random entry that two people in the world will understand

good times on koh phangan
what you see:
Marcus, Martyn and myself....The Calm Before the Storm
what you didn't see:
the hedonistic smorgasbord that ensued where we feasted on the delicacies excavated from Marcus' nose

ah buckets and sleeping with Martyn in the sand under someone's bungalow with only a stolen bath mat on which to lay our leathered heads
thank you Martyn, for losing my wallet
i will always cherish that memory
so worth it

good times

Posing the Important Questions, Addressing the Hard Hitting Issues

Why is it that food designers think that an organized salad is an appetizing salad?

CJ's the Art of Coffee and Dog Molestation

I love the smell of brewing coffee.

The way the house fills with yummy scents, as the pot fills with coffee.
Fantabulous.
I love freecycle and the freecyclers, who made my home coffee brewing possible.
I love not dealing with that snooty Quacks barista who is never friendly to me just because he has a "cool" shitty job.
I do miss riding my bike to get the coffee though, but I still ride my bike other places.
I love finally using my bunny coffee cup, compliments of Goodwill's dumpster.

Let's not forget the hovering coffee fairy, who blesses all who partake with the gifts of her vitality and alluring stench.

That was dumb. I just added it because of the above picture that I found.

I wish I could that I could say that I'm just feeling very loving in general this subjective morning, but I am not.
I hate the world, damn the man, dudes can't commit, girls are scandalous ho's, they put onions on my burger, I wasn't hugged enough as a child, the gays are threatening the American family.
But at least I have coffee, and all the accompanying accoutrements of wonder.

Put your bananas in the fridge. Yum! For real.

I am a little apprehensive abour writing this down, since plans are always so tentative, but I'm planning a 3 month solo trip to Southeast Asia in November. Toni is invited, as is my friend Sara Lula, but they're both probably gonna flake out. See? Scandalous ho's.
Whatever.
I'm going to go to my aunt's house for tilapia and some sort of activity other than TV. I'm following your advice Toni. Sort of.
I'll probably love on the dogs, scratching their bellies, lowering my blood pressure, extending my life.

This is one of the dogs I will molester. Zweedle!

poem

remember those days
lonely
walking to the
poorly stocked library
buying coffee
you had no money for
remember those days
wresting
stubborn haiku
from a moment

it's easy to look back
into the past
and think
"it's good"
it's good because it's easy
but it's easy because
it's over

all the time
spent reminiscing
remembering
those days not
anymore
while those days of
now
of not quite yet
shift into them

remembering those days
writing
poems of the future
slipping
to the past
examining the rosy
colored time
that didn't last

then was now
now will be
then
where will i be
walking to the library
drinking coffee
i can't afford
suffering some new
suffer
longing
for the suffer
of before

Harvest

A Shorty...What do you think

She's sitting at a counter having a coffee. It is the color of a caramel chew. The stirring spoon, left in a bus bin. Each time she sips her tepid libation, she pinches her nose with her first finger and thumb.
Looking up from her book, through the window, directly infront of the counter at which she is sitting, she watches a girl in a floppy woven hat, standing on the pedals of her bike as it rolls by of it's own momentum. Noticing the four full racks in her field of vision, she thinks:
"Every body rides bikes here."
She had, in fact, ridden her bike there.

A too skinny, shirtless, surferesque guy, in flip flops and swimming trunks.
A kind of nerdy guy, with intellectual looking hair and glasses, Val Kilmer lips.
A jungle green car pulling into a parking spot in front of the cafe.
"That car's just like mine."
That car is yours.

See the key scratch down the side from that long ago drunken debacle.
See the dented front fender, the battle scar of a shopping cart war gone awry.
See him opening the driver side door, a glance and a smile to his right, locking the door, stepping out.
See her opening the passenger door, moving to get out, pulled back into place by the forgotten lap belt.
"My lap belt."
Yes, your lap belt.
They both chuckle.

She takes another sip of her quickly cooling coffee, the coagulating cream floating on the surface, creating the pattern of wind blown sand on a surface of a dune, floating down her throat, into her stomach, acid with acid, her nose left unplugged.
She doesn't notice.

LEFT LANE FOR PASSING ONLY

I'm passing all y'all motherfuckers!

I seriously think this everytime I pass a "left lane for passing only" sign.

I swear.

I know....I'm cool.

Cheese Curds...A Love Poem

what is it about cheese curds?

sometimes i think i should watch
what/how much i eat
maybe drop 5ish pounds.
all that somehow seems
to magically vanish
when it comes time to eat.

i just ate white rice
with miso dressing
and kraft mexican blend
cheese melted on it,
and then
about a 1/2 cup of cottage cheese.

what is it about cheese curds?

Nuevo Blog

Since no one ever reads this blog, I am now writing here. You know, just in case some one stumbled upon this blog, and was mildly intrigued.

Celebration and Consumerism...Yay!

I just spent so much time writing clever things for a profile on a web site that I don't even care about and I lost it.
It was clever I tell you.
This website is called New American Dream, and it's all about conscious living and making your own choices for living instead of living off the inertia of decisions and ideals made generations ago. It's basically giving a new thrust for it's own brand of future inertia. I think they have good intentions, don't get me wrong, but you can't just start running Mac programs on a PC. You just can't. And that's alot of what I think they're trying to do. They want to make changes, but just a little bit. They want to change just enough so that they can stay comfortable. Which reminds me of some Fiona Apple lyrics from the song Extraordinary Machine.

I certainly haven't been shopping for any new shoes, and
I certainly haven't been spreading myself around
I still only travel by foot and by foot, it's a slow climb
But I'm good at being uncomfortable so I can't stop changing all the time

I noticed that my opponent is always on the go, and
Won't go slow so's not to focus and I notice
He'll hitch a ride with any guide as long as they go fast from whence he came
But he's no good at being uncomfortable so he can't stop staying exactly the same

I thought it was relevant.
So, an example of what I'm talking about is that this website, as well as other magazines, books, and organizations I've encountered, focus so much on what is good for you to buy, and how the things you have been buying are bad, but I think that they're completely missing the point. It's the buying, the constant consuming that's the problem. There is such a thing as an organic, free range, fair trade, local buying consumer whore. If you are buying, you are using limited resources.
But as long as people can still buy as much shit as they want, and ease their consciences a bit by making responsible product choices, then I guess we are making real progress, and real changes, and all is bright and sunny wonderful in the world.
Mostly though, I just don't like organizations telling people how to live and what to think, be they religious (the most obvious target), ecological, political, psychological, societal, cultural, gastronomical, commercial, musical, or rectal. I just don't like it. And I don't like that people are so lazy that they subscribe to these things, with barely, if any, a consideration of how they feel themselves.
Anyhow. I don't really care about this stuff really. That is one of the "clever" points I was making on my late profile. One of the little boxes that you were supposed to fill in asked "If you could, what corporate of governmental policies would you change?"
To that I said that the data available to me, and the brain available to me for processing data, are both too limited for me to know what changes I could make for the better. My scope of the big picture is far too narrow for me to anticipate what sort of repercussions would result from even the most minute change I might make. I would have to be omniscient to answer that question rightly. What might seem wrong, ugly, and appalling to me, may be a natural and necessary part of the future of this planet. As we "liberals" are so fond of saying to the "conservatives", just because it's my opinion and I believe it, doesn't mean it should be law.
So I've taken to AA mantra as my own in this regard. I am accepting the the things I can't (and maybe shouldn't) change, and I am trying to have the courage to change the things I can. And the only thing I can change, the only thing I have control over, is myself.
So I can't be bothered with the fuckedupedness of the world. It's out of my hands.
I'm just trying to have a happy life. I'm trying to be the woman of my dreams, living the life of my dreams.

Now I'm eating some Christmas dinner leftovers, and I'm feeling a little more relaxed. I was feeling a bit high strung there for a minute. I needed another dose of tryptophan to calm me down. I better write quickly. I'll soon be in a coma.
Christmas was good. Last night we had home made hot cocoa, played board games, and listened to corny Christmas songs on one of the television music channels. Then we all exchanges letters we wrote to one another. I wrote, what I think was, an especially inspired and lovely letter to James. No TV watching, not computer-ing. We just spent quality Christmas Eve family time together.
Today there was alot of eating and gift opening. I don't really care too much for gift opening. I think the gifts are so much more lovely the night before, all beautifully wrapped, sitting under the sparkley fake tree, glowing with all the anticipation of the next morning.
Then, the next morning, the gifts are all unwrapped and under appreciated, everyone is tired and maybe just a little disappointed, and all the accrued anticipation of the days leading up to then, is scattered around the living room in wads of crumpled, festively printed paper.
It's like really great sex, topped off with an orgasm that's just kind of, eh.
You know what I'm talking about.
But Christmas was good. I got a Henkel paring knife, a gift card for a cooking class at Central Market, a cook book, and a hundred dollars, with which I'll buy jeans.
Christmas with my family is tomorrow. I sense a Barnes and Noble gift card in my future.
Anyway, Zoe is getting antsy. I think she needs a walk.

Every Rose Has It's Bush

Aloneness.
Today is the first day back to normal life since Grandma died exactly one week, one hour, and 24 minutes ago. Since then it’s been family, and mourning, and Thanksgiving, and driving, and acquiring Katie for a month trial period. Today it’s life as normal until Christmas time. Work, reading, dog park, etc.
I think life as normal is the hardest thing there is. If there is nothing else to distract you, you are forced to confront yourself.
While cruising back from Houston earlier today, I realized that for the first time as an idea unto itself.
For so long I struggled with my jealousy. It was my biggest source of negativity, suffering and self-loathing. It’s a miracle James’ and my relationship survived And now, while I on occasion relapse, but more often than not, only begin to relapse, I am fixed. That bud has been nipped.
I can’t even begin to tell you the anger, the bitterness, the feeling of unfairness I’ve felt toward Dad and Ruthie over the years for the difficulty of my adolescence. For not actually doing their best, and for, even if they were, if not being good enough. But now, as my Grandma’s already diminished health, deteriorated so rapidly and completely, I began to make amends in my mind. I began to forgive.
I saw all of the long kept resentment, grudges and blame between my Grandma and her first born son, Scott. I saw them not over come those feelings, ever. They never spoke before she died. Now they never can. I saw the life long sibling animosity my Dad holds for my Aunt remain solid and in tact, even as my family came together at my Grandparents house to mourn just hours after Grandma’s death. She tried to hug him, to let him know that despite all their differences over the years, he was still her brother, and she still loves him, and as she did, he just stood there, unresponsive.
I saw these things and realized the pettiness of it. The reasons are unimportant. To shut your family out of your life and to let your anger fester inside of you. There is not a good reason for that. I saw I had to understand and to forgive and to rise above. I will not one day be my Uncle Scott. That bud is holding on by one browning, fibrous string.
There are smaller things. I have to come into a zen-like balance with my work. I do not cry before going. I respect myself. And I do not put up with any shit. That bud has been nipped.
(On a side note about work, I realized that your life will be spent however you spend it. So I am not satisfied with my job. It is not what I will be remembered as, whether by my survivors, or by my elderly self. I can do better. I can do something I love. Anyway. Back to the buds.)
I can cruise (see aforementioned description of driving back from Houston), instead of stressing myself, hurrying to wherever I’m going. I’m able to not feel like I’m, as I’ve been so fond of saying in the past, “wasting my life” while driving. I throw on the autopilot, and enjoy myself. Another bud nipped.
I eat more slowly, enjoying my food more. This seems like a stupid thing to mention, I know, but you should have seen me eat before. Jesus.
So, I’m finding a new balance in all of these different areas of my life. All of these buds nipped. All of these symptoms and distractions removed.
But without all of these buds and blooms clouding my vision, distracting me, I am now acutely aware of the bush. The source. My self. My life. And it is overwhelming.
Now with out all of the death, and mourning, and traveling, and old dog adoption, I am left again, to stare at this thorny and formidable bush, to formulate and to attempt, all while nursing each new prick.
And in comparison, the jealousy, resentment, and bitterness all seems like little fireball breathing flowers in the Super Mario of life. I’m just now to King Koopa.

My brain keeps wanting to think about tomorrow. To imagine my responsibilities. When I’ll work this week, cleaning, dog park, all that. It keeps trying to incite me to consume. “Don’t you want a special treat Candice?…How about a coffee?…You also need groceries…Treats for the dogs….Don’t they deserve them?… They’ve had a hard day.”
And so on. But I’m stopping that. I’m letting myself feel good about spending time alone. When was the last time? Two weeks ago.
I have Zero 7 playing, my red Chinese paper lantern and some candles lit, and I’m writing. I don’t have to do anything else. I don’t want a coffee. I am not hungry. The dogs are sleeping. I am fine.
Maybe I won’t solve the conundrum that is life, not even my own, tonight. Probably not after many nights like this. But it is such a good feeling, a long transient feeling since my first serious boyfriend came along, and I am glad to have it tonight.

It’s occurred to me recently, that I hardly ever spend time doing just exactly what I want. I sleep when I think I should sleep, eat when I think I should eat, work when I think I should work. When I wake up, I always jump out of bed, and brush my teeth. I never wake up, and lay there, reading for a couple of hours. I never don’t brush my teeth. I never sing when there are people around, even if I feel like it. I shower when I really don’t want to. I drive because I think I have to hurry. I don’t linger at the pool of whirling leaves in the creek for long if there’s anyone around. I don’t stay up later than I “should”, listening to music, drinking wine, alone. I’ve never gone downtown dancing alone. I’ve never gone into work at 10.
Starting now, I’m going to do what ever I feel like, even if it’s a “waste of time,” even if my teeth will rot, even if I won’t be productive, even if I’ll be drunk alone, even if I’m coloring in my Lion King coloring book for 5 hours.
I feel like beinsg myself and forgiving myself for it.

Lizzie McGuire = Big Mac

I know know know that I would write more if I had my own computer con internet. Every time I'm in Houston, I'm writing.
Needless to say, I'm in Houston. Richmond to be specific. James and I are at his mom's for second Thanksgiving visitations. We had first Thanksgiving at my mom's on the 24th.
Whatever.
That's not what I came here today to talk about.
I came here to talk about nothing in particular. I guess I just wanted to listen to myself type.

Am I wrong for finding Hilary Duff revoltingly annoying?
Marilee, my common law sister-in-law, is watching the Lizzy McGuire movie. It just started and I felt little curds of revulsion jiggling in my tummy while watching her trite and so blatantly rehearsed "I'm singing and dancing alone in my room and no one's watching" fiasco.
I ain't a hater.
She's cute, and I'm sure she's a sweet person, but she's, as far as I can see, talentless and her work is unoriginal.

Do movies like Lizzie McGuire fall into the Arts category?
To be sure, all film, including both movies and television, have their origins in theatre, an art in which I'm not too well versed (it's never been my thing), but I know is a display of people in exaggerated situations, exaggerating emotions in order to bring them to the front of our consiousness and look at them, both on a stage and in ourselves. But come on.
It's like trying to call a Big Mac a product of the culinary arts.
There's garbage mass produced for mass consumption, by people with less discerning tastes.
And then there's creation.
To create is to push beyond our mere animal nature. It is to become divine. It is evolution.
It is as beautiful as birth. It is the same thing, only it comes from our mind and soul, not just our bodies. It is pushing our potential. It is transcendence, the transcendence of ourselves.
To create is to acknowledge that which is God-like, that which is divine in all of us.
To mass produce is succumb to the instinctual fear of famine, which translates itself in our modern times as greed. When we must have as much as we possibly can, for fear there may not be enough, or difficult times may come. Capitalism.
(No, I'm not a communist. I'm a Candice-ist. I can think for myself, thank you.)
So, in summary, Lizzie McGuire is not art. It is a Big Mac.

That hurt my brain, all that thinking I just did.

Thanksgiving Thanks

Thanksgiving Day.
I wish I could say I'm feeling warm, fuzzy, thankfullness this morning, but I'd be lying.
I guess these things have to sometimes be induced.
So, in an attempt to both be in a more appreciative state of mind today, and to elevate the situation of my life to someting not so desperate, I think I'll try and list a few things I'm greatful for.
I know. How trite.

*James, who probably is the only person who really knows me, understands me, agrees with me (mostly). I love him so much.
*Auntie, whose heart is as big as her weight in gold. Wait, does that make sense?
*Mom, Pa, and Bra, for being the normal, relatively, part of my family.
*Zoe, my pup, even though she likes James better than me.
*Toni, my oldest and closest friend. Probably the only female who gets me.
*Fo the people who bring out the goofy in me...Crazy Kathy a.k.a. Alex, and Vanaynay.
*Those moments when I really understand. When I know everything is not just going to be, but actually is, okay.
*For magic, imagination, fantasy, subjective reality, and it never being, necessarily, better to grow up.
*Good books, and Tom Robbins.
*Creativity
*Food, and despite things I don't like about it, the fact the I am lucky enough ot have been born in a country of abundance, where I can have so much of so many different foods to try.
*Me, my good looks, cleverness, wit, occasional clarity of mind and understanding, and super hot body. Also that my brain isn't completely retarded.

I don't want this to just turn into a list of things that I like, although that would be a positive contribution to the lightening renovation of my blog. But, another entry.
In reality (subjective of course), there are many other things, small things, I know I am thankful for, but don't realize, like maybe global commerce, which allows me mangos year round, and electrticity, and scientists who take the trouble to figure out things that benefit me but I don't really find interesting enough to bother with myself.
This is my shoutout to all of those innumerable things, which are too many for my not completely retarded brain to even concieve of. HOLLA!

Any how. Life is good, lovin' rocks, money doesn't matter...Erleichda!

Houston.....not so dull this time.

The hurricane is less than 24 hours away from hitting. James and I are stuck in Houston at my familys house. We barely had enough gas to get here from his mom's, much less get back to Austin. I'd say 4/5 of the gas stations along the way were out of gas, and the other 1/5 of them had lines at least 45 minutes long.
I didn't get any pics of that, but when we went to the grocery store for some last minute supplies, I got these. A little taste of chaos.
Mom and our last mintue necessities.
Breadless.
Canned goodless.
Waterless...except for the impending floods.
Meatless.

Thirteen

Last night we took turns dodging pillows the other two threw, all the time, trying to keep our laughter at a low hiss.
We put on Marilee's clock radio, and showed each other our dance moves, chewing Lemonheads, and more Lemonheads.
We played Bullshit, but said "BS," once again, trying to keep our giggles low.
We moved our card game to Ivanna's room, after being told one too many times to keep it down, where were told one last time to keep it down, or we (not me), would have to go to bed.
We played rummy, crazy 8's. We did the splits and backbends. We talked about crushes. We ate string cheese and farted.
Then they went to bed.
And I got to be thirteen again.

Listen All A Y'all, This is Sabotage

As always, I am beginning to sabotage myself.
Watching Team America, I feel a tiny longing to visit France, sitting in cafes, wlking over bridges, buying flowers from flower stalls, eating fries.
Watching Malto Mario, I want to sample Italy's finest food, gathered around a large old wooden table, with 4 generations of my Sicilian family, laughing, lingering, drinking wine poured from a jog.
(I am no part Italian, it's a fantasy. Jesus!)
Watching BBC America today, I wanted to buy my ticket right then to England, to see the cloudy skies, formal, yet lush gardens, and dark pubs.
And so the travel sickness once again shows it's ugly symptoms.
Just when I have a good plan.
I can't just work a shit job, save money and travel for the rest of my life. If I did, I would only really be living, doing something I love, about 1/3 of the time. And that's not even factoring in sleeping, showering, shitting.
One day I'll be old, and I won't be able to work just any shit job any more. And with all the medications I'll have to buy, for my alzheimers and diabetes and erectile dysfunction, I'll probably just barely be scraping by.
Am I overly concerned about a future that may never even come to be?
Am I trying to insure my life?
No.
I just know what it's like to live the way I live because I've been living that way for quite a while by now.
I am not satisfied. I am not happy with it. I am not living my dream.
I am not fulfilled.
So it's time to move along, to commit to something (at least for now...he he), and not fall back into my habitual way of life, because it's that...a habit.
I don't suspect that I'll ever stop travelling. I love it. I need it.
I get these serious cravings that HAVE to be pacified. It's like heroin for me.
But at this point in my life, travelling can never be for me, anything more than a diversion from the cruel reality of my soul killing job.
I can't join the Peace Corps. I can't teach English in Japan.
I don't know if I am currently capable of combining my passions with my responsibilites.

Oh no...
We were just talking about Fredericksberg, and the awesome German food, and Enchanted rock. James was reminiscently complaining about the price of camping there, and compared it to the average costs of National Parks.
And suddenly, I was longing for the view of the entrance booth, the beauty abounding on either side of the road, the map at the trailhead, the treasures to be discovered along the path.
I want another shot at Denali. I want to be deep in Olympic. The Great Smoky Mountains, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Grand Teton. I want it all again.
And then, think of all the National Parks in other countries...Croatia, Costa Rica, Australia, Kenya. Jesus Christ!

See what I'm saying?
Frick a lick on a stick!

Commitment and Eclairs

I always get a little swirrl of anxiety when I sit down to write.
Maybe it's not knowing the outcome.
Maybe it's the uncertainty that I'll find the words.
But I'm feeling it now.

I'm writing because I was inspired by my friend Dani's blog entry that she wrote recently about herself. More specifically, things she finds wrong with herself.
With this train of thought, fresh and in the back of my mind, I wrote to my friend Toni. I haven't been in too close of contact with her in a while, so I was telling her about what's been going on in my life.
It was during this e-mail that I realized, I am afraid of commitment.
Maybe "afraid" isn't the right word.
Maybe I have an aversion to commitment.
Maybe I'm allergic.
Whatever the appropriate term for my inability to commit to things, the fact is, I am unable to commit to things.
I'm not talking about relationships. James and I have been together 4 years as of the 10th of October. I am very commited to him. I don't know about marriage, but that's a whole other story.
I'm talking about commitment to any direction in my life.
I'm talking about to anything lasting longer than a couple of weeks.
Por Ejemplo: In the past 4ish years, I have been intensly and passionately interested in crochet, belly dance, beading, poi, and haiku, all for about a month each. And those are just the examples I can think of right off the top of my head.
I have made arrangements to roommate with 4 different people, Julie, Toni, Melody, and Jen. I have followed through with only Julie, and that was only for a month and a half. The rest, I've decided against after a couple weeks thought, thus ruining other's plans and nearly breaking up my sister, Melody, and her fiance.
I can't even commit to simple plans to hang out with people. I make the plan, I decide I don't want to hang out after all, I never call, and when that person calls me, I don't answer the phone. people who know me really well have come to understand this about me: I am a flake.
So, at this particular juncture in my life, I have a plan, as I usually do.
I am going to save money, for roughly a year. Then I'm going to take out loans for school, at the same time, investing the money I've saved, with James' help. Then I'll go to school. When I'm finished with school, I'll use the money I had originally saved to pay off my loans before they accure any interest, and I'll keep the money I made off that money in the stock market, so it can make me some mo monies.
An excellent plan I think. I really like this one.
But you don't understand. I've made SOOOOOO many plans. And SOOOOO few have come to fruition.
Why? Because I can't commit. Therefore, I get little accomplished.
Therefore, much of the time I feel like I'm floating around, just stayin' alive.
I imagine such great things for myself. Such wonderful experiences and accomplishments. I expect a wonderful life.
Buy how the frick am I supposed to experience and accomplish great things if I can't commit to something for more than a month?
Maybe I have a short attention span.
There are only a few long lasting passions in my life, and those are, in order of age (though definitely not in order of importance), food, writing, cooking, and James.
Travel also actually, but as it's not on a front burner for me right now, I hesitate to add it to the previous list.

So I'm a commitment-phobe. What do I do? I feel ya guys.

I just want to add, I made eclairs from scratch today. If you've only had doughnut shop eclairs, then you've never had one. SHAZAAM!

The Playground

And I thought there was nothing to photograph in this neighborhood.

The Background

It's retarded.
On this blog, I've recently discovered, I don't feel free to write about stupid random shit.
I know some would disagree, were they to read back over my previous entries, but I personally always feel that I have to at least stir a certain amount of cleverness into my entries.
When I log on to Blogger, I feel.....pressure.
Maybe it's the imposing grey background.
Maybe, well, that's actually all I can think of.
I think I'll change the background.

That's better.

Flawed

I had so much good, clean, and productive fun yesterday with the series of "Flawed" photos, and others I took in James' Mom's van and the fabric store, I think I'll do it again today.
I had been looking through some peoples photos on Deviantart, and regretting the fact that the 3rd dimension does strange things to my face, and therefore, obviously, I could not model for myself in photos.
Then it occured to me that maybe I was looking for the wrong things in a model.
Some old dead guy, like Goethe, or Mussolini, or some one said,
"Ugly can be beautiful, but pretty, never."
And I realized that all those distorted angles, and imperfect features, were infinitely more interesting than a scarless chin, or a perfect button nose.
So I will continue in my "Flawed" series, to appreciate, through very blunt photos, all of my previously unloved parts.