Ray when we had first inquired about the car. Ray had also notified my mom that he would be gone for the weekend and said that he would pass our information off to Kent if we decided to come down on Sunday. When I called Friday a salesman named Sal answered and I asked to speak with Kent but Sal said that he could take care of the sale. BAD DECISION. He told me the car was available for us to check out so I booked flights for a little father son trip down to California. That’s when the poop hit the fan. Right as I stepped onto the Butts Acura (yep its really called BUTTS) parking lot I came face to face with Kent who wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me.

KENT: Are you the people from Washington?

Me: Yes

KENT: I sold the car you wanted to my nephew.

Me: Really??? Because Sal told me yesterday it was still here and we just flew in…

Kent: I talked to your mom Cathy, and you had an appointment to meet with me on Friday and you didn’t show.

Me: That’s impossible, I never planned on being here on Friday.

At that point I was beyond irritated by Kent’s existence and I could sense the feeling was mutual so we simply started walking in opposite directions. Then I ran into Sandra who had to keep her sunglasses on while she talked to me because she had a super gross eye infection from a contact lens. I told her how Kent had informed me that the car sold. She told me there had been some miscommunication and the car was still mine if I wanted it. The only problem was they had no idea where the car was located. You see my new BFF KENT had lent it to his nephew to “try out” for a few days (AKA he was trying to take the sale away from SAL). They had been calling the nephew but he wasn’t answering their calls. I assumed this was because he was halfway across the Mexican border as we spoke or possibly being filmed from a helicopter on a high speed freeway chase that I would see the next time I tuned into COPS. All this I kept that to myself. Sandra apologized profusely and recommended a motel for us to stay at. Said it was called The Lone Oak Motel and that it was really nice place. We went to check out the motel and I kid you not it looked like the motel from the movie "Joy Ride" where everybody almost dies from the crazed trucker killer in the end. I told Dad that no way in hell was I staying there. Luckily there was a Quality Inn just down road. Unluckily, we came to the realization at 11 o’ clock that night that it was located a block away from the Monterey Airports runway.

Later that afternoon I got a phone call. It was from Mr. Butts himself. He must have apologized for a few minutes before I could even get a word in edgewise. He claimed that something like this had never happened in the history of his 150 year old business and that Butt’s Acura was the second oldest car dealership west of the Mississippi. I wasn’t really surprised. The building itself looked practically pre-civil war and was in need of a serious makeover. I’ve never seen a grown man grovel, but Mr. Butts was on his knees (figuratively, I couldn’t actually see him) begging for forgiveness. He also said they had located the vehicle, whether or not it was in Mexico was never confirmed, and that it was mine if I still wanted it. Being the bigger man I accepted his apology and went in the next morning to pick up the car. I was still feeling a little bit annoyed with the way Kent had acted and for his sake I’m glad we didn’t run into each other again. In preparation I had done 14.5 girl pushups in the hotel room that morning and I was ready to BRING IT ON if he so much as looked at me.

Through all the drama, I ended up getting the car and I am now a proud own of a metallic blue, Toyota Matrix. It’s so hot. Or I should say SHE’S so hot. I named her Lo. And yes, it is in reference to Lauren Condrad’s BFF Lo Bosworth of The Hills and Laguna Beach fame and bestselling author of “The Lo Down”. I picked the name for several reasons. Firstly, to say I LOVE The Hills would be a huge understatement. Secondly, she’s a California Girl. Thirdly, on the drive back to Washington I may have listened to the show’s theme song “Unwritten” on repeat for more miles than I care to admit. Fourthly, just like Lo on the show, my Lo knows how to create her own bit of drama, even if it was on a used car lot. And lastly, I’ve found myself really identifying with Lauren Conrad these days. More so Season 5 Lauren. You see, just like Lauren I’m entering a transitioning period of life. Just like Lauren had to move on from her treasured memories on The Hills, I too will always cherish my memories with Burt. But I’m ready for some new adventures wherever they await. Be it as an aspiring career as a reality television star? A new home? A new relationship? As they say, the rest is still unwritten.

Oh, the Magic of Macy's

The holiday season has finally come to a close, which has meant much rest and recuperation from my first holiday retail job. I feel that I’ve earned it. I hadn’t really planned on taking a job at Macy’s but seeing as job offers weren’t exactly raining like manna from heaven (and gin and tonics don’t pay for themselves) I decided making minimum wage over the Christmas season could have its perks. My favorite department I got to work in was definitely Men’s. Probably because I actually knew what the hell I was talking about when a customer had a question. My favorite part of the job was helping poor, tired, run down housewives who’s husbands were too lazy to come in and pick out their own flannel shirt. It wasn’t always easy and I definitely had some tough questions thrown at me, but I thrived on a good challenge and I feel like I may have found my newest spiritual gift that isn’t parallel parking. Example: Randomn, stressed out woman walks up to me and asks me, “What kind of sweater would you buy for someone who sells Subaru’s????” Piece of cake. Showed her a nice Izod green with grey stripes sweater. SHE. LOVED. IT. I told her I felt it was “very Oregon”. Call me what you like. A Miracle Worker? Rachel Zoe? I’ll answer to both.

One of the things that first drew me to the job at Macy’s was the fact that I had just begun reading “Holidays on Ice” by David Sedaris where he details his experience working as an elf at Macy’s. Sadly Walla Walla can’t afford the price/space to house Santa’s Workshop so my dreams of following in David’s tiny elf footsteps were quickly doused. HOWEVER, I did have my fair share of rubbing elbows with Christmas Royalty. Perhaps you’ve heard of the woman they call Mrs. Clause?? I first noticed her in the Ralph Lauren section thumbing through some red x-large sweaters. She came up to me and asked me what else I had in red. She was a little perturbed that our store didn’t carry any Tommy Bahama and I neglected to tell her that it was probably a blessing in disguise. She told me she was going to a party with her husband that night and then clarified that she was actually married to Santa. I laughed. Thought she was probably kidding….she wasn’t. She looked at me and blurted, “no really, he was in the parade this year”. Now unless memory fails me, I don’t recall the chapter in “Holidays on Ice” where David Sedaris helped Mrs. Clause pick out a holiday sweater for Ol’ Saint Nick. Do you? Yep. That’s what I thought. One point Rob Sesser. Zero points David Sedaris.

One of the downsides to working retail is the fact that you hold all the customers answers, or at least you pretend to, and every so often you become the bearer of bad news. One incident that sticks out in my mind involved having to tell a man 10 minutes before we closed on Christmas Eve that the coupons he brought in didn’t apply to the shoulderless Guess shirt he was hoping to buy. I thought he would take the news well. The men usually do, however English was obviously not his primary language and I’ve become a little rusty on my Spanish. I blame it on the fact that my first Spanish teacher was more concerned about finding the soonest opportune moment to slip another shot of tequila into his coffee versus teaching me how to conjugate. Regardless, nobody likes to be told that in fact they will not be saving $50 on said purchase. After some awkward blank stares and me trying my best to speak slowly and use very large gestures he threw me a bit of a curve ball by looking me square in the eyes as he ripped to shreds all his coupons before handing them back to me to be thrown away. Feliz Navidad??

But as anyone who’s ever worked in customer service knows, the hardest part of the job is dealing with an unhappy customer. My favorite tactic for dealing with rude and self obsessed customers is to be overly friendly. Kill them with kindness, ya know I mean? It’s an old habit I picked up from my Starbucks days. So when miss sass came up to my counter and told me she needed a gift receipt for a purchase she had made yesterday I knew there would be trouble. I explained to her that the only way to get her a gift receipt would be for her to return the items and repurchase them. You could have heard a pin drop in that room the moment I laid down the news.

Crazy person: “IT”S NOT MY FAULT!!!!”, she repeatedly snapped.

Me: “Yes I realize that ma’am, but it will only take a few minutes to make the return”.

Gurrl didn’t have a few minutes. Gurl had places to go! People to see! Every moment with me was moment missed on Days of our Lives. She snatched the receipt from my sweaty palm and power walked it out to the back parking lot only to return shortly with all the items and a credit card. If looks could kill I’m not sure that I would have made it to my final 15-minute break. While making the exchange, I received nothing but constant glares, loud sighs and uncomfortable grunts. I put the items and the gift receipts inside the bag, put a big smile on my face and said, "Sooooooooo sorry about that, thanks for shopping at Macy’s, HAVE A GREAT DAY!!" That was the last thing she wanted to hear, and boy did I love saying it.

Seeing as it was the season of giving it was a lot of fun helping people find gifts for their loved ones and I just have to say that I now think that kids buying presents for their parents is the most adorable thing EVER. For one thing, they never know how much money to give you, their parents are always nearby pretending not to notice, and they buy the most random things; such as the little boy who bought his mom a popcorn maker. Not a bad choice considering I had just sold a shiny, glitter, camouflage purse to a dad who was buying it for his kids to give their mom for Christmas. It takes a special kind of woman to love a purse that ugly…I really hope that’s what she wanted cuz that gift could easily have ended that marriage. Anyways, poor little guy had a big boy wallet that was a bit snug inside his little boy skinny jeans pocket so we spent about a minute trying to get the damn thing out. Luckily there wasn’t a line behind him otherwise I may have resorted to grabbing my scissors and cutting it out. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure I make my sales goal for the day.

Burt

An old friend has returned to my life. His name is Burt. For those of you who don't know, Burt is my Rav4 who after spending the past year being neglected and living under an old pine tree, is finally insured! Thanks Geico. Now that i have a job and recently turned 25, I figured I could probably afford the monthly rate which has gone down by 20 bucks since a year ago. Sometimes growing older and not being incarcerated within the past 5 years can really pay off!

I'm actually really excited to be able to drive Burt again because even though he is getting on in years (he's a '97), has butt dents on his roof (my friends and i used to sit on him while watching summer lightening storms), has touchy dashboard lights that only come on when I pound the dash with my fist, and takes roughly 2 minutes to go from 0-60 (this has caused some tense situations on major highways), he's been my most faithful companion through the past decade. It took quite a few years for me to actually come up with a name for Burt. I think it was actually my old roommate Sam who named him as we were listening to the song "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head" on our way back to Walla Walla from Seattle during a break from school. I think the artists name was Burt and the name seemed to fit. Strangely most of my close friends now know him by name and often ask me how he's doing. During recent visits to Seattle several friends would ask where Burt was or complain that it just wasn't the same not having him along for the ride. Even more strange is that in recent years when alone in the car I found myself having one sided conversations with Burt about my day or how I'm feeling. And this is why I should really look into getting a dog...beta fish...antfarm...therapist.

The picture shown above is of Burt and I back in 2001, right after we first found each other. Back when I had a size 26 pant waist, had a whole lot more hair, and was about to celebrate my sweet 16. And yes, this picture was taken with a Poloraoid Camera because we were and still are the original hipsters. Deal with it. Me and the parents were about to leave for Portland to go car shopping when Mama Sesser spotted him driving through the Safeway parking lot with a for sale sign. Destiny. We bought him that day and I was beyond ecstatic because like every other 40 year old soccer mom, I had always dreamed of owning a Rav4. You think I'm joking. I begged my parents to let me sleep in the back seat the first night that we brought him home but they told me that was weird and that I'd catch pneumonia. They were probably right, I did suffer from a very weak immune system at the time.

I've had many wonderful memories with Burt such as a road trip to Disneyland, several first dates, the drive through window at Wendy's, high school dances, driving down the highway singing Kelly Clarkson's "A Moment Like This" as we spontaneously spun a 360 off of the highway into a snowbank while narrowly escaping death by an oncoming semi truck......... Burt has also gone through some rough times. We almost lost him during the winter of '09. I was at a funeral in California when a tree fell right on top of the poor lil guy. For some reason my roommates at the time, who shall remain nameless, (their names rhyme with Dusty and Austin and if you have any knowledge as to their whereabouts....) didn't feel the need to tell me this small detail. Even after parking the car AND watching the tree fall. I found out the old fashioned way. A friend wrote on my Facebook wall and said they'd seen Burt on the morning news and hoped he was ok. Good ol Burt, we are so much alike. We'd do anything to get on the local news. And I mean AN.Y.THING.

So today, after hanging up with Geico I waded my way through snow drifts to the back of the house where Burt has been living and of course all the doors were frozen shut except the back one. After maneuvering over the seats in my snow boots and parka and pulling several muscle groups along the way, I put the key in the ignition only to find out the battery was dead. Luckily Papa Sesser was home on his lunch break and offered to tow Burt to the driveway. Once there I poured copious amounts of boiling hot water onto the hood of the car thus allowing me the ability to pry it open and jump start the battery. I am happy to report now that Burt is as good as new and getting a well deserved night in the Sesser garage. That little trooper has certainly earned it.

It's fun to stay at the...

New Years Eve will be here before you know it so I've taken a head start on my yearly resolutions and purchased myself a membership to the....YMCA!!! Yesterday was my first day hitting the gym and I focused only on doing some cardio but today I decided it was time to play with the big boys. No more elliptical for this guy, it was time for some weight lifting. I'm not really much of a free weight kinda guy. Frankly I'm afraid of no one hearing my screams for help as I'm being crushed alive on the bench press and I feel kinda lame having to take off the 50lb weights from whoever went before me and replacing them with a pair of 20's. Ugh. So I decided to try the machines, but as fate would have it they were all taken up by an insane amount of senior citizens. I guess water aerobics was cancelled today? Anyways I saw one open machine but then that meant out of like 15 manned/womaned machines I was the youngest person by a good half decade. So then I figured I'd try the Dumbbells. Yes Dumbbells sounded great. I start doing curls with pair of 30's.....ok they were actually 25's, and who do I end up standing next to? Yep. One of the jocks I went to high-school with whose arms are now the size of my quad, except much more tan. I should have known this would happen. Now to begin with I'm not real fond of running into people that I know at the gym. For one this I've usually just rolled out of bed or I'm dripping in sweat from my level 7 fat burner workout on the stairmaster. And more than anything I loathe it when that person turns out to be someone who knew me in high-school when I had acne, wore socks with my favorite Payless sandals and weighed a healthy 110 lbs. I was beyond flustered. So as I'm doing my reps in front of the mirror and and catching awkward glances from this guy I'm pondering, "Should I say hi?", "Does he even remember me", " You never acknoldged my existence when I sat beside you in Current World Events so why start now?" Granted i'm assuming we've both matured somewhat since those days and people are normally friendlier once they leave behind the social norms of high-school but you just never know. Something about running into these sort of people from my past just brings out that insecure high-school freshman deep down inside of me. Hopefully I get over it by the time my worst nightmare arrives. The ten year reunion. Ick.

Bye Bye Bye...tonsils

So this past week or so has been a long one. It began with what my anesthesiologist described as "an assault on my throat". At the ripe old age of 24 I finally had my tonsils removed. Why the doctors didn't just take them out as a youngster like the majority of the population I'll never know. Through the years, experts had always assured me that I had abnormally small tonsils that shouldn't cause me any problems. And of course being the trusting, blindly follow kind of person I am I believed their words. Then came the sporadic sore throats and what I can only grossly describe as cottage cheese like entities that I'd hack up at very inopportune times. I finally decided enough was enough. The tonsils needed to go.

So last Tuesday was the big day. I had been good and not eaten past midnight the previous night. In preparation my calorie intake that Monday rivaled that of a squirrel ravenously preparing for winter. Going without food is something I'm not very good at so in preparation I consumed roughly 4,000 calories with the hope my body would slowly digest over the first few days post surgery. I was the first patient that morning and mom and dad drove me there at the ungodly hour of 6:30. After stripping down to my boxers and putting on the gown and requesting several warm blankets they wheeled me in to the surgery room. The last thing I remember before going under was the cold sensation of the anesthesia rushing through my blood stream and Dr. Rice telling me that this was Michael Jackson's drug of choice. What about that statement was supposed to bring me comfort!?!?! This stuff killed him!?!?! He'd obviously missed the memo about me being the unrefuted prince of pop (shut your mouth Justin Bieber) and had I succumb to the same sort of tragedy that took Michael the world would have mourned. Mourned I tell you!

The first few days were not fun. However it was by no means as bad as when I had my wisdom teeth taken out. That was pure hell and if anyone had offered me a diet coke with a teaspoon of arsenic during those dark days I would have graciously thanked them and asked for a straw. It was that bad. One thing you quickly come to realize after a tonsillectomy is how often the average human swallows in a day. I was told it was somewhere around 600. That sure felt a like a low estimate!! Oh and waking up several times every night to the sensation of blooding flowing down your throat gets real old real fast. After one such night my parents decided it was time for a check up to make sure everything was ok. When the doctor asked how much I had bled during the night I was doing my best to guesstimate while under the affect of painkillers. Then completely out of left field my mother pulls out of her Vera Bradley purse a Ziploc bag bulging with all my bloody Kleenex's that she had collected while I was sleeping. Oh yeah, and then my dad felt the need to inform the doctor that the bleeding occurred simultaneously with my first bowel movement in three days. I. WANTED. TO. DIE. (P.S. Mom and Dad if you are reading this, I forgive you and realize now that you did this out of love. xoxo) There has been one at least positive thing that has come from this whole ordeal. I've always said that I was one stomach flu away from my ideal weight. Alright, maybe I've only been saying it since 2006 because I totally stole it from Emily Blunt's character in 'The Devil Wears Prada'. But now I can safely say that I am one tonsillectomy away from my ideal weight! It truly boggles the mind how much weight someone can lose when their only calorie intake for the day is 5 cups of shaved ice, a bowl of blue Jello, and a Tazo Berry Blossom tea with two splenda and a splash of honey! Why didn't anyone tell me about this diet years ago!? Maybe I should write a book because the world must hear the good news.

Four Eyes

Yes. That is correct. The picture above is of me and I'm biting my finger to contain my enthusiasm because I'm so freakin excited. I just picked up my new pair of glasses and the world is now a much clearer and vibrant place. The past few weeks have been a bit rough because I had been suffering from really bad headaches that would not go away. First I blamed it on a possible sinus infection because Lord knows that wouldn't be a stretch for me this time of year. The doctor gave me some antibiotics which did nothing for the headache but did clear up my skin so that I looked fabulous for my San Francisco trip. Thanks walk-in-clinic :) FInally figured it might be my glasses and sure enough my prescription was too strong because my vision has somehow improved! It's a miracle (heaven opens up, angels sings, and doves are flying everywhere)!!!

Now don't let's be mistaken. Wearing a pair of glasses hasn't always been a bed of roses. The first pair of glasses I had were in the 1st grade. I think at that time I was excited to have glasses but the novelty quickly faded from view. It only got worse when my mother and optometrist came to the unanimous conclusion that extremely light sensitive Robbie James needed transition lenses. That happened around 3rd grade and whenever I see pictures from those years I just have to cringe. For one thing, I had a bowl cut the size of Crater Lake and my glasses took so long to transition back once I returned from recess that i was in a constant state of tint. And don't be fooled by my happy appearance in the above picture. Putting on a smile and facing the world was simply a coping mechanism.The only thing that kept me going in those days were the whisperings from Mom and Dad that once I reached high-school i could get contacts.

All was fine and dandy until recently when my eyes dried up like the Dead Sea and my optometrist gave me the cold hard facts. Nowhere in the near future will my eyes be able to support contacts due to the fact that my eyes don't create enough moisture for sustainable living!!!!! Luckily all of this is happening in a day and age where glasses are cool. Hip you might say. Last year i bought a pair of glasses somewhat similar to the ones I have now and people would not shut up about how great they thought they were. I must admit they were pretty cool and they did have fleur de lis on the side. Sometimes I just ooze classiness. Needless to say, these days people would kill for my imperfect vision. I've been offered couples first born children in exchange for my stigmatism. And who can blame them because nothing is more lame that a poser in non prescription glasses. Well unless you're Britney Spears. Because let's be clear people. How adorable does she look here???? Love you Brit :)

In closing I would just like to thank all the people in this world who have made my home called earth a place where people can be openly out and proud about the fact that they wear glasses. Gone are the days of ignorant jokes and feeling less attractive for something completely out of my control. These days when walking down the street I'm greeted by uplifting words such as:

Random stranger: Well heeeeeeeelllllllllloooooooo there four eyes!

Me: Thanks for noticing.

Random barista: I think your stigmatism's sexy!

Me: I get that a lot.

New Blog Title

Well now that my "10 MOnths in AmeriCorps" are over I've decided that it's time for a new title for the blog.
Growing up as a small child in rural Eastern Washington, I spent many a day contemplating the fame I would gain in my adult life. The lights. The cameras. The tabloid covers. But most importantly I spent a lot of time thinking about the name of my future memoirs that my screaming fans would be understandably begging me to release. Early on I had decided upon the name Robsessed for obvious reasons. For one thing it sounds awesome and it's basically my whole name minus the R. Clever right? So you can can imagine my horror the day i get a facebook post from my friend Jess Miller alerting me to the fact that freakin Robert Pattinson must have gained access to my childhood diary labeled 1994 and stolen my title! It's a sick sick world we live in folks. But I've persevered. The show must go on. And so in spite of copy right infringement and the looming possibility of being eaten alive by the Cullen family I have decided to stand my ground and claim what is rightfully mine. Therefore, from this day forward my blog shall be known as: ROBSESSED......... go team Jacob!