Greenpoint
Lorven Pharmacy
Culture on the Cheap
Chewing Karl Fischer’s Chocolate*
Filed under: Area 51
Yesterday I had an epiphany. I was walking along Driggs Avenue and stopped to look at Karl Fischer Row. Then it hit me: that building looks like R2-D2. I am not talking about the building with the Son of Samesque symbol on it. I am talking about its neighbor: the one that looks like a trash compactor.
Intrigued, I went in for a closer look. That’s when I found this Adonis basking in the glory that is living in a “young”, “hip” and —let us not forget “ARTSY” neighborhood.
What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension, HOW LIKE A GOD.
After laughing my ass off, I looked up.
Stormtrooper: Let me see your identification.
Miss Heather: (with a small wave of my hand) You don’t need to see her identification.
Stormtrooper: We don’t need to see her identification.
Miss Heather: These aren’t the droids you’re looking for.
Stormtrooper: These aren’t the droids we’re looking for.
Miss Heather: She can go about her business.
Stormtrooper: You can go about your business.
Miss Heather: Move along.
Stormtrooper: Move along… move along.
Miss Heather: Oh yeah, put a goddamn shirt on already!
Stormtrooper: (to McCarren Park Adonis) PUT A GODDAMN SHIRT ON ALREADY!
Don’t let the slick advertisements fool you. The above chap is the clientele base for these condos, not attractive 20-somethings. About 20 feet away from this sexy beast was another hexagenarian chap doing Tai Chi or some other kind of Karate Kid shit. Mercifully, he elected to wear a shirt. THANK GOD.
Miss Heather
*This is a Butthole Surfers reference. Anyone know what it is? 😉
A Question for the Department of Buildings
Like many Brooklynites, I did not grow up here. The reason Greenpoint appeals to me is it bears no resemblance whatsoever to the cookie cutter suburbs I once called home. Dallas, Los Angeles or San Antonio, the zip codes may have been different but everything else was pretty much the same. Be they houses, neighborhood associations or even the people. Except for one.
This house was located on the southeastern fringe of our sub-division. Its owners had an aesthetic not shared by their neighbors. If I had to liken the color scheme of this house to anything, I’d call it Whataburger Chic. Their approach to landscape design was equally unorthodox; the flower beds were lined with empty beer bottles and old tires from sixteen wheelers were employed as planters. This property was quite a sight. One I got to behold often; my father made it a point to drive by it each and every time the opportunity presented itself. Nary a trip to the gas station, mall or grocery store was made without beholding this poly-chromatic spectacle.
Some people like to drive through certain neighborhoods at Christmas time to savor the ornate, if tacky, tableaux the residents have erected to glorify the birth of our lord. My father, on the other hand, drove by this house so he would have the opportunity to repeatedly use his name in vain. My father hated this house and he wanted to make sure both my mother and I knew it. We did, in the most base, profane and explicit terms.
This persisted for a month or two until my mother decided she had had enough. One day she offered to drive to the grocery store and my father agreed to it. She’s very clever that way, my mother. She fired up the car and proceeded along a different route. My father was immediately alarmed and asked why she was not taking “Elk Grove”. She said she didn’t want to. He pushed the matter, she pushed back, and in so doing, made it very clear that she was tired of his ranting ad nauseum about “that house“. My dad never drove by it again.
I mention this story because in many ways I am like my father. One significant difference, however, is I make a concerted effort to avoid rage-inducing eyesores. However, when one is reliant on mass transit things can become problematic. Which brings me to this.
I featured this dubious piece of advertising back in June. As I was riding the bus yesterday I noticed it was still there. I made sure to point this out to my husband.
Can you fucking believe this shit? That sign has got to be fucking illegal. The Department of Buildings is cracking down on this kind of thing, you know. Why hasn’t it been taken down? I AM SICK AND FUCKING TIRED OF LOOKING AT THIS PIECE OF SHIT! I HAVE TO LOOK AT THAT UGLY MOTHERFUCKER EVERY TIME I RIDE THE GODDAMN BUS!!!
It was like a flashback to my father— except I had a captive audience of 40 bus patrons. Although no one said anything, I think it is safe to speculate that at least one or two of them probably hate this sign as much as I do. Maybe even more.
On July 25th of this year the Department of Buildings issued a press release announcing their crackdown on illegal advertising. Here’s an excerpt from their tome.
Buildings Commissioner Patricia J. Lancaster, FAIA, today announced the launch of phase two of the Department’s enforcement campaign against illegal advertising. Expanding upon a crackdown on illegal advertising on sidewalk sheds, this second phase targets illegal advertising signs on building walls, which are generally large in size and mounted by anchors to the exterior wall of a building.
This sign is indeed “large in size”, but it is not mounted using anchors. Whoever is responsible for this masterpiece decided to drill right into the building instead.
This press release goes on to say:
…New York is certainly known for its busy landscape, but not every one of the City’s 950,000 buildings can be used as advertising space. Some zoning districts allow advertising signs on building walls while others do not…
I do not profess to know what the zoning regulations are in Greenpoint. I will profess, however, that this is the only sign of its type (READ: strapped to the front of a building, obstructing windows) that I have seen here. Period. My inner “Nancy Drew” finds this suspect— if for no other reason because if this practice was legal I would probably be seeing a lot more of it. It has been my observation that any means of turning a fast buck at the expense of and/or discomfort to the residents in this neighborhood is rarely left unexploited.
Perhaps this practice is legal? If it is, it shouldn’t be. I am not so simple-minded as to use this eyesore to simply vilify Belvedere Realty. The real villain here are the enablers, be they our fairly (s)elected officials, building and/or zoning regulations and the people who are charged with enforcing them.
Or not.
Miss Heather
P.S.: If anyone from the D.O.B. is reading this, the above photographs were taken today, August 12, 2007. The sign in question is located at 609 Manhattan Avenue. Click here for directions.
Portrait of a G Train Rider
Filed under: Greenpoint Magic
After having dinner this evening at Los Primos (on Grand Street) I decided to walk over to the Metropolitan Avenue stop of the G and start my trek home.
Jesus H. Christ!
My husband said. For some reason waiting a fucking eternity for the B43 bus to arrive makes more sense to him than spending an extra five or ten minutes walking to the subway. I told him I had my own set of keys and he was welcome to take the bus. I wasn’t. And in hindsight I damned glad I didn’t because…
the Baby Lama was waiting for me on the Queens-bound platform when I got to the station. At one point he started dancing and I followed suit halfway down the platform. It was the most fun I have had waiting for the G train in a very long time.
When the train arrived he got on. At Greenpoint Avenue, he got off. It makes me proud to have had the honor of sharing a subway ride with this man, much less to have him as a neighbor.
Miss Heather
P.S.: When I got home there was a smallish, balding man pacing in front of my building. To no one in particular he shouted:
Rene, your husband is fucking my wife!
God I love Greenpoint!
The Fat One
Filed under: Area 51
Since my Internet service continues to be as effective as Lindsay Lohan’s recent stint in rehab, today’s post is gonna be short and sweet…
Sometimes I like to indulge in a little social commentary when I arrange merchandise at work. Today I chose to deconstruct ‘N Sync for our clients’ edification.
The chap on the left is Justin Timberlake. He is the straight one.
Most of you can recognize the blond gent on the video box to the right. He is Lance Bass. AKA: the gay one.
The dude brandishing the guitar, well, that’s Joey Fatone. I have taken the liberty of labeling him the FAT ONE. Because he is.
I am very pleased with this installation. I envision it as an updated version of see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Or appropriately:
Don’t ask, don’t tell, DON’T CARE.
Miss Heather
Peter Picks a Poo
While scarcely a celebrity, I have noticed that my avocation catches up with me at the most unexpected times. Take yesterday, for example. As I was leaving my friend’s apartment her dog walker, Peter, arrived and the three of us struck up a conversation. At one point New York Shitty was brought up.
Me: That’s my blog.
Peter: It is!?!
Me: The Dog Shit Queen of Greenpoint. Yup that’s me.
Peter: I just looked at New York Shitty this week!!! Someone told me about it!!!
Fascinated, Peter walked alongside me as I trekked to the Metropolitan station of the G train. He fielded many questions about dog log blogging to yours turly and I did my best to answer them. Although it had never crossed my mind before, I suppose I would enjoy a certain popularity among professional poop picker-uppers. Truth be told, his rapt interest made me feel like Elvis— which was nice given how utterly depressing and frustrating this week has been for yours truly. I was in dire need of a pick-me-up and Peter provided it.
Before we parted ways he excitedly pointed out some excrement for my perusal. It was located on west side of Manhattan Avenue just south of Grand Street.
“You should post this!” he said “The dog who did that one is really healthy.”
I replied, “It sort of looks like a lobster. Very interesting. I think you’re right!”
Upon closer inspection we discovered that it had a companion!
Thanks pointing out this turdy twosome to me and brightening up my day, Peter. I really needed it!
Miss Heather
A Kitten Grows in Brooklyn
Filed under: Area 51
I recently got a call from a good friend of mine. She had discovered a litter of kittens in her backyard. Naturally I rushed over and saw them for myself.
The mother scrutinized me as I took pictures of her brood— all of whom are jet black.
The kittens didn’t seem to mind. They continued wrestling and nipping at each other as I snapped away.
After consulting with a friend of mine from BARC, we are mulling over how we are going to trap these kittens. They haven’t been weened yet, but soon they will be. If we do not catch them in time they will wander off to a mean, brutish and short life on the street. And beget more strays. It’s a never-ending cycle.
Please spay and neuter your pets, folks. No living, feeling creature should be subjected to this kind of life.
Miss Heather
Bushwhacking in Bushwick
Filed under: Area 51
I am happy to announce that after two whole days my communication with the outside world has been restored! This could not have happened soon enough. I was getting really tired of schlepping down to my friend’s apartment in Bushwick to do what most people take for granted, e.g.; check email, upload photos and write blog posts— but enough with the negativity.
During the two days I trekked back and forth from there I found two different ad hoc advertisements offering services of a, uh, highly specialized nature.
August 8, 2007
I found this one on the Manhattan-bound platform of the L train at Montrose Avenue. Let’s go in for a close look, shall we?
You know, one does not find such truth in advertising nowadays. I don’t know about you, but I find Danielle’s honesty refreshing.
August 9, 2007
I found this missive scrawled on a door immediately after I disembarked from the B43 bus at Scholes Street. As it would happen, I was in the very condition that Miriam (reputedly) craves when I read this. Unfortunately, after pounding the pavement with a panty’s worth of “girly gravy” on a very humid day her services didn’t appeal to me. Nonetheless, I was touched by her offer; it made me feel wanted. Maybe next time month.
Miss Heather
Bushwick Dog Doo Sign Gentrifies!
Filed under: Dog Shit Signage
This is a dog shit sign from 165 Montrose Avenue I featured back in March. When I walked by this spot yesterday I discovered a new and improved sign had taken its place.
I guess the hipster influx and blue-chip condominium dwellers who have moved here demand the Super be more vigilant about keeping up appearances. I for one liked the older sign better. This one’s kind of dull and institutional-looking. Not unlike most of the “luxury” properties being built around it.
That’s progress for you.
Miss Heather
Fun with Craigslist: Part II
Filed under: Area 51
People can take everything away from you
But they can never take away your truth
But the question is…
Can you handle mine?– Britney Spears
As promised, here is the second installment of of Miss Heather’s Shitbag Experience. Grab a bottle Dramamine and fasten your safety belt, it’s going to be a long and bumpy ride.
One gent proved to be very impatient.
like you ad i’m 47 a musician i’m married and would love to have some fun at your expense tonite
(Later the same day)
i’m shocked i haven’t heard from you. i’m perfect for what you are looking for. i envision our night out as- going to some cheesy bar, getting you drunk and going off to some motel in jersy with you. it will be a threesome – you me and a contianer of baby oil. or better yet your apatment where we can do all sorts of things in the places your sweet boyfriend will want to them at !! send me an email and i’ll give you my cell #
Four words: I LOVE THIS GUY!
OH PLEASE CONSIDER ME, I AM AN EQUISITE SHITBAG, VERY CLEAN, SEXUALLY MOTIVATED AND INTO FANTASIES.
I forwarded this one to a friend of mine. She loved it so much she taped to her computer monitor at work. Next to a photo of an enormous bucket of shrimp with the caption “ready for the red sauce”. I mention this because (for some reason) it seems relevant.
Two chaps knew exactly what I was “looking for/wanted”. This was very helpful given that I did not— and still don’t. I am Helen Keller sans Annie Sullivan in a world that is beyond my comprehension. It’s probably better that way. The few times I have interfaced with the “real world” it gave me the creeps. Not unlike this guy.
I am definitely interested. I’m a 25 year old doctor and I am exactly what you are looking for. write back asap
If this is what the medical profession has to offer nowadays, god help us all.
Oh, about me. 0’s WM profession, on the Dominant side sexually. I know what you want… smile……..
Oh yeah, here is the photo he sent.
I spent WASTED roughly ten years of my life getting abuse from 40-something year old men wearing suits. Most call it work; I call it pure unadulterated hell. At least when I worked in “Corporate America” I got paid for it, albeit terribly. Why the hell would I want to subject myself to the same kind of bullshit (doled out by the same-said type of shithead) on my free time without compensation? That’s sick; I am a masochist for pay, not choice.
Of course when all else fails (especially your self-esteem and/or personality), nothing says “pick me” like a curricula vitae/resume. If you’re trolling for whores anyway. I am not a whore. I give it away for free, hence why I am a miserable failure as a capitalist and a slut par excellence.
Hi-
Maybe I should audition for you. Here is why:
In four days, my significant other is coming back to NYC, and I feel like you do.
I love red haired women. I love freckles on them too. I love wondering if they are red all over their maps.
I remember a James Bond movie— don’t remember which one it was, but it had Sean Connery in it. He made a quip about “collars and cuffs matching”. Though course it had a certain Rabelaisian wit to it. This man is no James Bond. Then again, who the hell would expect to meet James Bond on Craigslist anyway? Unless of course it’s Daniel Craig’s list.
I love small breasts. In my face, preferably.
I’m handsome, successful, mid-forties, television producer with blue eyes, and great body. I will make you act silly, too. I will also stoke your fire, if you let me. I can also be as dirty as you want, but safe too.
All offers considered.
(OH PLEASE CONSIDER ME, I AM AN EQUISITE SHITBAG— Ed. Note)
I’m a very intelligent, handsome, middle-aged caucasin successful businessman who has recently moved into midtown New York. Although I have visited here often, I do not know anyone here, and would love to find a friend to help me explore the city.
I believe in spoiling the woman who spoils me. I am a polite gentleman, who is knowledgeable on many subjects.
My photo is attached.
A return pic, with the title of your craig’s listing, would be nice.
New York Shitty sure has a lot of “handsome” and “successful” middle-aged men in it. Who knew?
I asked for a shitbag and I get a pro bono cleaning boy instead. This world is a very strange place indeed!
Sounds like you could use a cleaning boy? I’d do all your housework for FREE. I do amazing work, and I would never expect anything at all in return. You wouldn’t have to keep me entertained or supervise me. I’d work independently like an ordinary cleaning person, except I’d work more diligently and conscientiously. I’d scrub floors, wash dishes, do windows, whatever you require. …I have a pic for trade.
I didn’t believe this guy was for real so I emailed him back. Not only will he clean your house for free, but he’s also a human ashtray. Wow.
Heather,
It would be great if you gave me the chance to clean for you. I really would do great work, and even if I’m not a shitbag, I can certainly try to fit the role. Maybe i’d even wear a sign reading “shitbag” around my neck while i scrubbed your floors and did your dishes. It’s actually very hard for me to find people to let me do their cleaning because when i offer to do it for free, they’re immediately suspicious.
On the other hand, when i’ve put up CL ads offering to clean for pay, all the responses I received were from men who wanted to pay me 20 bucks or 40 bucks to clean their apts. Well, I have no problem cleaning for free, but I have to do it for a woman or a couple. I hope you can help me out.
And I’m not only a shitbag, but I’m also a human ashtray and punching bag. Of course, I wouldn’t expect any kind of play or amusement if I cleaned for you (or your colleagues). I would just provide serious cleaning.
I also run errands, do any kind of manual labor, and do all kinds of office work (MAKE THIS MAN AN INTERN!— Ed. Note), if you have any use for those services. I’m in Brooklyn, and I have a pic, if you’d like to see it.
Shitbag the Cleaning Ashtray
I didn’t think my (now) husband would be too keen on this arrangement so I forwarded this email to a girlfriend of mine. Don’t know if she ever took his offer up, though. She won’t talk about it.
Last, but not least, I learn of an EXCITING CAREER OPPORTUNITY!
Test shoots for erotic videos….they range from Hard R -Changing clothes,posing,showering,to X -hand job or blow job to completion….On Video……Modeling is 100$,HJ is extra 50$,and BJ is extra 100$…..Make up to 200$ for half hours work….work today,get paid today….Test Shoot and will not be sold or broadcast…..respond WITH A PICTURE(need to see face and body,clothed is ok)and what you are interested in if interested….work today,get paid today……safe respectful professional 1 on 1 shooting environment with very goodlooking guy……WOMEN ONLY……..
Now let me tell you a little about my work/life situation when I received the above missive. I was working a horrid job that paid $35,000 a year. I had just thrown out a roommate who stiffed me for $900. I had to put my student loans on forbearance so I could pay his share of (overdue) rent and avoid having my electricity disconnected. I was angry. VERY ANGRY. But being the chirpy little corporate shill I was, I responded professionally.
Dear Sir or Madam,
I am writing you to thank you for your job offer. When I placed my ad on Craigslist’s W4M personals for a “Total Shitbag” last week I had no idea that this could be the beginning of a lucrative enterprise; not only could I interface with a number of “shitbags” as I like to call them, but I could also have a considerable source of secondary income.
My boyfriend is growing rather keen on pimping me out, as I am woefully underemployed and make no better financial contribution to the household than being a tax write-off. In addition, the opportunity you offer would neither be a more unorthodox use of nor further insult to my level of education (BFA, magna cum laude, MFA) than my current situation.
Please advise me of any benefits I may receive through your employ, viz a viz, 401K, health, dental, vacation, etc. I will be delighted to send you personal and professional references upon request.
Sincerely,
Heather
And here’s what I got back.
ok……..so,if interested a picture and further definition of what part of my project you are interested in would be mandatory for us to continue foward……….
So there have you. Many women look for shitbags unwittingly. They are practicing amateurs in my eyes and the caliber of shitbag they (undoubtedly) attract reflects their ineptitude. Now let’s review what I (a seasoned shitbag specialist) was offered:
- oodles of creepy anonymous/suspect sex
- two or three sugar daddies
- verbal/physical abuse from a suit man
- free housecleaning
- a new career in the porn industry
- and probably STD or two
But alas, all I got was two crappy blog posts and a lot of laughs.
Not too bad if I say so myself. Though I am still tempted to contact the “the cleaning ashtray” on occasion.
Miss Heather
Fun with Craigslist, Part I
Yesterday I found myself taking a trip down memory lane. On Monday I asked the proprietor of The Gowanus Lounge if I could guest-author his weekly “Missed Connections” feature for the next couple of weeks. He agreed to let me do so, but admonished me that some of the stuff to be found there is pretty foul. I assured him that I was already quite prepared for the utter depravity that would be laid before me because a former hobby of mine (at my last full-time job) was putting up prank ads on this very site. A number of them made it to the “Best of” page too.
Let’s take one of my finer opuses, shall we? It is entitled “Wanted: Total Shitbag“:
Good Afternoon Gents,
In four days my boyfriend (who lives halfway across the country) will be moving in with me. He is a very nice person, too, if I say so myself.
Perhaps it’s cold feet or the jitters, but somehow I feel like part of my life has slipped me by. This is where YOU come in: I need a total scum-sucking piece of s*** to remind me how good I have it. Exercise the endless resources of your imagination and your God-given talents. In the interest of getting the ball rolling I will throw out the following suggestions:
1. I am 32, so obviously I need a man who is AT LEAST in his mid-40s. I am way too long in the tooth for anything less. If you happen to be around 32 years of age and male, be sure to remind me of this. Constantly.
2. Creepy men who like petite women with red hair and/or small chests: I have both. (WOOHOO!)
3. Creepy men who DO NOT like petite women with red hair and/or small breasts. Remind me of this continuously— especially when a taller, choicer, Maxim-esque surgically-altered morsel walks by. *Bonus points* if you yourself are an overweight sack of pus.
4. Be a lazy sack of s***: I just threw out a roommate 2 months ago that never saw fit to hold down a job or pay his bills. He also smelled like ass, but nonetheless my l’il heart STILL goes pitter pat when I recall scooping up a pair is his skidmarked tighty whities off bathroom floor or paying out $300+ on electricity bills he never paid. (sniffle, sniffle…)
5. I can pretend to have a sister or roommate, if you will pretend to screw her behind my back.
Thank you for your time and consideration. I look forward to hearing from you.
Sincerely,
Miss Guided
It may not surprise some of you, but I got a lot of responses to this ad. Approximately 50 if my memory serves me correctly. Who knew there were so many shitbags in New York Shitty— much less on Craigslist?
Follows is the first installment of my favorite respondents. Those of you who harbor a low opinion of the human race please be advised that reading the following material will only provide sound justification for your misanthropy. The previous caveat having been written, let’s see us some shitbags!
A few of them got the joke and responded in kind:
I’m your man except for one small problem. If you talk the way you write I might be laughing my ass off the whole time I’m trying to convince you that your leap into committment is the most perfect move you could make right now. But you should know my laugh is one of the most obnoxious on the planet. I’m in my fifties, I’m married, and I’m cruising “women seeking men” on craigslist. That’s a decent start at shitbagdom, wouldn’t you say? I’m a screenwriter and if you think that’s a cool profession I’ll disabuse you of that notion in a few nanoseconds. I don’t wash my hands after I pee so you can be pretty certain of urine residue when we shake hands. I have endless erotic fantasies about petite women with red hair and small breasts and if you come anywhere near one of those fantasies I can promise you R. Crumb-like bulging eyes and pints of drool plus long disquisitions on how I like to masturbate thinking about petite redheads. Overweight? I’m working on it by downing endless pitchers of beer. Won’t it be helpful to have a slurring drunk talking about sports, lying about the size of his dick, leeringly going on about petite women with small tits (I won’t use the word breasts in front of you). My wife and kids are out of town for the week so I’ll be able to make you sick to your stomach with my suggestion that you and I climb in the sack and I cheat on this wonderful family. Trust me, you won’t be able to trust me for a second and you’ll realize in a flash, call it scumbag satori, that you’ve found the perfect match in Mr. Flying In From Wherever (who I can guarantee you I will dump on at every opportunity trying to prove I’m oh so much better than he is).
I could go on but you’ve got to see this one in person to get the full effect. I’m a royal nightmare to look at. And no I won’t send a pic because if you’re going to convince yourself of Mr. FIFW’s goodness due to my badness I’m at least getting you to pay for a drink or two. Others may claim they can do the job but as I said above, I’m your man. References on demand.
Max (that’s not my real name)
sweetheart. I think you touched my soul. I am in deep eyegazing, sunrise love with you and I need to take you on the date of your life. a romantic walk trough the park just to smell flowers and touch your hair. suddenly, I might stop and get on a knee to touch your bare foot to my heart.
your everlasting prince,
Donald Juaner
Even more of them got the joke— but you know what they say— HOPE SPRINGS ETERNAL:
Now that is genius. Really. curiiousity does not even begin to describe it. I can be all of the above. with some inspiration. i am 37.
Very creative posting. I’m not a shitbag, but since you’re really not looking for one, we should talk. I do like petite redheads.
Others seemed to be just plain confused:
Dear miss guided…OK…not that I want to call myself a piece of shit…but I could not help but to respond to your add. I loved it. Ihave a thing for petite red heads with smalls breasts, so there is the creepy part. I can treat you badly, if you are really looking for that. Just wondering if it was a serious add. Too long in the tooth…u? come on. would love to start a dialog get back.
I don’t get this. Is it a joke? If not, what’s the goal?
I’m not too sure what this guy was thinking, but here it is anyway…
trust me they are all full of crap just trying to get laid I bet all those sissies who responded are all part of that gay army over in Chelsea lolll must be a lot of tough gay boys in this city lollllll
One kindly soul tried to save me from myself (BAD NEWS: It’s too late!)
You really need help…..Your falling off the deep end. If you are having doubts then you need to re-think this. If he cares for you and more importantly YOU care about him then give it a try. Just don`t be too dumb, remember men have needs and if you don`t treat them right they WILL wonder… TRUST ME
Stayed tuned for tomorrow’s exciting (and final) installment where Miss Heather not only learns of an exciting career opportunity, but also receives a bona fide offer for FREE HOUSECLEANING!
I’m just getting warmed up, kids.
JUST.
GETTING.
WARMED.
UP.
Miss Heather
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