Apparently I am one of the few souls who subscribe to the belief that the gym is a place to :
-burn calories through cardiovascular exercise and thus maintain ones shape
-improve physical health by increasing metabolism and thus improving body system efficiency
-release stress through physical exertion and release of endorphins to promote health and well being
With nary an ounce of makeup or care for my physical appearance, I throw on my requisite spandex and sports top and spend a blissful 35 minutes on the treadmill , blasting my iPod and pounding out the days stress to Rihanna or Jay Zee. My ears may subsequently ring in protest over the increased music volume they were unmercifully exposed to, but at the end you can be assured I am dripping wet, exhausted and smiling; the last thing on my mind my appearance or a prospective date I may conjure up between the cardiovascular equipment on the second floor and the water fountain near the back bathroom.
As I said, I appear to be in the minority.
I work out at a popular fitness chain that will remain nameless, and the souls that frequent this former establishment of health and well being have transformed it into hook up central with their ridiculous preening and manipulative tactics to elicit any type of attention and possible assignation with a member of the opposite sex.
Apparently now the gym is a place to:
-Wear an inordinate amount of makeup, a thong up said cheeks and occupy a treadmill for an hour with a sweat inducing “stroll” as you attempt to elicit conversation with any man with an established pulse and respiratory rate.
-Troll the free weights in dolphin shorts and a muscle shirt, inflicting self proclaimed and surely imagined weight lifting prowess and personal training tips to any female who gives you half a glance and yet never invites your “advances”.
-Clog the hallways between aerobics classes as you leer at the local professional football cheer squad during their thrice weekly practice sessions, blocking the way of those individuals who actually come to the gym to work out.
My favorite suspect is the middle aged man who wears a skin tight unitard (I kid you not) that leaves nothing to the imagination downstairs (beware of meal consumption prior to this) yet still showcases his skinny white legs and spindly arms. To top it off, he has an odor that could finish the war in Iraq so ferocious is its intensity. And he is seemingly oblivious for several times throughout the course of the evenings “workout” he will pause to admire his appearance in the floor to ceiling mirrors, smiling and nodding his head while I stare unabashed at his ridiculousness.
I am not unkind dear reader, rather pitying than poking fun at the glaringly pathetic. However I resent having to endure this individual’s creepy stare and horrid odor as he pauses to start a conversation with me every time I am on the treadmill, ear phones and iPod blocking verbal and auditory communication process. He just does not get it. Tonight his smell preceded him as it wafted up the stairs, signaling my urgent and relieved departure to the women’s locker room.
I understand and embrace any dating opportunity that presents itself, whether it is at the gym, the mall, the car wash, wherever fate intervenes and provides an attractive and prospective suitor. However, I wish there was a separate sector of the gym relegated to those desperate souls who will employ any tactic to hook up and in turn disturb those of us in pursuit of good health by occupying scarce cardio equipment and our previous time with your ridiculous and manipulative actions. At least have the decency to wear deodorant and pop an altoid.
Thursday, October 30, 2008
Friday, October 24, 2008
Significance of the gold band.
As I travel quite a bit for my profession, and being the proverbial observer of human nature (or a nosy people watcher as my mother so aptly dubbed me) I am constantly provided opportunities to interact with and thus assess my fellow weary travelers. The experiences are consistently interesting, occasionally dubious, and alternately provide exasperation and humor... As a result of said interactions, one is often reminded how sleep deprivation and extended periods of isolation do not always provide key elements for enlightened conversation or behavior, i.e. sometimes I wonder how people can act the way they do and expect to get away with it??
People assume that traveling for business provides a plethora of opportunities for meeting potential matches, for what could be more glamorous than visiting exciting cities and mingling with other career professionals of like mind?
Well, I have been traveling for business for close to ten years, and I have yet to meet my life partner as a result of this. I have met a lot of yahoos, namely married men who seem to think the right handed band signifies a license to thrill, rather than the lifetime commitment so pledged in the eyes of God, man, and your scowling mother in law.
Just so you know, oh nomad of the skies, looking for some simple minded female who will look past the gold band you obviously consider your shackle, I do respect the significance of the gold, and I do not believe it is your pinky ring thus moved to your fourth finger due to the miraculous weight loss in your right hand. The tan line gives it away. Look for some other fool who feels adultery does not count if it occurs in another zip code. Those same individuals look for guidance on the inside of a bazooka wrapper. For my conscience, hell fire and brimstone trump giving in to carnal desire any day.
Call me crazy, I always wanted my own boyfriend, not someone else’s.
I will end this chapter with a true story. I was recently flying home from a stressful business trip, sitting in the gate area, engrossed in my computer work when a voice piped up above my head. “Are you waiting for the flight to San Diego?” I wanted to say, “No, I just enjoy the delayed wireless internet access the airport provides” or some sarcastic retort, but instead I looked up to my horror into a pair of beady eyes and shimmer of perspiration above a pair of thin lips eagerly peering down my neckline. “Yes, it is.” I did not want to be rude, but right away I could tell this little man, with wedding ring intact and on display, was looking for more than casual business speak, and I was in no mood to pursue this. After five more minutes of inane conversation, I whispered my hail Mary’s and threw into the conversation that I could not wait to “see my husband when I got home.” God will forgive this lie as my intent was to deter this creep with the ill intentions. Still it did not sway his pursuit, and endless series of questions as to where I lived, worked, what show size, car, type of tile grout, you get the gist, endless probing that I was beginning to resent.
Finally divine intervention came in the form of the first class cabin boarding, and the creepy stranger left.
Much to my dismay, twenty minutes later, as I was boarding with the other “sardines” into the last confines of the economy class cabin, the creep was waiting for me at the boarding door, and asked loudly “if I wanted a glass of wine”. I rolled my eyes and kept walking, amazed at the depth at some individuals will stoop in the pursuit of their sex drive.
Adultery is adultery no matter how you slice it, and as for myself, the gold band has as much significance as a red flashing sign at a construction site, “DO NOT ENTER”. And this is one rule I have no problem complying with.
People assume that traveling for business provides a plethora of opportunities for meeting potential matches, for what could be more glamorous than visiting exciting cities and mingling with other career professionals of like mind?
Well, I have been traveling for business for close to ten years, and I have yet to meet my life partner as a result of this. I have met a lot of yahoos, namely married men who seem to think the right handed band signifies a license to thrill, rather than the lifetime commitment so pledged in the eyes of God, man, and your scowling mother in law.
Just so you know, oh nomad of the skies, looking for some simple minded female who will look past the gold band you obviously consider your shackle, I do respect the significance of the gold, and I do not believe it is your pinky ring thus moved to your fourth finger due to the miraculous weight loss in your right hand. The tan line gives it away. Look for some other fool who feels adultery does not count if it occurs in another zip code. Those same individuals look for guidance on the inside of a bazooka wrapper. For my conscience, hell fire and brimstone trump giving in to carnal desire any day.
Call me crazy, I always wanted my own boyfriend, not someone else’s.
I will end this chapter with a true story. I was recently flying home from a stressful business trip, sitting in the gate area, engrossed in my computer work when a voice piped up above my head. “Are you waiting for the flight to San Diego?” I wanted to say, “No, I just enjoy the delayed wireless internet access the airport provides” or some sarcastic retort, but instead I looked up to my horror into a pair of beady eyes and shimmer of perspiration above a pair of thin lips eagerly peering down my neckline. “Yes, it is.” I did not want to be rude, but right away I could tell this little man, with wedding ring intact and on display, was looking for more than casual business speak, and I was in no mood to pursue this. After five more minutes of inane conversation, I whispered my hail Mary’s and threw into the conversation that I could not wait to “see my husband when I got home.” God will forgive this lie as my intent was to deter this creep with the ill intentions. Still it did not sway his pursuit, and endless series of questions as to where I lived, worked, what show size, car, type of tile grout, you get the gist, endless probing that I was beginning to resent.
Finally divine intervention came in the form of the first class cabin boarding, and the creepy stranger left.
Much to my dismay, twenty minutes later, as I was boarding with the other “sardines” into the last confines of the economy class cabin, the creep was waiting for me at the boarding door, and asked loudly “if I wanted a glass of wine”. I rolled my eyes and kept walking, amazed at the depth at some individuals will stoop in the pursuit of their sex drive.
Adultery is adultery no matter how you slice it, and as for myself, the gold band has as much significance as a red flashing sign at a construction site, “DO NOT ENTER”. And this is one rule I have no problem complying with.
Saturday, October 18, 2008
Mismanagement of Love
Most of us, including myself, have been guilt of “mismanagement of love”. With regard to matters of the heart, our once rigorous control is lost, our proverbial filters lose their ability to asses and ultimately judge, thus words and actions are compulsively implemented prior to consideration, much to our regret. Why are those of us, blessed with incredible business savvy, tactical diplomacy with co workers and clients, brilliant perspective with interpersonal relationships and methodical consideration with financial and professional decisions, lose our edge regarding “love” , that ever elusivity and keen sense that navigates our decisions and words? When it comes to romance, we are too enthusiastic, too available, our words sometimes trite and unconsidered, our actions immature, we sometimes compromise standards religiously adhered to in other areas of line. WE become as obvious as “drunk girl” on Saturday night live, staggering around with our proverbial neon billboard flashing our desire, advertising our loneliness every 2.5 seconds, baring our soul in our romantically misguided notion that we should do “anything for love”. Has this gotten us anywhere? When desperation comprises our internal GPS, it becomes time to mimic the practical brown bear, and hibernate for the winter or darkness, or at least hole up behind closed shutters until the time of repression of standards and low self esteem has passed. For the consequences resulting from bad decisions have far reaching and highly adverse implications, that can permanently wound the soul.
No one should be blamed for wearing this self deprecating cloak, for if one has experienced an unwilling period of solace, or an extended dry spell, the need for human contact, tenderness, intimacy and validation becomes a tangible, uncontrolled hunger requiring satisfaction. However, once the season of darkness has passed, and the sun appears overhead to provide its light and comfort, you may turn over and shudder in horror over the person lying beside you, chosen when your GPS was in the shop for repairs, and your loneliness overcame your good sense, i.e. you chose at the wrong time.
Take periodic stock over your internal compass, the content of your heart, become painfully self aware of how you are feeling about yourself, your life and your heart, that you may recognize your own ability or lack thereof to attract and choose the right person for yourself. These decisions must be crucially considered and thus implemented only when one is feeling internally strong and self confident, cognoscenti of self worth, invigorated by self love, with the filter clean and running strong. It is only the rest of your life you know. And most of us are only provided one out of jail free card.
No one should be blamed for wearing this self deprecating cloak, for if one has experienced an unwilling period of solace, or an extended dry spell, the need for human contact, tenderness, intimacy and validation becomes a tangible, uncontrolled hunger requiring satisfaction. However, once the season of darkness has passed, and the sun appears overhead to provide its light and comfort, you may turn over and shudder in horror over the person lying beside you, chosen when your GPS was in the shop for repairs, and your loneliness overcame your good sense, i.e. you chose at the wrong time.
Take periodic stock over your internal compass, the content of your heart, become painfully self aware of how you are feeling about yourself, your life and your heart, that you may recognize your own ability or lack thereof to attract and choose the right person for yourself. These decisions must be crucially considered and thus implemented only when one is feeling internally strong and self confident, cognoscenti of self worth, invigorated by self love, with the filter clean and running strong. It is only the rest of your life you know. And most of us are only provided one out of jail free card.
Monday, October 13, 2008
10 cheesiest pick up lines I have had the misfortune to recall.
Worst pick up lines I have had the misfortune to recall.
After years in the dating trenches, with an accumulation of good and terrible dating experiences beneath the proverbial belt, I feel thus compelled to recall some of my favorite cheesy pick up lines, undoubtedly recycled by the ill intended lotharios who had the misfortune to utter them.
10-Him “My eyes are hurting me”
Her-“and why is that?”
Him-“Your eyes are so bright, because the stars fell from the skies and placed their light within your eyes, blinding me with their intensity”
Her-"No, your vision problems are most likely a result of over administration of visine to eliminate the proverbial redness from all the pot you have been smoking.”
9. Him-“your legs must be tired”
Her-“And why is that”
Him-“Because you have been running around in my mind all night!”
Her-"No, my legs are sore from all of the core training I have compled in preparation for running far and fast from anyone uttering such a ridiculous pick up line”. .
8-Him, after introduction to his female victim-“Enough about you, let’s talk about me.”
That one was honestly pretty clever and deserves a cheesiness reprieve.
7-Him-“ I knew I recognized you.”
Her-“From where?”
Him-“You were first runner up in the Miss America 2007 pageant, right?”
Her-“No, but I am the winner of the ‘knowing what a fool you are contest’, 2008.”
6. Him-“Do you have an aspirin?”
Her-“What for?”
Him-“ I need something for the pain I feel of not knowing who you are”.
Her-“And I need a valium to help me forget I ever met you.”
5. Him-“Come here often?”
Her-“Not anymore”.
4. Him-“Hey baby, what’s your sign?” (Yes this is actually still attempted)
Her “I have a sign for you buddy. Let me just put down my drink long enough to raise both my hands in a universal we both know and understand.”
3. Him-“I’d really love to continue this conversation about the election at my place, it’s so loud in here.”
Her-“I vote NO!”
2. Him-“Hey baby, I don’t play games.”
Her, “I do. My favorite is called, “watch the loser leave alone.”
And finally, drum role, the cheesiest pick up line I have EVER heard
1 Him-“Where have you been all my life?”
Her-“In the leprosy camp. My skin treatments are progressing nicely don’t you think?”
Bless the sweet ones with honest and sincere words, and pity the earnest fools who will try anything but an honest approach, who in ten years will still be supplying unwitting girls with this ridiculous approach while adjusting their hairpieces and wondering why they are still alone.
After years in the dating trenches, with an accumulation of good and terrible dating experiences beneath the proverbial belt, I feel thus compelled to recall some of my favorite cheesy pick up lines, undoubtedly recycled by the ill intended lotharios who had the misfortune to utter them.
10-Him “My eyes are hurting me”
Her-“and why is that?”
Him-“Your eyes are so bright, because the stars fell from the skies and placed their light within your eyes, blinding me with their intensity”
Her-"No, your vision problems are most likely a result of over administration of visine to eliminate the proverbial redness from all the pot you have been smoking.”
9. Him-“your legs must be tired”
Her-“And why is that”
Him-“Because you have been running around in my mind all night!”
Her-"No, my legs are sore from all of the core training I have compled in preparation for running far and fast from anyone uttering such a ridiculous pick up line”. .
8-Him, after introduction to his female victim-“Enough about you, let’s talk about me.”
That one was honestly pretty clever and deserves a cheesiness reprieve.
7-Him-“ I knew I recognized you.”
Her-“From where?”
Him-“You were first runner up in the Miss America 2007 pageant, right?”
Her-“No, but I am the winner of the ‘knowing what a fool you are contest’, 2008.”
6. Him-“Do you have an aspirin?”
Her-“What for?”
Him-“ I need something for the pain I feel of not knowing who you are”.
Her-“And I need a valium to help me forget I ever met you.”
5. Him-“Come here often?”
Her-“Not anymore”.
4. Him-“Hey baby, what’s your sign?” (Yes this is actually still attempted)
Her “I have a sign for you buddy. Let me just put down my drink long enough to raise both my hands in a universal we both know and understand.”
3. Him-“I’d really love to continue this conversation about the election at my place, it’s so loud in here.”
Her-“I vote NO!”
2. Him-“Hey baby, I don’t play games.”
Her, “I do. My favorite is called, “watch the loser leave alone.”
And finally, drum role, the cheesiest pick up line I have EVER heard
1 Him-“Where have you been all my life?”
Her-“In the leprosy camp. My skin treatments are progressing nicely don’t you think?”
Bless the sweet ones with honest and sincere words, and pity the earnest fools who will try anything but an honest approach, who in ten years will still be supplying unwitting girls with this ridiculous approach while adjusting their hairpieces and wondering why they are still alone.
Wednesday, October 8, 2008
Ode to the clue deficient
How to take a hint
We know the scene well. Typical Friday night at your favorite watering hole, watching the “lovelies” troll around the dance floor, those Jersey boys with slicked back hair, baggy jeans and bad acne who (have to) mimic the godfather’s quintessential gangster accent, look you up and down with beady, close set eyes that make you break out into a cold sweat and test your gag reflex to an infinite degree, and utter, “how you doing?”. You shudder as you helplessly appeal to your prince charming with the jewel green eyes and sexy smile across the room, willing him to come to your aid and save you from the sweaty palms and noxious breath of the guy who should not be hitting on you, the relentless, driven creepazoid with the tenacity to approach attractive females as if they are proverbial “pieces of meat” and give the nice, respectable guys a bad name. The guy who thinks Z cavaricci pants are still in style, the guy who used an entire can of plaster of paris on his hair, the guy who thinks brushing closely against you as he swaggers by is an attractive mating effort. .
Why does the “oh no he didn’t” guy always unfortunately “do it?” And why does prince charming lack the psychic know how to sense your distress and come to your aid, saving you from the ones who won’t give up.
I call these men who cannot take a hint the “clue deficient”, for they are as consistent as the ocean’s current in their pursuit of our affection and attention and fail to recognize the most obvious rebuff to each overture.
I once had a guy seriously follow me after I walked away from his multiple, disgusting attempts to sway me to dance, “just one little dance” as king kong put it. Each excuse seemed to spur him on, from no thank you, I have a boyfriend, I have a terminal illness, foot drop, out of control body odor, I am entering a convent, I’m abstaining for lent, I have to save my friend from her murderous ex husband…Nothing seemed to work. Which begs the question, why these are fools unable to see the writing on the wall?. NO self respecting female with an ounce of self esteem will give the time of day to a sleazy guy who blatantly rubs up against you before proffering a name or introduction, and who makes a mockery of the initial flirting ritual with leering evidence of his intent. It has nothing to do with looks, either. It is all in the delivery. A polite, respectful inquiry into one’s heath, evening, as a lead in to the initial conversation in lieu of the quintessential “hey baby” (who even says that anymore) greeting will do a world of wonders toward your progress in striking up a conversation with the object of your affections.
One evening I witnessed a triumphant scene where justice prevailed. A smart female, tired of politely providing ignored excuses to a creepy guy getting too friendly (groping her), threw her drink in his face and stormed to the side of her ignorant prince charming, thus thwarting the maneuvers of her “clue deficient” swain and seizing the opportunity to meet her prospective match in one fell swoop. I am now the official president of her North American Fan Club. Security threw the guy out on his keister.
And what do I say to the clue deficient, the creepy guys who cannot take no for an answer, with the limited cognitive ability to recognize that sleazy pick up lines really DON”T work no matter what your unemployed, couch cemented older brother with the receding hairline told you. Try and honest and respectful approach, and you won’t end up with Jack Daniels in your face and a bad taste in your mouth from all the proverbial crow you have eaten.
We know the scene well. Typical Friday night at your favorite watering hole, watching the “lovelies” troll around the dance floor, those Jersey boys with slicked back hair, baggy jeans and bad acne who (have to) mimic the godfather’s quintessential gangster accent, look you up and down with beady, close set eyes that make you break out into a cold sweat and test your gag reflex to an infinite degree, and utter, “how you doing?”. You shudder as you helplessly appeal to your prince charming with the jewel green eyes and sexy smile across the room, willing him to come to your aid and save you from the sweaty palms and noxious breath of the guy who should not be hitting on you, the relentless, driven creepazoid with the tenacity to approach attractive females as if they are proverbial “pieces of meat” and give the nice, respectable guys a bad name. The guy who thinks Z cavaricci pants are still in style, the guy who used an entire can of plaster of paris on his hair, the guy who thinks brushing closely against you as he swaggers by is an attractive mating effort. .
Why does the “oh no he didn’t” guy always unfortunately “do it?” And why does prince charming lack the psychic know how to sense your distress and come to your aid, saving you from the ones who won’t give up.
I call these men who cannot take a hint the “clue deficient”, for they are as consistent as the ocean’s current in their pursuit of our affection and attention and fail to recognize the most obvious rebuff to each overture.
I once had a guy seriously follow me after I walked away from his multiple, disgusting attempts to sway me to dance, “just one little dance” as king kong put it. Each excuse seemed to spur him on, from no thank you, I have a boyfriend, I have a terminal illness, foot drop, out of control body odor, I am entering a convent, I’m abstaining for lent, I have to save my friend from her murderous ex husband…Nothing seemed to work. Which begs the question, why these are fools unable to see the writing on the wall?. NO self respecting female with an ounce of self esteem will give the time of day to a sleazy guy who blatantly rubs up against you before proffering a name or introduction, and who makes a mockery of the initial flirting ritual with leering evidence of his intent. It has nothing to do with looks, either. It is all in the delivery. A polite, respectful inquiry into one’s heath, evening, as a lead in to the initial conversation in lieu of the quintessential “hey baby” (who even says that anymore) greeting will do a world of wonders toward your progress in striking up a conversation with the object of your affections.
One evening I witnessed a triumphant scene where justice prevailed. A smart female, tired of politely providing ignored excuses to a creepy guy getting too friendly (groping her), threw her drink in his face and stormed to the side of her ignorant prince charming, thus thwarting the maneuvers of her “clue deficient” swain and seizing the opportunity to meet her prospective match in one fell swoop. I am now the official president of her North American Fan Club. Security threw the guy out on his keister.
And what do I say to the clue deficient, the creepy guys who cannot take no for an answer, with the limited cognitive ability to recognize that sleazy pick up lines really DON”T work no matter what your unemployed, couch cemented older brother with the receding hairline told you. Try and honest and respectful approach, and you won’t end up with Jack Daniels in your face and a bad taste in your mouth from all the proverbial crow you have eaten.
Friday, October 3, 2008
You have to let love happen..
My life is navigated by subscribing to the ever reliable type “A” adage of “making things happen” vs. “letting things happen” naturally. A natural born “doer”, my self described impatient and compulsive nature propels me to constantly think ahead, considering all angles, proactively planning every minute detail to control a rapid start, maintain a furious and relentless momentum, with a predetermined and ultimately successful end result. This formula has proved wildly successful in my career, but as they say “not so much” in my personal life, related to dating. I would never presume to dictate another’s outcome, but perhaps would lend this perspective gleaned from a trial and error formula chock full of “Lessons Learned”. Unfortunately for me, the strongest and harshest lessons have been learned from following my impulses vs. practicing restraint, and those mistakes resulted from turning a deaf ear to those exponentially wiser individuals whom have advised me countless times regarding matters of the heart. “You have to let love happen”.
I don’t like to let “anything” happen. I am the one pacing the floor, making furious plans in my head while surrounded by patient souls neither plotting nor planning the next move, rather letting things “be” until the dust settles and the chips have fallen where they may.
And having spent years since my divorce, mowing impatiently through relationships, either letting go of individuals who’s relationship pace I considered too slow, or myself being “let go” for trying to manipulate and control said pace to my liking, over the last year I at last came to the frustrating and semi painful realization that while I may choose to live my life at this relentless pace, the individual with whom I am spending my time should feel blessedly free to maintain the pace of his choosing. If it is the right time, the right place, and the right moment, the velocity shall either propel or relent, allowing us to meet peacefully in the middle.
If you have to make it happen with contrived circumstances, excuses or manipulation, you will control your outcome to ultimately no outcome, and thus the continued solidarity.
Rather if you live your life, make your own plans, without trying to force the circumstances or actions of another to serve your ultimate outcome, I firmly believe that relationship and love you desire will come to you naturally. It requires a sturdy faith, a massive amount of patience, and the art of not acting on every impulse to “make something happen”. As for myself, with regard to love, now when things aren’t going as I like or as I have planned, I slow down, take a deep breath and practice the painful art of doing absolutely nothing, for I know in my heart that things shall happen as they should. And so far it has worked out rather well for me.
I don’t like to let “anything” happen. I am the one pacing the floor, making furious plans in my head while surrounded by patient souls neither plotting nor planning the next move, rather letting things “be” until the dust settles and the chips have fallen where they may.
And having spent years since my divorce, mowing impatiently through relationships, either letting go of individuals who’s relationship pace I considered too slow, or myself being “let go” for trying to manipulate and control said pace to my liking, over the last year I at last came to the frustrating and semi painful realization that while I may choose to live my life at this relentless pace, the individual with whom I am spending my time should feel blessedly free to maintain the pace of his choosing. If it is the right time, the right place, and the right moment, the velocity shall either propel or relent, allowing us to meet peacefully in the middle.
If you have to make it happen with contrived circumstances, excuses or manipulation, you will control your outcome to ultimately no outcome, and thus the continued solidarity.
Rather if you live your life, make your own plans, without trying to force the circumstances or actions of another to serve your ultimate outcome, I firmly believe that relationship and love you desire will come to you naturally. It requires a sturdy faith, a massive amount of patience, and the art of not acting on every impulse to “make something happen”. As for myself, with regard to love, now when things aren’t going as I like or as I have planned, I slow down, take a deep breath and practice the painful art of doing absolutely nothing, for I know in my heart that things shall happen as they should. And so far it has worked out rather well for me.
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