Awkward Commuting Moments Chapter 31095

I’ve pretty much come to believe that if you’re a female, under the age of 90, with vital signs and mammary glands, you need to accept that men will start random conversations with you on public transportation.  It will be a part of your life.  I’ve seen it happen to everyone.  And if you’re carrying anything out of the ordinary with you? You know, sort of like a convenient handheld…. conversation starter? Girlfriend keep your head DOWN!

Like, I accept the higher risk when I’m carrying around a large parcel (“Heavy load for a little lady! Need help?”), food (“Hey is that for me? Well thanks!”), etc.  Once, long story, I was carrying a Jack-o-Lantern, and resigned myself to the fact that there was no way I was getting to work without somebody making a dumb remark.  Y’all… I made it almost all the way there, was like 45 seconds to the promise land, when some idiot comes up and says “Hey nice Jack-o-Lantern.  Next time you should just carve your profile in it.”

GROAN. #WorldsMostAtrociousHalloweenPickupLinesEverSeriously

Once on the bus, when I was wearing a houndstooth skirt, some dude goes “Did you go to Alabama?” I figured he thought he knew me or something, and I said no I had not, and he said “Oh.  I thought you did, because the pattern on your skirt is what the basketball coach always wears.  He’s like known for it.”  Ummmm…. K? Sorry, coincidence? And OK one last stupid story, and OK technically this was at Chop’t, but I was wearing a green sweater, their walls are green, and a guy goes “I see you wanted to match the walls today!”

COME ON! I forgive you for taking the pumpkin lure, and EVEN for my mistake of daring to wear a pattern, but all I did was put on a GREEN SWEATER for God’s sake.

My only dream in life is that someday I can drive to work in my own personal vehicle where nobody can pester me and I can rock out to Air Supply, or listen to Emily Giffin books on tape, or make dentist appointments in privacy.  All you folks out there with that privilege, appreciate that crap.  

ANYWAY.  Geez I always come on here wanting to say one little thing and end up thinking of a million other stories relating to it.  Focus.  I no has it.  Anyway again.  Tonight.  I was on the bus reading innocently. (And another thing, why do people feel they can interrupt if you’re reading or have headphones in!? Closed for business!) And this dude next to me goes “I see you’re still reading print!” Now I exercised great restraint and didn’t tell him that I thought e-readers could lead to the demise of society as we know it, and instead chose the more PC “Yep… heh heh!”

Then he says “Yea I just got the Kindle Fire.  Let me show you this special case I use for it.” And I’m like are you SERIOUS not only do I have to suffer through feigned affection for e-readers but now their accessories?! And out of his bag he pulls….

Some sort of plastic packaging with some sort of label that says something like “Men’s Briefs- 3 Pack” with a little undie graphic on it. 

OH DEAR GOD he meant to show me his stupid Kindle case and accidentally pulled out empty underwear packaging.  I’m so embarrassed for both of us right now.  MAKE IT STOP.

Why is he still holding this in front of me!??!!? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW!?

OH MY GOD IT’S THE PUNCHLINE I get it I get it OK.

“Oh! Haha! Well isn’t that funny,” I belatedly reply.  “Very high tech!”

(lololololololololololol)

A Letter to the Gym

I am super fed up with my gym and sent them this email tonight.  I will of course let you know what I hear from them and reveal their identity if my demands go unmet.  Mwahahaha! (Or as they say in The Muppet Movie… “Maniacal laugh……Maniacal laugh!…….Maniacal laugh!!!!)

_______________________

 

Hi Member Services. 

 

WE GOT ISSUES.

 

Let me tell you a story here.  For storytelling facilitation I’ll give away the ending, which is that for the second week in a row, we had no instructor and no 6:30pm Monday spin class.

 

To rewind a tiny bit.  My husband and new-found domestic workout buddy is a brand new member of yours, having just joined two weeks ago after a positive spin class experience that he attended on a guest pass from me. 

 

I cannot tell you what a big deal that is, Member Services! Cannot tell you! I had to apply ZERO follow up nagging here!  He had a good time and very graciously coughed up his credit card for you people, with the understanding he would be making many more positive spinning memories in the future. 

 

So then last week, we show up all ready and excited like happy little [redacted gym name] members, except 10 minutes past when the class was supposed to start, we’re still sitting there aimlessly spinning on our little bikes, like wayward little lambs out to pasture without a spinning instructor.  Some clueless front desk person finally came in and told us “Oh by the way, this class is cancelled.”  And then cluelessly walked back out.

 

WTF DUDE. 

 

Tonight, we showed up again for class, and were AGAIN left alone and abandoned until someone actually went to the front desk and reported that it looked liked class was “cancelled” again. 

 

OK, the thing is, I COULD have very easily forgiven this if it was an isolated occurrence.  I am THE most forgiving person on your entire membership roster, I guarantee that.  I mean, I am really fired up about this yet the extent of my anger expression is this snarky email.  So if you’re on the receiving end of a snarky email from me, you know you’ve got a SERIOUS customer relations problem on your hands.   

 

But my well of mercy done run dry with you people! You know why? Because I used to frequent your Yoga classes until this exact pattern happened then, too.  A no-show instructor, followed by a SECOND week of no-show instructor, because apparently even though that person was SEVEN DAYS LATE FOR WORK, nobody thought to, you know, follow up! Honestly I have been to your facility maybe like 15-20 times, a whopping 4 of which were to attend classes that never happened.  That is a REALLY ABHORRENT rate! 

 

Do you know that by the second week of failed Yoga class we were so fed up that myself and another gentleman attempted to teach the class ourselves?! More on this later, FRIEND.

 

Let’s further explore the depths of my mercy.  I would have walked away from all of this feeling a LOT better about my customer service experience had any of the following happened:

 

1.  The class was removed from the online schedule.

 

2.  As a local member, I got some kind of email alert saying the class for that night was cancelled.  Do you know how many spam emails I get from you folks on a daily basis!? I ALREADY belong! You ALREADY get my money! And yet every day I’m being asked to Add a Workout Buddy! Get a Trainer! 5% Cash Back If You Pay with Discover! I even get creepy stalker emails saying “We see were at the gym last night… care to take a survey about your experience?” Hi, no, here is a free one-person focus group.  Spare me the crap and just freaking give me some kind of notice if classes are cancelled, turdballs!  

 

3.  There was even some sort of minimal degree of quality control here, maybe for instance that an employee confirms instructors are there and group classes are underway at their scheduled times?! How many zillions of dollars is your company pulling in and that is not on anyone’s freaking checklist? During all 4 of these incidents, it was the actual attendees that had to confusedly wander out to the front desk to ask what the heck was going on.  (And as mentioned, nobody knew what the heck was going on).

 

And I just want to stress once again how fragile your relationship is with this humble narrator and her spouse.  My husband? He joined for the exact purposes of going to these classes and his first two as a paying member have not come to fruition.  His confidence in your corporation is pretty low right now.  Myself? I passed up two gyms closer to our house because they didn’t have group classes and I’m too lazy for a self-directed routine.  However I must say if this nonsense continues I suspect I may be finding some motivation to change my habits. 

 

BUT because I’m merciful, like I mentioned, I’m willing to negotiate.  If you meet the following conditions within 7 business days of receipt of this message, my household will keep our memberships and give you another chance:

 

1.  I want both of our membership fees for November refunded.

 

2.  I want a $10 credit for faux-teaching that Yoga class over the summer and bailing your disorganized arses out.

 

If you fail to meet the conditions in the prescribed time, we revoke our membership AND the following things happen:

 

1.  I get on Yelp and unleash the fury.  And this so-called “Twitter”.  If I can figure it out.  Whichever one I figure out first.  Facebook too.  I’m positive my social networking disapproval will send your corporation crashing to a halt.  Dump the stock now. 

 

2.  I publicly denounce you on my blog.  Yea that’s right.  Get your Public Relations executive on the line.  FEAR ME.  It’s the 346,968th most popular on the internet according to statistics from “bloglovin.com” so you know I command the attention of thousands of impressionable consumers.  And by thousands I mean 3 or 4.  But impressionable consumers DO read Yelp and Twitter I already said I’d trash you there per item #1.

 

Otay, Member Services.  Thanks and I appreciate you listening.  I hope we can work this out.  If you need any further information to meet my demands feel free to reply to this email address.   

 

Toodles–

 

Sarah

Engageiversary/Flood

Three years ago, Jeff hooked me up with a sweet rock and done proposed to me…

It’s silly that I still celebrate this right? Yea it’s silly I know.  Whatever.  Hallmark says life is a special occasion and I am generally in the business of doing what Hallmark tells me.

Fast forward to today, Jeff came home to find our friggin’ house flooded.  Urgh.  A pain, but when both of our immediate reaction was incredulous laughter, I was once again reminded of what a good team we have going on.  And when my giggles quickly deteriorated into an overwhelmed meltdown, his turned into problem solving and talking me down off the ledge.  Thanks hubster.  Happily the situation is under control and mostly resolved in time for us to make the journey to Pennsylvania tomorrow. 

I’ll be offline of course for the holiday, so let me take this time to offer everyone out there the happiest, merriest of Thanksgivings! As always, I am thankful this weekend and every day for my wonderful family (nutty as they may be), my friends and the many special people in my life, and all the provisions I don’t deserve but that God hooks me up with anyway.  And yes, I’m even thankful for floods that remind me of all the fresh, clean, temperature controlled water flowing into our kitchen and bathroom every day.  Perspective yo.

Happy travels! xoxo

Anatomy of Umbrella Possession

It rained again today.  I swear every time it rains I become convinced it is the rainiest stretch of weather of my entire life.  And then well-meaning people make casual talk in elevators and say “Wet out there, huh!” and I over-respond with “OMIGOD I know I KNOW! Is it just me or has it never rained this much EVER?!” And then they nervously let out a “right, heh heh” and desperately dig for a smart phone to divert their attention to.

But really I think it just feels that way when you’re running around miserable and wet all the time because you never have your life together enough to have an umbrella when it’s raining.  I’ve just come to believe it won’t ever happen for me.  I mean, most days I can manage to do my hair and fake my way through a put together existence, but nothing shatters that facade and announces to the world “Yep, I’m a disaster!!” like sprinting down the street holding a commuter paper over your head alongside throngs of perfectly coiffed DC girls with Wellies and Burberry umbrellas. 

And of course Jeff, the lover of rules, is, as you may have guessed, the opposite kind of person who somehow knows when it’s going to rain and is always ready with his umbrella, usually even a respectable looking umbrella that isn’t just metal spikes with a clump of nylon hanging off it.  Which is another variation of my embarrassing relationship with umbrellas.  And then he’s like,  ”Well Sarah of course I have an umbrella, it was supposed to rain today!” And I’m like how am I supposed to know it was supposed to rain today? Who am I, GOD?! Or some sort of closet meteorologist?

Knowing if it’s supposed to rain involves watching the news.  Can I tell you how much I am over the news? Why would you watch the news unless you just wanted to invite depression into your life? Obviously I’m aware there’s terrible things going on in the world, I don’t need the news to illustrate it for me in gut-wrenching detail.  Like the other day I caught 4 minutes of CNN while out for lunch, and the story was that 5 decapitated human heads were found outside a school in Mexico.  And THAT my friends, is why I don’t watch the news.  And why I get rained on.  And why I’ll never go to Mexico!

Secondly: I am sprinting out the door every morning to get the bus and 2 minutes to track down an umbrella is NOT a luxury I can accommodate.  Why does it take so long to find my umbrella?! Because my umbrella du jour is NEVER AROUND…

Problem 3 is that I only resort to tracking down an umbrella in the direst of circumstances.  As an optimist, I irrationally convince myself that it’s not going to rain even when it’s extremely, extremely ominous outside.  Because grabbing an umbrella is just throwing in the towel and willing the universe to precipitate, obviously.  As long as I believe it will clear up, the hope lives on.  It’s possible I’m confusing optimism and denial in this instance.  But I’m going to choose to not acknowledge that.

And there you have another chapter in my autobiography.  As always, may it make you feel a little better about yours.      

 

My Bad

Still haven’t quite made the progress I hoped with the Yoga prep! Gah.  And tomorrow afternoon we’re off to semi-rural Virginia for our weekend-long retreat! I am so excited but also dreading what could be a very poor showing for my blossoming teacher skills. Gah (again).  Be back after the weekend.  Send me happy, non-humiliating vibes!

Hi

I would have loved to have written tonight but I got sidetracked by wine and mozzarella with my sweet work buddies Kelly and Kelly.  (Hi Kelly!)

With approximately 29 minutes left until I inevitably plummet face-first into snoozeland, I should probably utilize them to continue preparations for my first, full length, hour-and-fifteen-minute Yoga class I’m practice teaching this weekend. 

Say it with me…

MEEEEP!

Back tomorrow maybe.  But what sort of person would I be if I left you empty handed!? A TERRIBLE SORT OF PERSON OBVIOUSLY.

Jon Stewart’s commentary on Jerry Sandusky’s phone interview.  1) WHAT attorney thought this was a good idea?! 2) The level of absurdity and incomprehensibility of this entire exchange is…. incomprehensible and 3) Why does Bob Costas not age?! He is like freaking Richard Alpert from Lost.

Switching gears!

Otter babies at the Miami Metroparks Zoo! If you pass up a link involving baby otters you have no soul.  Click.  Don’t deny yourself.

*Edited to Note!* As I posted this WordPress indicated it was my 100th post! Umm… yay? I wish I could say that I’ve come a long way since my inaugural post about the US Shitting the Debt Ceiling but the above material proves that no, no I have not.  Nevertheless, THANK YOU for reading and maybe by #500 I will be more eloquent.  Or something.

Parenting Chooch the Pooch

Did y’all catch this guest post at Geek in Heels today? I was so flattered to pinch hit while Jenny takes maternity leave for her a-dor-a-buhl baby girl (seriously… newborn pic alert people… run don’t walk!).  I’m cross posting it here for perpetuity purposes.  And thanks all you guys that clicked over… make yourselves at home and please help yourself to the punch bowl!

###

So in honor of the arrival of Jenny’s sweet baby girl #2, I thought I’d write something pertaining to babies or parenting or something.  The only minor glitch here being that I am not, in fact, a parent.  (Mostly I just prefer to precariously delight in the pregnancies/babies of friends, relatives, colleagues, bloggers, facebook friends that I haven’t talked to in 10 years, strangers on the street, etc.)  But… earlier this year my husband and I did became proud adoptive parents to a bouncing baby beagle, now known to the world as Chooch:

 So although I am aware that pet-parenthood is probably .0000008% the difficulty level of human-parenthood, I do at least feel like we’ve been given the slightest crash course in caretaking before being sent out into the wilderness.  Here’s why…

POOP.  I have to start with poop.  Duh.  Parents are always talking about poop, the poop, all of the poop!  Being married to a guy who’s 29 going on 10, poop discussions already had a more prominent role in our lives than I was comfortable with, but they’ve increased exponentially since pup acquisition.  Now exchanges like this are common in the household:

“Hmm, Chooch hasn’t pooped all day!  Is he OK?!”
“Oh it’s cool, he had a pretty voluminous one this morning.”
“Oh OK.  Hey I forgot to tell you he pooped out a Reese’s wrapper yesterday!”  

We’re in Charge of the Well-Being of a Living Creature.  Historically I never had the best batting average with plants, so at first I wondered why on earth I thought I’d be able to actually take care of a mammal.  But now I am amazed that the tiny, clueless pup that first pitter-pattered into our home has now become a strapping 28 pounder and obedience school graduate, all under our care.  Win! Unfortunately this responsibility also comes with a great deal of worrying about his well-being.  And by worrying, I mean neurotic bouts of irrational panic.  For instance, the other week I was at an all-day yoga class, and realized I couldn’t remember if I’d blown out a candle at home.  So being the insane person I am, I became convinced the house would burn down in my absence (my husband was at work).  I said to myself “Even if the house burns down, we have insurance, whatevs.”  Then I realized…. OMG CHOOCH! At this point we were doing a meditation exercise wherein we were breathing very slowly and counting backwards from 50, so my brain visualizations were like “48…….. Chooch fleeing the fire, desperately clawing the door!…..47……. Chooch confused, crying for his parents to save him!…….46……..FIREMEN! ARRIVE! TOO! LATE!“

We Never Sleep In.  Chooch is on some crazy biorhythm and wakes up about 6:30 or 7:00 in the morning. And when you’re a dog, EVERY morning is Christmas morning because you’re getting food! And a walk! OMG! He loves it.  This is convenient during the week but sadly, our leisurely weekend mornings are long gone, and instead every day begins with Chooch stomping up to the head of the bed and jabbing his paws into our faces/tracheas/sternums. 

We “Co-Sleep” Even Though We Swore We Never Would.  After our wedding I banked all of our Macy’s gift cards and bought this beautiful bedding.  Duvet… nice sheets… BREAKFAST PILLOWS for Pete’s sake… I felt like the most rock-star wifey when I used to make that bed.  I SWORE the dog would never get near it.  Guess how this story ends! After round #23985 of Chooch jumping on the bed and me removing him, I was just sick of it.  The breakfast pillows have now been relegated to the closet, and if it will buy me 15 extra minutes of sleep (see above), I don’t even care if he snuggles under the sheets.  This despite the fact that we regularly witness his foot getting caught in the crossfire of his piddle.

If Someone Asks About the Dog We Can’t Shut Up.  Seriously, it’s embarrassing.  You’ll wish you’d never asked because suddenly we’re scrolling through the phone to shove pictures in your face and telling you a 45 minute long story about when he went to get his nails clipped.

Good Cop/Bad Cop Roles are Established.  My husband will firmly correct the dog when he’s doing something bad and I’m all DON’T YOU SPEAK TO MY BABY LIKE THAT! Or he will try to discourage me from indulging the dog with people food and I’m like “But…..BUT!….. If we deny him this peanut butter he’ll never forget and he’ll think we hate him and he may never recover and look he wants it so badly!” We also had a great deal of disagreement in the first few weeks over the controversial crate– as I felt it was an inhumane, torturous device created by possibly the devil himself.  Happily we were able to phase out the crate due to our dog being the smartest, most trustworthy, most well-behaved pup ever.  DUH.

Travel Becomes a Serious Ordeal.  Yep, no more spontaneity there! Now it’s: has he been sufficiently exhausted such that we can get him to sleep most of the ride? Do you have his dog bed? A fresh bone? His bunny? His travel water cup? What’s our targeted potty break site?

We Learn to Communicate with a Being with No Language Skills.  (Or, another anecdote about poop).  So, early on when Chooch was transitioning from the crate, one night he woke up in the middle of night and was whining and carrying on like whoa.  We thought he was mixed up and believed it was morning/was demanding his walk, but apparently someone was having tummy troubles.  He wouldn’t quiet down so we put him in the crate, and a few minutes later a familiar yet dreaded scent wafted through the bedroom.  POO! The poor little guy had diarrhea! We felt terrible.  We felt terrible-er when he bolted from the crate and traipsed a poo trail all over the second floor.  We spent the 2:00 am–3:00 am hour cleaning the dog, the floors, the carpets, the crate… disaster.  Moral of the story: rookie error! Never again will we misread that cue!

We Learn to Looooove.  Awww.  A serious note to end on.  It’s true, we adore that little furball! There is something so different about loving a little, innocent, dependent creature! Some mornings when I’m closing the door behind me to go to work and he’s staring at me quizzically with his little wagging tail, I honestly tear up! Is that so pathetic? Don’t answer.  This makes me unbeLIEVably afraid for future human babies because I can’t imagine how much of an emotional mess I could become.  YIKES, people. 

 

Everything You Ever Wanted to Know about Potter County, Pennsylvania (Don’t You Dare Mark as Read)

Jeff and I saw this bumper sticker on a car in a grocery store parking lot here in Virginia and had a fit. 

POCO! Y’all have no idea the odds of running into someone from Potter County, PA here or anywhere in the world, really.  “But Sarah,” you ask, “Pennsylvania must be chock-full of awesome counties, why is this one so special that people are rocking Poco pride bumper stickers across state lines?”

I’M GLAD YOU ASKED.  Allow me to share with you the 2 things I know about Potter County.  

1. My uncle at one point co-owned a hunting cabin there, and one time all our families hatched an ill-conceived plan to have a fun bonding weekend there.  There, the following things happened:

• We left on a Friday night, meaning it was dark by the time we got up there.  We were lost, it was rural beyond our ruralest expectations, my parents fought over directions, the minivan was switched into D1 and D2, I thought we were going to die and get eaten by grizzlies and/or caribou.  Do not ever try to drive to this place in the dark. 
• Since I was an angsty 14 year old, and since there was literally nothing to do, I laid on the couch all weekend reading Truman Capote.  The couch smelled really bad.  It was discovered at the end of the weekend that a deceased mouse embedded in the couch was to blame for the stench.
• Toilets clogged.  People had target practice with coke cans.  Et cetera.

2.  Poco has a population density of 17 people per square mile. 

For perspective, the deer population of Pennsylvania is estimated at 51 per square mile.  (and since Poco is the 63rd least populated county out of 67, the deer density is probably 40 times that.  Awesome!)

And that is all I know.  But you can bet my little heart beat with Commonwealth pride when I saw a long lost PA pal all the way down here! 

To wrap things up this evening, here are a few images I pulled from the first 5 pages of google image results for Potter County, Pennsylvania.  So you can try it yourself if you don’t believe me

Around Town

First off, just so you’re aware, this was Macy’s on 10 November 2011…

Secondly, coming out of Macy’s, I looked over and spotted something affixed to a pole.  “Is that….. some piece of computer paper…. with a picture… of Justice Scalia on it?”

Oh this is gonna be good…

First Luke Skywalker from China and now!? What is going ON with people this week!? Once again, I am just not clear on the message here.  Antoin [sic] Scalia utilizes date rape drugs and…. for more information…. contact…. wait for it…. Antoin Scalia?  Well that’s a little counterintuitive is it not? And I mean, obviously this person has some strong feelings on this and went through a great deal of trouble to print this, so it’s a shame that I’m just not grasping what my “takeaway” or “call to action” is here.  I guess it’s just, uhh, an FYI type thing.

Lastly…

Candy-cane patterned tights with horizontal stripes? Who thought this was a good idea? NO, woman! Nevermore, nevermore!

 

Obligatory Penn State Weigh In

Is this as big of a deal everywhere as it is here in the Midatlantic? Or is it just because every fourth person I know (and approximately 99.4% of the people on my facebook) are Penn Staters?

I hate to get controversial, and I’m sure I’m not saying anything groundbreaking, but whatever.  I feel like chatting about it.  It’s my blog and I’ll-repeat-what-plenty-of-people-are-already-saying-but-in-different-words if I want to.

First can I just say most days I kick myself for not having gone to Penn State.  My mom worked for the PSU University Hospital for upwards of 10 years, and as such I was entitled to some sweet, sweet tuition discounts.  On top of in-state rates.  Why I chose to instead borrow Eleventy McBillion dollars and go to GW, I will never know.  Actually, wait, I know… because at 17 I wasn’t capable of making adult decisions (isn’t it crazy that we expect 17 year olds to?!), and I made a second un-adult decision by ignoring the warnings of actual adults.    But this week I’m all Don’t Blame Me I Went Out of State!

I’m totally conflicted over all of this.  I have serious issues with misplaced sympathy, devil’s advocacy, excuse making, etc.  It’s a problem. I just can’t help that my heart breaks a tiny bit thinking of this person- with a wife and children- likely going to jail for the rest of his life.  And seeing Joe Paterno’s fifty year career end on such a terrible, devastating note. 

But then I say to myself GET A FRIGGIN HOLD OF YO SELF WOMAN… Look at what was going on here! I mean… the extent to which crimes of this magnitude were pushed under the rug and not taken seriously is astounding and un-freaking-acceptable.  And the fact that they KNEW and had eyewitnesses to the worst offense (that we know of) and tried to self-police it with THE silliest fake “punishment” in the history of mankind?!?! In case you don’t know what I’m referencing, they caught this guy sodomizing/raping a 10 year old and decided that, well, they would just make a rule that he couldn’t be alone in the locker room with boys anymore.  I mean, I’d say it’s a “slap on the wrist” but no, it’s not anything to anything, a wrist or otherwise.  To me it’s the equivalent of pulling the Uni-bomber aside and being like “Now TED….. What did we talk about? I’m going to need you to back off those letter bombs, mmkay buddy? Last warning this time, alright?”

So, it is a shame, and unfortunate, but there needs to be a clear precedent set that more is expected of leaders.  I love that saying about the right thing to do and the hardest thing to do being the same.  Leaders choose the hard thing.  Always. 

And obviously the MOST important precedent is that children’s welfare trumps SPORTS. 

SORRY.

Don’t get me started on sports.  I was an athlete and I know they are awesome on many levels which I could blab on for hours about, but they are not the be-all-end-all of life and human existence.  And I want to SLAP some of these idiot college kids who at 20 have not faced .04% of the adversity that these victims had experienced at 10 (don’t forget this sickwad found his targets from a football camp for disadvantaged kids).  This is not directed at all Penn Staters, just the immature entitled ones who are all OMG BOO HOO MAH FOOTBALL PROGRAM and are writing statements like “My prayers go out to the victims BUT…”.  No.  Shut your pie hole.  Back away from the keyboard.  There is no but.  Priorities.  GET SOME.

Uhh… The end.  Don’t hate me.