Crazy People

For reasons I cannot readily explain, I like to do things that I know for a fact to be terrible for me. It is amazing to me that I have managed to function as a somewhat competent adult until now, but I really do worry about what the future may hold for me. I think, due to my unwavering dedication to anything and anyone that I feel truly passionate about, the fact that every once in a while I indulge in these little experiences of self-deprecating madness, I may be okay. But not before these experiences take a toll on me, physically and mentally.

To clear the air right now, I am not talking about my love of partying. Granted, this in and of itself is not good for me, I have slowed down quite a bit in my old age. You reach a point, somewhere in your mid-20s, where you realize that engaging in such reckless and irresponsible behavior just isn't fun anymore. Not to mention that I am beginning to greatly dislike losing control to the point where I cannot remember things. But it is an experience, yeah?

By engaging in things that are bad for me, I am referring to my unavoidable obsession with becoming unhealthily attached to people who I know are not good for me. And not good for me may be a bit harsh. It is not really that these people are not good for me, but due to the physical, mental, or psychological unavailability of said person, I find myself giving a lot more to these relationships than they deserve, and this has left me a bit of a wreck. It is both exhausting and disheartening to invest in these relationships, but I cannot stop. What is it with me and latching onto people who are, for whatever shortcoming of their own (or is it my own shortcoming?), unable to return a friendship or relationship with the same level of commitment I do? And why the hell can I not dump these people? It is not like I am hard-pressed for friends. I have never regarded myself as someone who is desperate for human interaction, but it is these stupid relationships that leave me questioning the state of the world and humanity as we know it.

Now this is not to say that everyone I meet falls into this category. In fact, far from it. I have some of the best friends anyone could ask for. I have met some of the best people you could ever hope to meet. It is these little hiccups along the road, however, that remind me why it is so hard to make new friends. People are insane. Everyone. Me more so than others, I will be honest. But I need to set a limit on just HOW MUCH insanity I can deal with. And why cant people display their true colors early on in a relationship? Why do they have to wait, four, five, six months to unleash their craziness on me? I am on to you, crazy people!

This blog was not sparked by any particular person or any recent event. It is something that has been building in me for a while, and since people are bored on a Friday at work, I figured why not share it. I think this is something everyone goes through at some point: you find a person that you give so much of yourself to and it just is not reciprocated. At what point do you just cut your loses and run?

aaaaaand we are back!

Well, folks. It is official: in exactly 90 days I will leave the Vaterland and head back to my cozy little bubble of awesomeness that is the United States! I am starting to freak out a little, because I know the inevitable question on everyone's mind back in Idaho is "so, Sarah...are you fluent in German now"? The good thing is, given the lack of German speakers in Idaho, I can lie and say yes and spout a bunch of random words in German (coupled with my super sexy American accent...eye roll here) and no one will be any the wiser. Well, except for my German professors next semester, who will start babbling to me auf Deutsch and expect me to understand. I have a feeling they are going to get the same blank stare I give to everyone here. And then they will wonder just how big of an idiot I actually am.

But here is the question: can anyone just attain complete proficiency in another language in just a year? I mean, okay, I am sure there are people, but normal people? People like me, who may be a little past their prime? I wonder how things would have been different if I had gone to say, Spain. I think having a little bit of background to a language when you are younger is exponentially helpful. Jumping into a language like German...super smart, Sarah. Especially given the prevalence of Deutsch in the states. But I refuse to give up. I may not be fluent by the time I get back...hell, I might not even be able to understand people, but I am not giving up on German. And dammit all, if I have children, fuck a nice Hispanic nanny. Oh no. I am finding Helga von Teufel to whip those little bastards into shape. They will speak German. Maybe Chinese. Oh yes, future kids. Get your shit ready.

I have managed to plan the rest of my European adventures and I gotta say, there are some fun times in my future. München, Garmisch, Köln, Paris, Amsterdam, Berlin, San Sebastian. I am going to become a well-rounded, traveled Republican. And it will be glorious. And I am very excited about my sister and my friends coming to visit. It is nice to have something to look forward to every month; I think it will make the remainder of my time here go by a lot faster.

Oh, and tomorrow I am (hopefully) FINALLY going to get my hair cut. It has been 5 months, and anyone with fine, thinning hair knows that going 5 months without a haircut is pretty much on par with never eating vegetables. I look something scary right now...one side is way shorter than the other, and my layers are so not working. This should be a fun adventure! Holla!

Yes, I am still alive!

I wish I could lie and say that I just have not had time for blogging, but alas, I cannot seem to muster up the strength to deceive myself like that. Truth be told, I have been busy, though I still manage to find time to stare blankly off into space for several hours contemplating the state of the world and my role in it. With the assistance of some wine.

I am officially in full swing here, as classes at the actual University have started, along with my German language courses. I had to take some courses in English because I am on German overload. Which is funny, because I just had a two week break from the actual German courses. I think learning German with complete immersion in the schools is much like drinking. You can take a two week break, but if, at the end of that two week break, you think you can do a minute long keg stand without some sort of repercussion, you are sorely mistaken. Going from just casual conversational German with my friends to wa-bam Deutsch grammar made my head want to implode on itself.

In other fun and exciting news, I am making my theatrical debut here in Deutschland as part of ACT: the English-speaking theatre group on campus. I am going to pretend like I am actually a good actor and that is why my auditions went so well, but I cant help but think it also has something to do with the fact that, oh, I don't know, I am a native English speaker. I am going to continue to live in my little bubble of awesomeness, though, so whatever. I really hope I do not forget my lines. I keep having these anxiety-ridden nightmares where I get up on stage and can only think of my lines in German, which is entirely implausible because, well, fuck, I do not speak German. Stranger things have happened, though.

As my time here in Germany winds down, I am filled with such a clusterfuck of mixed emotions. I cannot even begin to describe how unbelievably excited I am to go home. Fuck, I am even excited about taking accounting courses in the Fall--how sick is that?? I have started a list of things that I am going to do when I get home, and it is a good thing I have a week before classes start because I am going to need all that free time to get my Boise on. But alas, there is a part of me that is really starting to grow attached to Germany. Dare I say that if my circumstances were different (for example: if I were not living in Saarbrücken, or if I was not in student housing and had such basic necessities as a washer, stove, kitchen, washing machine, etc.) I might be tempted to stay here. There is a lot about Germany I like, and a lot about Germany that I do not like, but I think that holds true with a lot of places. I know I am going to be so glad to be away from some of these super rude Germans. If one more guy pushes me out of the way to get on the bus before me, I am going to kick him in the testicles. Maybe then knee him in the nose. I cannot believe how something as simple and timeless as male chivalry has seemed to escape the Germans. Yeah, yeah, yeah, so I am a feminist and all that bullshit, but this is something so incredibly simple--dare I even say, innate decency. I really hope I do not move back to Boise and ram the back of someones car for cutting me off in traffic. I think that is a very German response to such things.

But the weather here has been absolutely beautiful--mid to high 70s--perfect sundress weather, or drinking weather, or my new favorite activity in Germany--schwenker! I will give Saarland that--schwenker is like a gift from God. Coupled with good friends, good drinks and some other fun and exciting additions, I feel like my days could not get any better, stretched out in Jens backyard reveling in the awesomeness that is voluntary unemployment.



I will say that today was a little bitchy, as I finally mustered up the motivation to go on my run around 5 (oh yeah, I signed up for the Portland marathon in October--someone get me some drugs, fast!) and half-way through, a Humboldt-style rain left me looking and smelling like a wet dog. This is why running is evil.

I think that is all for now. I am going to pour myself a beer (mixed with banana juice which, by the way, is freaking AMAZING! Thank you, Germany, for introducing me to new and exciting ways to enjoy my alcohol!) and watch the latest episode of The Colbert Report.

grocery shopping woes

I have been getting ready to go to the grocery store now for the better part of two hours. You may be thinking "why are you getting all dressed up and taking so much time simply to go to the grocery store"? Truth be told, I am not getting dressed up. I do not even have make-up on. I have been sitting in my underwear, flipping through my ipod, blasting at unreasonably high volumes such classic favorites as Tears for Fears and Tiffany while mustering up the mental will-how to get my ass to the Rewe. Grocery shopping just isn't fun anymore.

Some people view grocery shopping as a horrible, horrible chore that must be completed; I mean, we all need food, yeah? And those crazy feminists are probably thinking the grocery store is just an extension of the domestic sphere: a tool of a dominant patriarchal ideology constructed to keep women in their place. Maybe they are right. I mean, when was the last time you saw a commercial with a dude super excited about going to buy broccoli and cous cous at Albertsons?

I digress. Feminist or no, I love going grocery shopping. I love walking into Winco or Costco or Trader Joes or what have you and just smelling the awesomeness that is an organized, adventure-filled food warehouse. And I like the consistency. No matter what Winco you happen to waltz into, you can count on the fact that everything has some semblance of organization. If the toilet paper and paper plates are near the ice cream and frozen yogurt in one Winco, chances are good that going to a different Winco will produce the same result. I like that. It is knowing that something will never change that gives me peace of mind in this otherwise chaotic and clusterfuck existence that I call life.

Grocery shopping in Germany, however, is not as fun. My heart does not swell with the thought of purchasing my weeks meals, a mid-morning snack, late night munchies. No, my heart sinks to my butt when I think about having to make the trek to the Rewe or the Netto or, God forbid I muster up the courage to go to Globus, simply to purchase my groceries. I now view grocery shopping as a necessary evil--if I do not go shopping, I am forced to order food in, and while this is okay once in a while, I am pretty sure my muffin-top would like a break.

I cannot figure out what it is about German grocery stores that makes me want to swing my cart around violently and run over hoards of people. Oh wait, that is assuming I can even get a cart. I have decided that the pressure of having to "rent" a cart is more than I can handle, and have committed to only getting the amount of groceries that will fit into the red basket (and for you Europeans, I am not talking about that fucking red basket that has wheels that you can drag behind you. You look like a tool with those things, and it is equally aggravating when it runs into me. I want to kick your sausage and sauerkraut right out of it). I think I am so apprehensive towards German grocery stores simply because they are GERMAN grocery stores. It is not a Winco, it is not a Costco; I am constantly searching for things, for brand names that are somewhat familiar, only to be met by their evil German counterpart (i.e. Mr. Clean is in fact Meister Proper. Shit like that just does not have the same ring).

And I miss Costco. Oh how I miss Costco. Excessive or no, I like being able to purchase my 60" flat-screen television, 300 rolls of toilet paper, a cat bed and a rotisserie chicken all in one location. I went to Costco over Christmas break and wanted to get down on the floor and kiss it. It is the little things.

Anyway, random blog, I know, but I had this conversation with another friend of mine from America, and her sentiments are the same. I am thinking when I get back to Boise, I am going to have a party at Winco on Myrtle. Please RSVP if you can come.

Journal Entry

I do not know what has been going on lately, but I keep having blah days. I wake up in the morning and usually think everything is going to be fine, but by about mid-day, I lose all motivation to do anything productive, and then get mad at myself later for being so lazy. I cannot quite remember when this shift in my personality occurred; I used to be so put together, so organized, so...motivated. And somewhere along the line, I just stopped caring. Can you just lose your will to do anything? I sometimes wonder if this is depression, though I am not usually sad. Isnt that one of the symptoms? Arent you usually sad? I guess I am not sad, per se, but I just want to be left alone most of the time.

I thought I could move away from my problems. The small ones that were starting to build living in Boise. I thought going to a different place would change everything. Some things have changed, but not the things I wanted. I guess the old adage is true: you cannot run away from your problems. But realizing you cannot run away from your problems is a little disheartening. At what point do I stop blaming my circumstances and my surroundings and other people for my problems and when do I take responsibility?

Realizing today that this is my fault, that I have created this hole I now exist in sucks. I have the same problems I had in Boise, which is a clear indication that the issue exists not in where I am or who I know, but within myself. I have somehow convinced myself that I cannot amount to much of anything, and it is this sort of self-defeating bullshit that is going to slowly eat away at me if I do not change something. This is, of course, easier said than done. How do you change something that has become so fundamentally a part of you: being able to blame others for my shortcomings is much easier than having to deal with the painful reality of my self-made misery.

Maybe this is like a 12-step process. Maybe the first step is recognizing that I have a problem and admitting it. Because once it is out in the open, you cannot run away from it.

And I think right now, I am at a crossroads in my life. I had a feeling something major was going to happen this year. I could not put my finger on what it was, but I think this may be it. This is where I take the step in either direction: one way leading down the path I was originally intended for--the path where I quit making excuses for myself and buck up and start acting like a goddamned adult. Or I go down the other road, where I just accept my plot in life and be miserable. I know I alone have the power to change my life. It is a powerful, powerful feeling knowing that if you are not happy with something, you can change it. You have to change it. Why go through life thinking that what you have, however miserable it makes you, is all you are worth? I am going to say right here that I know I am worth more than I have slowly become. And I only hope that I can remember this when things get difficult or when I just want to give up and blame it on someone else.

I think this is something everyone goes through, especially when life does not turn out the way you had planned. Failure is a difficult pill to swallow, but I need to learn that all the mistakes in my life are there for a reason, if not to teach me to quit being such a fucking idiot sometimes. It reminds me of this quote I once heard: "we all start each day and promise ourselves that we are going to be better. The problem is in the execution." I need to quit saying I am going to do something and just fucking do it.

Wir sind Helden rocked my socks right off!

The thing about New Years Resolutions is that, come about February, the enthusiasm and determination you once had to better yourself through hallow goals begins to dwindle, and by March, you are left thinking "eh? New Years Resolutions? I had those?" Case in point: Sarah's New Years Resolution to blog more. Well, fuck. I had that going for a good two months. But I just noticed that my last blog was back at the beginning of February. Hmph. At least I kept my resolution to do veganism during the week...wait...shit...

Anyway, it is not like there was a whole lot of blog-worthy things going on. I did go to Italy to visit Ms. Beth, which was freaking awesome, despite the fact that I got horrendously ill the second day and spent the better part of the week in bed, unable to make sudden movements without my head pounding and my sinuses imploding on themselves. At some point, I will blog about that, with photos! Other than that, my days have consisted of some running, some Vodka, some fußball, ein bisschen Deutsch lernen and a great deal of sleeping. Class started again today, and by some divine intervention, I ended up in a fairly high level of Studienkolleg, despite my inability to speak German with any sort of coherency (or even more importantly, or sadly, my inability to fucking understand Germans...two weeks in Italy and I was better able to understand Italian than German. Effing sweet). But neither here nor there....

Lets talk about tonight's amazing concert!

When I decided to learn German a year-and-a-half ago, I googled German bands in hopes of finding one that wasn't Rammstein. Unfortunately, Americans know two types of German music: the stuff that is played in Bayern and Rammstein, neither of which I was particularly interested in purchasing to expand my knowledge of German. One of the first bands that came up (other than Rammstein) was Wir sind Helden. I downloaded one of their cds and to my great surprise, despite the fact that I had no idea what the lyrics were even about, I absolutely loved them. I think the best adjective to describe them would be fun. Loads of fun.

When I found out they were going to be touring in Germany while I was here, I promised myself that I would go to the closest concert because, honestly, how many chances would I get to see Wir sind Helden live? HOO-FUCKING-RAH they were going to be playing in Saarbrücken! Beside myself with excitement, I have been waiting months for tonight. And it was SO WORTH IT.

I made John and Brice come with me early because I wanted to be in the front and I wanted to buy a t-shirt (and one for my sister for her birthday...as a side-note, my sister is one of the most difficult people to shop for. She is like my dad. I asked her what she wanted and she told me "a shirt from Germany." Awesome, Morgan. So I told her I would get her a Wir sind Helden concert shirt because no one in L.A. would have one). We ended up in the front, mere feet away from the stage. The only person I have ever been closer to was probably Liz Phair, and I seriously doubt I am going to find another performer who will give the audience a chatch shot while she is playing the piano. You really cannot get much closer than that.

Anyway, the concert itself was fantastic! I am beginning to notice a big difference between German bands live and American performers...there seems to be a lot more energy over here in Germany. I have several theories as to why this is, but it is very refreshing for me. I absolutely fell in love tonight. If you like Wir sind Helden, you must see them live. It could honestly be the highlight of my year abroad. There was so much energy and so much enthusiasm--you could tell that the band really enjoyed what they were doing, and this definitely translated through their music. I particularly enjoyed the way they incorporated various songs in English into their own songs: The Fifth Dimensions "Aquarius," Alphaville "Forever Young," and a Deutsch-version of Talking Heads "Once in a Lifetime"--my favorite!

Here are some photos from my crappy little blackberry:







After the concert, we decided to wait a little while by the tour buses to see if we could get an autograph (I did, after all, score a set-list...which I asked for in almost perfect Denglish, since I have no idea what the word for set-list is in German). The thing is, as I told Brice, we would probably never see this band live again, unless they decided to tour in the U.S., and by U.S. I mean somewhere near Idaho. Right... So we might as well be creepy American stalkers and wait. Low-and-behold, Judith did pop out, and we did get autographs (hoorah, I have a birthday gift) and a photo.





Now, a while back, I may have gotten a wee-bit inebriated and posted a comment on Wir sind Heldens facebook wall about how freaking excited I was about the concert, and Judith actually responded. And don't you know, she totally remembered me tonight from my facebook comment (I cannot imagine there are too many dumb ass Americans who do not speak German who get all excited and drunk and spam their favorite bands facebook wall, however. I could be wrong...). See, mom! And you thought my alcoholism was a bad thing! But Judith said that it speaks volumes about the music when people who cannot understand the lyrics still enjoy the songs (case in point, I actually understand the majority of the songs...danke google translate!) But I could not agree more. Understanding the lyrics does help (I mean, after all, you do not want to be singing along to lyrics about devil worshiping or sacrificial slaughterings), but when music can be enjoyed by people from a different culture who speak a different language, you must be doing something right as a performer!

All-in-all, I could not have asked for a better night. I feel like now, should I get deported prematurely from Germany before my year abroad is complete, I can say I have done everything that I wanted to do. Viele danke, Wir sind Helden!!!

Penis Galore! I mean, German Saunas

I have always firmly believed in doing things just for the experience. Before I left for Germany, it was my goal to do as many things as I could that I have never done before. I mean, the big one, obviously, was moving to another country. Some days, it is small, like actually waking up when my alarm goes off and going to class (today, epic fail). Traveling alone for three weeks in a place where no one speaks my language (fluently, I guess, since the German education system actually requires their students to learn foreign languages...fancy that), check. A lot has happened over here in Deutschland that has made me grow as a person. Ha ha, that verb is so going to be euphemism later on.

This week has been pretty shitty. Actually, Monday was all right, which gave me hope for the rest of my week, but then I woke up on Tuesday--fucking Tuesday--to freezing cold temperatures and snow on the ground, and I just knew. It was so not going to be good. I had two tests on Tuesday, neither of which I was entirely prepared for, but I have always been quite good at winging things. Like I told my mom: when you set the bar low from the get-go, people do not expect too much from you. So when you exceed expectations with little to no effort, people think you are actually trying. I do not know whether or not my mother was proud of this little personality trait of mine or disappointed. Either way, it has severed me well in my education. I know my accounting professors would disagree, and sadly, accounting may be the one example where I actually just do suck at it. I cannot help it. I am a creative person. The world is a cruel, cruel place when it rewards the drones in jobs that suck your soul out, but leave you struggling to make ends meat when you have a creative bone. The world needs more creative people.

Okay, ADD, back on track. So I took these tests on Tuesday and it was, well, how do I put this: fucking scheiß horrible. My reading test was all right; I am sure I still did pitifully dreadful, though maybe I surprised myself. Who knows. My grammar test, however. You know those moments where something is so horrible that you do not know whether or not you should laugh or cry? Like you start out laughing, and then you laugh so hard that you cry, and then you are just blubbering like an idiot? I had that moment looking at this test. I had absolutely no idea. NO IDEA. The last time I felt that hallowing hole of despair in the pit of my stomach was my Accounting 306 final. When a teacher calls you into his office after a test and says you would be better off just dropping the class and trying again in the fall, you know you might have done poorly.

I did not even understand the entire back page, let alone have the ability to follow the directions. I think I filled some stuff in, some in German, some in English, there may have even been some Spanish in there, and turned my test in. As I was walking out the door, I said to Frau Grigorieva: "you know, I think under different circumstances, you and I would have been friends." She smiled at me and said "probably." To which I promptly retorted: "but now, hells no. I just do not think our relationship would work after this." And walked out of the classroom. I am nothing if not eloquent with words.

So after that: slight funk. Followed by a night of drunk cooking. Followed by more funk. And "Fried Green Tomatoes." Which just made me even more depressed. Nothing makes you question your life choices like being bitch-slapped by something that you just cannot seem to attain. For me: language acquisition. And that fucking game with numbers...Suduko? What the hell is that even called. Okay, not important.

Yesterday, I went to class, where I was in a foul mood, and was preparing to go home and wallow in my self-pity with a jar of peanut butter and large pizza, when Estelle texted me and asked me if I would be interested in going to the sauna. Well, quite frankly no, no I would not. I told her I was in a pissy mood and the last thing I needed to do was waltz around in front of people naked while sweating balls (I said all this in English, to which she responded I needed to say it in German because she was doing chat on her iPhone and did not have google translate. I told her I knew that, and I wrote in English when I didn't want her to know what I was typing. She called me a bitch). Anyway, she told me that I needed to get my ass over there now or she would, I believe the verb was "schlagen" me. Well, always the submissive, I packed my backpack full of "sauna" essentials and headed over (after having a drink). She promised that I would feel better after. I doubted this seriously.

Okay, lets talk about German saunas.

Keep in mind that I am an American, which makes me inherently somewhat of a prude, but also means I am used to saunas attached to locker rooms at Golds Gym, where you are actually required to be in some form of clothing. This particular sauna was not just a sauna, but a culmination of, like, seven different saunas, a pool, hot tub, meditation room, relaxation rooms, snack bar, beer bar, etc. Imagine if Wal-Mart was a sauna: your one-stop total relaxation experience. We paid to go in and went into the locker room which, by the way, was co-ed. Okay, shocker number one (ha ha, shocker). So I disrobed and promptly put on the robe that Estelle had brought for me. We went out into what I guess was the main area of this ginormous establishment and all I saw were penises. PENISES everywhere! Penises attached to fat men, skinny men, balding men, hairy men, young men, old men. You name it, there was a penis attached to it. I could not stop staring. I have never seen so many naked men in one place. Lets not even talk about the last time I actually saw a penis just hanging out; imagine seeing, like, 20 of them all in a row.

Now I guess I have just been lucky with the penises that I have seen, but I did not know they came in such varying sizes. If I were to create a scale upon which to base the sizes of the penises I saw, it would range from lemon (sick) to foot long hot dog (sick). And here is another little tid bit of information: apparently the majority of men in Europe ARE NOT circumcised. My level of allowable trauma in one day was far, far surpassed. Or so I thought. Until a guy walked by who was OBVIOUSLY really excited to be in the sauna. Seriously, buddy? So not okay.

Oh, and it was not just naked men, mind you. Though few and far between, there were naked women as well. Mostly old naked women, which depressed me ever so slightly. It is one thing to read about what time will inevitably do to your once (sort of) tight, wrinkle-free, skin cancer-free, young 20-something body. It is quite another to actually see what is going to happen. The day my tits sag lower than my chatch is the day I move up to the mountains and start raising goats before meeting my timely end. Or, hopefully by that point, cosmetic surgery will be such that they can transplant my brain into a newer, younger body.

When I finally got sort of used to all these scary naked German men walking around, and by used to, I mean that I was able to have a conversation with Estelle without gawking at a wagging pork sausage as it walked by, I began to really enjoy the sauna experience. At this particular sauna, they have a schedule of when you can go get tortured in an exceedingly hot room. After my first time in the room that, I am fairly certain, was upwards of 90 degrees CELCIUS, I realized why everyone was walking around naked. Imagine playing tennis against Lindsay Davenport in Tucson in July at noon. And then imagine, on top of that, that some dude who really enjoys torturing other people comes in and starts waving a hot towel at you, thus making it feel like you are getting hit in the face with, well, while we are on the topic of penises, Satan's fiery sword. That is what this room was like. I attempted to keep my towel on during this 15 minutes of hell (literally), but by the second go-round, I flung that bad boy off and just splayed out in all my glory. It was fantastic; I am pretty sure I sweated out a baby, and probably every last drop of alcohol I had consumed in the last four weeks.

So, to leave out all the other nitty, gritty details (oh, like naked pool swimming, going to another sauna that smelled like three-week old vag, having some guy hit on me in the sauna while I am sweating like a pig and naked, and while HE is sweating like a big-ass hairy pig and naked (p.s. buddy, even if I swung that way, not impressed)) I had a wonderful time at the sauna. So I guess Estelle was right; my shitty week got exponentially better after that (and I subsequently made a conscious decision to not go to class for the rest of the week). The sauna kind of reminds me of being high, though I think it is my brain screaming at me for trying to fry it in my skull. But I left really wanting a bacon cheeseburger.