September 2017

Fuck.

I have done my fair share of that, and then a little extra.

Losing myself so deeply in various relationships I could barely remember my own name.

Putting my rings and incense and certain dresses aside because He didn’t like them. Biting my tongue till it bled and I eventually left.

Lying about where those bruises came from until the girls who loved me had no choice but to look away.

Disappearing into a man and creating a new identity that suited him. Like a witness protection program for my soul. Except my soul didn’t need to be hidden away, it need to be set free.

But that was in the time called ‘before’.

Also in the time called ‘before’ I made the grand mistake of using one poor girlfriend as nothing but a negative bitching crying sobbing hiding place from ex hubby. To the point wherein when I went back to him for the millionth time she finally threw her hands up and said “I don’t get it and I can’t do this anymore.”

Haven’t seen her since.

I truly do not blame her.

I saw good things in him, she was privy to exactly none of them.

In fact, she didn’t even know what he looked like. He came to pick me up one time from her house. She saw us outside and couldn’t figure out for the life of her why I was hugging a homeless man. He was a little rough around the edges, probably still is.

I was recently reminded that a huge part of the courage I summoned to leave the farm was due to the weird family of friends I made working at the gas station down the road. I couldn’t have done it without them. Still love them to this day even if I don’t get to see them.

The relationship with the guy before him was an equal friendless zone. I had been stripping for the 4 years prior and 99% of my friends were dancers. When I made the decision to be with him and quit dancing I quit my friendships too. Not my best idea in retrospect. He kept me busy with laundry and cooking and cleaning and I was okay being a house mouse until I wasn’t. Then I was catapulted back into the world with nowhere to stay and only one friend. I made it out just to fuck her over on behalf of the next. Where I disappeared again.

In the time called after I have had to say ‘no’ to a wonderful man who has been a rock in the hard place I found myself in. He lives far away, has children and there is no hope of him relocating here.

Here.

I have never been overly attached to any geographical location.

So why here?

So why now?

My girls. My girls are my home and this is where they are so this is where I will stay.

I have never had friendships like the ones I have with these girls now. And I wouldn’t trade them for anything.

I also have a handful of wonderful witchy woman friends that have found me adrift on the ocean of the internet and we’ve tethered our boats together to weather varying storms. I see them when I can and my door is always open. Sadly they are farther than Narnia, but I will always love them.

In the time called after I have realized the fundamental differences between men and women.
I have a newfound respect for men and their wants and needs and can’ts.

Men like to feel useful. Men like to find solutions, not talk about feelings. That’s what our girlfriends are for. Solid female friendships build a solid foundation for our very existence, so when a man comes into our lives we aren’t leaning on him for support. Or at least that’s how I am and how I want to be.

It eliminates the need and leaves the want.

As in, I want to be with him.

I need my girls.

Makes him a choice, not a necessity. This is bliss.

It also sets the bar a lot higher for how I know I deserve to be treated. My PIC does NOT mince words. If I fuck up or throw an unwarranted tantrum she tells me, in a way that calms me down. If I get sad or confused I have ears and shoulders that listen and let me lean.

If one of us gets hurt we all rally around her. Something needs doing, we do it.

I also always have the choice to be alone, or if alone is not what I want, I can be with one or all of them.

For the right men? It takes a lot of pressure off of the relationship. They know we are going to be alright regardless freeing up time for manly endeavors and behavior instead of holding our purses at Bed Bath and Beyond. They get the luxury of us having worked most of our troubles out with the girls so they get the condensed version of what’s up.

Panda and I both met new ones and I’ve already thrown mine into the deep end.
These are my friends and this is how we are.
He not only survived but swam around beautifully.

“No Ma, you can’t give a gold star for that, and I will tell you why…” (Kidlet in the car on the way home from the quarry the other day.)

“He chose to try and date someone who lives 5 hours away. It was already a given that this would be a thing that needed to be done.”

Well fuck.

Point noted and taken.

Nor can I give him a gold star for getting a hotel room the first trip down to meet me in person, as to assume it was fine to stay at my house would have been presumptuous and really rude.

Nor can I give him a gold star for agreeing that we should wait on the physical aspect even though we both really wanted to because, no never means yes and that itself is a golden rule that bleeds red when broken.

My heart has been guilty of showering her intended with gold stars till they rain down like confetti from the sky and block out the sun, and reason and logic.

She gets excited and really likes the glitter, she’s like a 2 year old really, what can I say.

So, the question becomes…how to distinguish between real red flags, old psychic garbage left by those who came before, and still keep my heart hidden in her blanket fort, coloring until it’s safe to come out. She is prone to dancing on my sleeve.

Herein lies a pretty big problem.

I just posted to a friend’s page, when speaking of rape and trauma, that I stopped calling myself a victim ages ago. I am not my past, I am not my trauma and I am not my diagnosis. The chatty Cathy’s say “well it couldn’t have been that bad then.” To which I reply “Fuck you Cathy it fucking was. WAS being he operative word.” I don’t live there anymore.

Being a victim doesn’t serve me in any way. In fact it does the opposite and gives my rapist continuing power over my existence which was kind of what he wanted. That ain’t happening.

One man (or a few if we’re being truthful) did bad shit to me. So…I’m not with them anymore. The end.

In dating them and surviving and retrospect. I learned a lot about what I don’t want.

Speaking of. Let’s exhume the last two one last time and then bury them with the rest.

One was a man whore. The other a petulant child.

I get so excited by being chosen, I forget to look at who is doing the choosing.

The first of the last was absent, so when the second came and kept showing up…you got it… gold star glitter party.

The first was a quality not quantity kind of sexual thing. So, the second not being able to keep his hands off me was great by comparison, until I had to take a morning after pill because he wouldn’t listen and another time got a UTI when he wouldn’t listen.

The first rarely took me out but always picked up the cheque. The second always took me out but rarely wanted to stay home and I picked up a lot of the cheques.

Had I been able to cut parts of each and stitch them together the amalgamation should have been my ideal. But that isn’t how this works.

Maybe I deserve even better than that. Someone who just decides on me and stays, faithfully and equally. Who says we’re both weird and my weird likes your weird. No shushing, no hoop jumping, no cheating, lying, stealing, begging.

They were both selfish as fuck in their own ways. And I was always secondary. Literally and figuratively.

So much so that being single afterwards was a welcomed reprieve and paradise.

Alone wasn’t just a viable option, it was the ONLY option.

I was exhausted by the time the second one left.

Exhausted and twisted.

Every little thing the new one did that wasn’t utter bullshit was like this angel kiss of awesome on my psyche.

So I did what I do and I thought about it. And I said things out loud.

And while I will allow myself to appreciate things, especially chivalrous things like listening to my words and opening doors and paying for dinner and coming home early with me so we can go to the quarry with me instead of staying out all night to get black out drunk with his friends (which was his original plan).

He just did what I would have done. Traded a potential hangover for time better spent swimming and some pretty epic morning sex.

Gold star morning sex actually.

There’s a fine line between leaving space in your heart for someone and torturing yourself on the daily.

I was having a chat with the Giant post both of our respective break ups.

I gave the usual explanation that when one suffers a loss there is a hole left in your life that needs to be navigated around lest you fall in and have to keep climbing out of repeatedly.

Time fills the hole, which is actually made of time itself, oddly enough.

Time you would have spent texting the person or looking for funny memes or whatever your part of the relationship looked like is suddenly free and in your hands.

The weight of it is enormous.

This is why that whole “have your own life that you love before you invite someone else in” thing is pretty important. Makes the hole a lot smaller and the weight a lot less. Also keeps you from tripping back into things you ought not to.

He’s healing and dealing.

We all do.

My process is a lot more streamlined than it used to be, probably because I love my little life as is.

There is however another issue.

The whole reason for this post.

We all know the void and the tripping hazard it is, but what about the garbage left behind?

Look at every major festival (that isn’t Burning Man). The chaos left in the wake by thousands of concert goers, all around for a good time not a long time.

Every person is responsible for spoiling and littering on some of the landscape right? Everyone leaves something behind.

Sometimes it’s a permanent scar and sometimes its just a carelessly tossed piece of trash.

Those are tripping hazards too.

I’m speaking to a new boy. We had a date already and I like him.

During the talking portion he said something completely innocent and founded, but I got triggered and tripped up on it.

In hindsight, after a little time had passed and we’d actually met, it wasn’t a big deal.

But, because I haven’t finished cleaning up after the last one, I saw a red flag.

So how do we distinguish between red flags and just some garbage the last one left behind?

I wish I knew.

Giant says he is using this last relationship as a learning experience to figure out what to avoid.

Sorry puddin’, doesn’t work that way.

We all have our BIG NO’s. But in the grand scheme of things, the heart wants what it wants.

For example, after how hard it was to get over that boy, by all rights and logic we shouldn’t be speaking. He is not my person, I know this, but he is my people. And with enough time gone by, my head has filled in that hole in my heart with logic and reason. So it’s okay. The playing field is level.

Red flags absolutely serve a purpose, but one must wait until red is not the only color you see everywhere before jumping into something new. I didn’t quite do that, and I realized it just in time.

PTSD does not have to be a permanent state of mind. At some point your brain begins to realize that your body is in the present and you are not in danger anymore.

But until it does, there will be triggers.

Something will remind you of ‘the thing that came before’ and the mess that was left.

Time heals, it really does. Grass grows back green and lush, so will you.

The other thing you can do, which is what I did…is say it out loud. See if it feels like truth on your tongue. Weigh it in the scales of your gut, does it feel light and right or heavy and wrong.

I realized that I was being ridiculous and decided to try anyways.

I’m so glad I did.

I don’t advocate violence, but I am running out of options…because words ain’t working.

Panda and I are both busy as fuck and thereby keep having to say no to superfluous plans.

Mostly those thrown at us by boys we have not met offline…yet.

Yet being the operative word. As in we would if we could but we can’t right now…okay?
They don’t think that’s okay.
I don’t think they’re okay.
Okay?

Okay so, Friday I worked a double. I got a small window in the middle to be home, longer than expected but not near long enough for someone who is used to having a lot of time to myself.

And just like that…
I only have enough time to mop the kitchen floor and pay one more bill before I roll back out.
Grateful for the unexpected reprieve.
Now where are my pants?

Never did find my pants, nor my work shirt. I made do.

As a result of said double on a Friday, my Saturday started out rather slowly. I experienced the bliss of sleeping in till 9:20 am. We are experiencing second summer and my ass was glued to the blue chair for the bulk of the morning. I heard the church bells chime noon and Panda poked her sleepyhead out onto the porch, and we sat some more.

Finally around 2, I was showered and we proceeded to take our cute selves out for breakfast before grocery shopping.

As we waited for our food, Panda flashed her phone in my direction and said “did I tell you about this guy?” she had not and proceeded to do so. As well as converse with him via text while I dictated the script.

Side note…

There was a man sitting next to us, alone eating breakfast. My adamant hope is that he goes back to the man cave and imparts the wisdom he overheard throughout the course of our breakfast to all the other men. It won’t happen, unless he is some underground blogger or has a million followers on twitter. But a girl can dream. I need a man to explain to other men, because when I try to do it it’s like I am speaking a dead language 90% of the time.

We all know what mansplaining is.
A guy talking over a woman and/or explaining the obvious and/or the dreaded “not all men” commentary.
Sadly, over the course of our lovely waffles, we stumbled upon a new subspecies/subcategory…
Manplanning
Wherein you politely and with logical reason turn a man down for immediate plans (opting for the ‘do something at a later date’ option) and they try to convince you to alter your plans to accommodate them.
As in “stop what you’re doing…do my thing that I want, then go back and do your original thing.”

Just as yucky.

She said: I don’t really feel like doing anything tonight, I want to stay home cook and have a ‘me date’ in sweatpants.

I said: So tell him that.

Like EXACTLY THAT.

The text went something like this

“I know this is going to sound weird because no one ever does this, but I literally feel like doing nothing this weekend, it has nothing to do with you. I am just trying this new thing called being honest.”

He took it well for like a whole minute, then he did this…

“Why don’t we meet for a drink earlier tn and then stay in?”
“There’s time for one drink later cmonnn lol then you can stay in”

DID SHE FUCKING STUTTER?

No.

He just decided that HE wanted to do a thing and she should accommodate him.

Nope, nuh uh.

Cut to the night before, I am at work. Cute guy comes up to the bar, we chat a little, he asks for my number. I contemplate it and tell him to come back later. It’s a wee test, see if he’s serious.

He comes back when it’s quiet, we talk a little more and ya, I gave him my number. Big mistake.

He comes back again as I am closing. I am lead bar, I have to account for every beer and all the cash and I have 3 newbies working with me.

He tries to come behind the bar because, in his opinion he “can close faster than me.”

Fuck you, get out, nuh uh, no fucking way.

I had no choice but to be rude to him.

I could have gotten fired had I indulged him in his conversation or had he stepped foot behind my bar. Not happening.

He then texts and calls me until midnight trying to get me to go out with him when I clearly stated I’d worked 18 hours and was going home and nothing would sway me otherwise.

There is both power and danger in the word no.

No should be a complete sentence, and it is, but it falls on deaf ears, deaf man ears it seems.

Now I am sure I will hear the opposite, wherein a woman kept pursuing a guy after he said no.
I know it happens, I have seen it.
It’s gross no matter who is doing it.

However

Childish Gambino has a bit in one of his comedy routines where he says “guys always have a crazy ex story, women don’t. Because if a woman has a crazy ex, she’s dead.” I know it is in the context of a comedy routine, but he goes on to say it’s not funny because it’s true.

As for online dating a man’s greatest fear is that the woman will be fat, a woman’s greatest fear is that she will be murdered.

This speaks volumes. And yet some men don’t hear it.

My ex messaged me today. As he does, whenever the mood strikes him, even though I have asked him to stop.

After I removed myself from said relationship I realized how one sided and draining it was. He embarrassed me and made damned sure to cut ties on his way out the door. Now he thinks it’s okay to still talk to me because he wants to. Never mind what I think.

This is why we need equality. This is why I am tired of being the weaker sex, the target, the one who gets disregarded and spoken down to but “it’s okay honey, he just does that because he likes you.”

So we are taught as women to hide behind excuses, to not speak our minds because it’s safer to appease the male ego?

How is one person’s ego more important than my safety?

No it isn’t fucking okay.

No shouldn’t be a challenge.

Just no.

I posted an old post about the Giant.

I’ve been posting lots of old posts as I cannot seem to get my shit together enough to write many new things.

I am not sure what to write right now.

Sarah Goes to LimboLand doesn’t really make for a good read. Nothing is happening here. Not exactly, or not enough to write about.

The most boring post ever…

And so Sarah waited for something to happen…

This is one of those things, not much happened, and yet, all y’all seem to be curious about what is happening with the Giant. Enough to leave a lot of comments and have that particular article go fairly viral.

So here it is.

Backstory first.

Once upon a strip club a tall drink of man walked up to me, and I found myself suddenly very thirsty.
It was just about Christmas, I had plans to leave for Florida in a few days and the club was experiencing its yearly holiday rush. Which is to say I was busy. Like crazy busy, like step out of the VIP just to be taken right back in busy. Like make enough money to pay for my whole trip in 3 days busy.

So this man walks up to me. Tall, bearded, handsome, smelled nice and the first words out of his mouth (after hello) were “How much would it be to spend a half an hour with you?”

I think it was a half an hour and I can’t remember what I said, I was at work, ergo I was pretty drunk, and he bought me another drink or two, and I danced/talked/sat in his lap for 30 minutes on the nose and cursed my internal timer the second I said the words “I wonder what time it is”. The spell was broken. It was midnight and I’d smashed the pumpkin.

I quite liked him. We talked and it was good conversation.

We wandered back to where he had been sitting and we chatted some more. I read his palm and his friend’s as well.
Apparently my answers were fairly astute or at least entertaining.

At some point numbers were exchanged.

Cut to 3 weeks later. I had returned from Florida and I got a weird text “Is it too late to ask you out for dinner?”

I thought he was someone else, and in fact had forgotten his name and 90% of the night.

A few awkward texts later, he said he’d rather not wait to see me and asked me out for breakfast.

I was hungry, thirsty and curious. so I went. Somewhat begrudgingly as my last ‘thing’ had been rather scary and stalker-like.

It was a place called Big Top. So named for a huge circus mural running the length of the longest wall, but I didn’t see it. I only saw him.

The rest you know. Posts such as…

Lightning Sex a Retrospective

Plastic Pussy

The Most Cake

Indiana Jones and the Sweater of Doom

Happiness is a Warm Bed

Friendly Giants and Falling Footwear

So Say I

Siren Song

Voodoo

Who Puts Vodka in a Wine Spritzer

If Wishes were Giants

The Giant Returns

Roam if You Want To

Lyrically Speaking

Ashes to Ashes

Prancing Pony Knees

Leap of Faith Day

Afternoon Delight

Titans Wedding Rings and Other Metaphors

…and now this

Okay, I just went through my archives and ran out of room on the paper beside my computer keeping track. Plus honorable mentions galore on top of the 18 with him as the main, now this which makes 19.

That number haunts me.

We probably dated exactly that many days before he told me that the girl he had ‘had coffee with once or twice’ who ‘didn’t want anything serious’ ended up being his girlfriend of a year and a half. Quite suddenly in fact. Or suddenly to me.

I cried a lot a lot. Like oceans worth. I was inconsolable. But he stuck around and tried to console me so that was alright. We exchanged music and pleasantries on occasion.

Didn’t stop him from sleeping with me a couple more times, nor sharing his scotch with me after he got back from a trip to Scotland with her.

Her.

Whom I referred to as Not Becky and or the traveling waitress. Or sometimes Jolene, he let it slip one night she had auburn hair and potentially eyes of emerald green.

It’s been 19 months since that breakfast.

And the other day, whilst pumping gas, I saw a black Ford pickup being driven by his doppelganger and decided to text hi. And ask if he was wearing a green shirt.

He wasn’t. He was on his way back from Maine.

Not with Not Becky.

Apparently they broke up a month ago.

Right around when the radio started playing tricks and making my mind wander back there, to him.

So, against the will of the internet, Panda’s wishes, Liza’s warnings and a really funny Whoopi Goldberg gif saying “You in danger girl” he invited me over for a beer and I went.

And it was good, amen.

I expected to find him broken, but he wasn’t, just introspective as always.

One on a laundry list of things I adore about him.

And there’s the answer.

The answer to why it took months and a discarded sweater and a voodoo doll bought, cherished and returned. Hours of playlists and conversations in the dark and in the light. And more than a few incidences where we bumped into each other and our clothes fell off.

I like him.

There is something that radiates out from his core that soothes the chaos at the center of mine.

The mourning period I went through had everything to do with losing that feeling and not so much about losing him.

It’s not so much about sex, as much as our respective perspectives about the hotness of the other do creep in.

Don’t get me wrong, the sex was epic.

But I think we are both evolving.

And I am glad we both stuck around.

I started writing this article, or tried to start writing it. I’ve named 2 different files “The 11 Year Itch” and then proceeded to not talk about what I wanted to talk about.

This is my third attempt and we still aren’t there.

Still spooked from retrograde methinks. Or everything that has ever happened in the history of ever.

Don’t want to jinx anything.

Thought that very thought and sat down to write this.

It can’t be jinxed. Nothing can. It either is or it isn’t.

I also had a Facebook fueled flashback wherein, right before I published this blog, one of my exes who I meant to write about had been stalking me, got drunk and hit ‘like’ on a post, which turned into a conversation wherein we buried the past and made peace.

Memories, of the way we were, and what we did.

Which of course was the snowflake that started an avalanche of thought.

I have done some fucked up shit in the name of love.

Said ex was waiting for me in the bedroom one night, dressed up in women’s clothes.

I cared for him and called it love, as much as my 24 year old brain could possibly love.

So I didn’t run.

We talked about it, explored the new parameters and landed on “this doesn’t do anything for me but I respect your need/want for this”. And we fucked, and I stayed for quite a while, until I left for other reasons.

Cut to 2 boyfriends later. He came equipped with his own dildo, it was part of the package. And I indulged in his getting fucked fetish until that became all we ever did and I got bored out of my mind and also realized he was not a good partner in any way and left him and his dildo. I never looked back. never bought a blue dildo again neither.

I think it goes back to highschool when hssh set a bad precedent wherein I would regularly blow him on the beach while he dated everyone but me and never returned the favor.

The culmination and apex of this messiness being the whole sister-wife fiasco of epic proportions. What in the ever loving fuck was I thinking?

Chalk that up to rock-bottom low self esteem. Which he knew about and preyed on quite happily.

I know now that I am enough to make someone happy, I was just brainwashed into thinking otherwise. But again, it’s this whole theme wherein I make these massive sacrifices and compromises for someone, who in the end, I never really knew or loved and who never loved me. He saw me at my worst and exploited my insecurities and weaknesses.

That’s not how this works.

I put up with the lack of love, the lack of sex and when we did have it that weird thing he did which was the only way he could cum. Not a turn on, perhaps why I stopped bothering him for sex eventually.

I have survived guys who make girl noises, tossed so many salads that I think I have joined the ranks of Manda Bear when she said “I have done more butt stuff to guys than guys have done butt stuff to me”, jackrabbits and jackhammers, and he who came so fast yet had no excuse because he actually had a live in girlfriend and was indeed getting laid regularly (what the hell was that about?)

And he who shall not be named who opened my eyes to the world of cuckhold fetishism. Wherein the man in the relationship wants to watch his woman get fucked by other men and partakes in sloppy seconds. We never met in real life, but for 2 years I wrapped my head around it, indulged in writing to the point where I wrote a fucking book about it.

70 000 words for a catfish.

Unbelievable.

I have crossed oceans for men who wouldn’t step over a puddle for me.

But I digress.

600 words in and I finally digress.

My point is HOLY SHIT, LOOK AT THE THINGS I HAVE DONE FOR THE WRONG MEN.

With a sidenote that I was always enough. More than they could handle probably.

I cannot begin to imagine my potential to love and care for someone worthy.

I am still stubbornly holding onto the idea of no happily ever afters. No more fairytales. But no one really knows what happens after ‘the end’.

Did you know that when John Hughes wrote Pretty in Pink, the original script had Andie getting together with Ducky at the end? Molly Ringwald threw a fit and he changed it so she got together with the popular guy instead. I get it, he did have that smirk, but he also threw her under the bus at the first sign of trouble. Sounds way too familiar.

I have been on and under enough buses in my day.

Over it.

http://live.ezezine.com/ezine/archives/3_11/3_11-2017.09.03.20.28.archive.html

GEMINI (May 21-June 20):

James Loewen wrote a book called Lies My Teacher Told Me: Everything Your American History Textbook Got Wrong. He said, for instance, that during the Europeans’ invasion and conquest of the continent, it wasn’t true that Native Americans scalped white settlers. In fact, it was mostly the other way around: whites scalped Indians. Here’s another example: The famous blind and deaf person, Helen Keller, was not a sentimental spokesperson for sweetness and light, but rather a radical feminist and socialist who advocated revolution. I invite you to apply Loewen’s investigative approach to your personal past, Gemini. The coming weeks will be an excellent time to uncover hidden, incomplete, and distorted versions of your history, and correct them.

I chime in with a “haven’t you people ever heard of closing a god damned door?” Panic at the Disco.

Fuck.

My horoscope this week.

Of course it is.

I have been working all week and forgot (for the second time in 24 years) to look at it.

It wouldn’t have changed anything but I might have been better prepared for the influx of yuck.

Here I am determined as fuck about letting my past go and he is telling me to go back and look through the hot mess and find things worth examining.

I gave up on happy ever after, I stopped looking for love. I had to. It was let down after let down. Hurt after hurt. I knew better and I let them in anyways.

I opened the stable doors and let all the stallions out.

All the boys I was holding on hope for. Just fuck it, go, be free.

Some of them left without as much as a backwards glance. Others lingered doing their same dance with one foot in one foot out, but they’d always been that way. Hokey-pokey, I turned myself around.

I deleted numbers and conversation threads, did a righteous purge on my phone of screenshots and conversations, pictures…all of it, gone daddy gone.

It felt good actually, for a girl who is the equivalent of a human archive and encyclopedia of every cock I have ever sucked. T’was an accomplishment to just say boy bye.

What I forgot to do was close the god damned door.

I should know better, I lived on a farm, I had actual flesh and blood horses.
Always close the gate behind you and double check it and then the damned things will find a way out anyways if they put their minds to it, especially when the orchard is full of apples.

Where was I?

None of my lovers are ever forgotten, even when they’re long gone. Sometimes, most of the time, I can keep the nostalgia at bay. And sometimes it’s a tsunami hitting seemingly out of nowhere.

It is hurricane season. Shoulda known.

When the bing of a phone notification becomes an air raid siren heeding warnings. Storms comin.

I didn’t think it was gonna be easy.

What I did think was, once I set my mind to letting go, they would go willingly.

I underestimated the drawing power of the word NO.

Instead of allowing this to become a meandering post I’m gonna stop now deal with part two tomorrow.

A trilogy in 4 parts.

2. the other power of no

3. the 11 year itch

4. (no idea just yet)