OK, so it took me four years. Four long and sometimes miserable years but I think I finally get it. I finally understand. Understand that I might have actually made a good decision for once in my life. The day I decided to jump on the wagon.

The day finally arrived that I came to my senses and decided to give it all up. Life as I knew it, this life of hell was officially gonna be over. No doubt it’s been a long road since then, an extremely long road and what makes it even worse is the fact that I’ve basically just begun my journey. My Journey To Sobriety.

Filled with all kinds of peaks and valleys. Mountains that would seemingly make Everest envious and lows that would make Death Valley a cool place to hang out in the summer. No doubt a Roller Coaster that isn’t meant for the weak and timid. Heck no, only the truly hard core need to buy a ticket for this ride.

Unfortunatley the highs of the mountains weren’t actually a good thing. They were neverending uphill stretches where each switchback would fool you into thinkin’ that you were almost there, only to find out that just around the bend was another hill twice as steep as the last.

Next thing you know, you’ve reached a plateau of sorts, seemingly allowing you to relax a bit, perhaps even let your guard down, take it easy for awhile. Short lived, this rest stop turns out to be filled with angst and indecision, not a place you really wanna hang out and so off your go again, off to trudge more unexplored highways and byways.

Both of which can be dangerous. Whether under your feet or in your mind, these Highways To Hell can surely eat you alive, if you let them. And more often than not, the choice isn’t yours. Staying busy mentally can be but isn’t always a good thing.

Sometimes your mind can start racing so fast that there’s no way possible to slow it down. All the woulda coulda shouldas start flyin’ through your brain, an endless stream of confusion, hitting you like a machine gone. No way to stop it, you can only sit there and take the self imposed barrage until the bullets run out. For now anyway.

I say for now because you never have any idea when and for how long this will go on. What you do know is it’s gonna be a Roller Coaster ride from hell and all you can do is hang on, ride it out, hands tucked under your thighs, doin’ your best to stop shakin’ and just praying for it to be over. And not a minute too soon.

Eventually it does end but you have no idea for how long. Your first inclination is to do anything possible to stop your mind. To put an end to all this stinkin’ thinkin’. To turn it off, to shut it down. At least for a while. Just long enough to stop this train from fallin’ off the tracks. But you know how it is. As soon as you tell yourself not to think about something, you’re instantly thinking about it….and nothing else.

Even though you continue to say don’t, you do. “Get the ‘F’ outta my head!” you hear yourself scream…. but to no avail. It’s still there, like that relentless caged hamster on the wheel, no way to make it stop. Eventually it does though, when you finally pass out from sheer exhaustion.

Of course the opposite of this stressful stretch are the days and nights where time seemingly stands still. Forward one second, backwards two seconds, forward two seconds, backwards three seconds and so on and so on it goes. Like time has basically stopped and all you’re doing is drowning in a sea of failure and regret. Yeah, it’s a wonderful feeling. NOT!

All you can do is just pray for the day to end so that you can finally go to sleep. Counting every second until darkness takes over the sky and hoping you’ll be tired enough to where your mind will finally just give up and you can fall asleep.

Only problem is, your brain never got the Memo and so it continues to twist and turn inside your head with no signs whatsoever of slowing down, let alone stopping. How you ended up with a brain battery stronger than the Energizer Bunny’s is a mystery to you but regardless, there’s no signs of sleep in your immediate future and so you just lay there and suffer through the Civilian Ridealong.

That’s when it dawns on you and you have to ask yourself how in the hell you ever got to sleep before, back in the good ol’ days? Back when you were drinkin’. I mean, with all this crap runnin’ through your mind, night after night, how did you ever manage to shut it off long enough to finally pass out?

Oh, that’s right. That’s exactly what I did. I partied ’till I eventually passed out. THAT’S how I was able to sleep. Well, if you could call it sleep anyway. Basically it was more like random hours of various stages of incoherency throughout the night, ending in the horrific buzzing of the alarm clock saying “Wake up, time to get ready for work!”

Head pounding, your first thought is what can I use for an excuse to get outta work this time? But then it dawns on you. If you take a day off work, that would mean less pay and even worse, you’d probably have to work a half day on Saturday which would totally kill your Friday night fun. Besides that, the fact that you couldn’t sleep in on Saturday morning would also be a drag.

So get out of bed you must…and you do. After a couple of snooze buttons of course. By this time you’re runnin’ late, scramblin’ to get out the door. As you run down the stairs to get to your car, the dizzy haze kinda kicks in and for a second you have to ask yourself where you parked.

Locating your car(luckily), you’re on your way to work and at this point, you’re glad you got outta bed and didn’t bother makin’ up some lie to get out of having to show up. That way you still have an excuse for a time when you REALLY need to get out of goin’ to work.

After all, you’re not feelin’ near as hungover as you thought you would and you know for sure there’s gonna be another time when you really feel like crap and HAVE to take the day off. I mean c’mon, it’s inevitable, right? Right.

Weird thing is, for some reason you seemed to have felt much better when you first woke up but apparently all this movement you’ve been doin’ all morning has kinda stirred things up again. And not in a good way.

It’s not like you recaught that same wonderful buzz you had last night. Oh Hell No! This is like the Evil Twin of last nights festivities. Last night was all fun, full of joy and laughter (at least from what you think you can remember) but today is full of nausea, throbbin’ headache and the feelin’ that something in your stomach wants to see the light of day all over again.

This is not good at all….and it’s only gonna get worse. Worse because you just realized that it’s only 8:30 and you still have to get through the entire day. At this point all you can do is concentrate on your lunch break. Maybe a half hour of laying down will save you.

Well, you can hope so anyway. At least it’s something else to concentrate on besides the bongos banging around inside your head. Why on earth didn’t you bring a bucket ‘o aspirin to work with you? Oh yeah, you didn’t feel like this when you first woke up. Hmmm, maybe you were still buzzin’ after all.

One thing’s for sure, it’s gonna be a very long day ahead. Why do you continue to do this to yourself? When will you ever learn? Apparently not anytime soon, that’s for sure because just about the time you leave work for the day, you’re already scowering your wallet to see if you have enough money to stop by the Beach Market on the way home to grab a sixer’.

All the bad feelings that you began your day with, just a distant memory at this point. You were sure that you wouldn’t be drinking again for quite some time and yet, here you are mapping out your stops on the drive home. Oh, they better have your brand on the shelf because if for some reason they’re sold out, then you’re gonna have to do tons more drivin’ before you can get your fix.

I can already feel the stress level boiling up as I sit here and type this. And I don’t even drink any more! Jeez, how did I ever live that life for as long as I did? All that stress, that misery, daily. No wonder I drank. I guess it was an attempt to make the hell of drinking go away. Talk about a vicious cycle.

Thankfully I’m no longer wobbling down that path. Nope, not me. I’m on a completely different journey now and after 1,463 days (not that I’m counting), one thing’s for certain, it’s way too late to turn back now.

The cool thing is though, I don’t want to turn around and go back to the life I used to live. No friggin’ thanks. The best part is that not too long ago I wouldn’t have been able to say that but I think I’m finally beginning to realize that stopping all of that ridiculous behavior was actually a smart move.

Maybe when you get to the point that the bright light that continues to shine in your eyes has changed from a Freight Train barreling down on you into ALL the beautiful lights that shine upon the Land Of Opportunity. A place where you can have anything, do anything, be anything you ever wanted, ever dreamed of.


Who’d a thought that the life I was living just four short years ago, a life I lived for many many years is finally changing from memories of misery to an actual learning experience, allowing me to grow from them and to expand my horizons.

Perhaps someday I will be able to look back on all of those years I consider to be time wasted and turn them around into being lessons that I can help others learn from. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? To help others avoid a life of misery and regret. That would truly make it all worth it.

And so I’ll continue to count the days, the days until I reach Lucky #5, five years in the Total Sobriety Society. I can only imagine how much wisdom I will have gained at that point. Wisdom that I can share with others. Can’t wait!

If you find yourself in a similar situation, can relate to this tale in any way, I’d enjoy hearing about it and if you liked this Post, I’d appreciate it if you’d share it with your friends.

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Although this is a bit off the beaten path for my blogging, I have to admit that this is a topic that has struck a nerve with me and therefore, at the risk of offending, even losing a few of my beloved readers, I feel strongly enough about it that I’m going to voice my opinion. Take it or leave it, for better or worse and all that good stuff.

Politics and Religion, two topics that I know better than to even mess with. As they say, “Don’t EVEN go there!” But, despite my better judgement, I’m goin’ there.

A situation has come up recently regarding some unneighborly neighbors and their terrorizing of the neighborhood and the decent citizens that live within this neighborhood. Long story short, it’s a household containing one worthless, grouchy ol’ (in his 70s?) drunk, one 1960′s psycho ex Flower Power hippie reject artist (his wife) and four sons of various degrees of drug/alcohol rehab and incarciration. Not exactly the typical Leave It To Beaver household.

No doubt many of you can relate to this group of misfits. Lots of these Walton families exist in every community throughout our wonderful nation. And each stands out more to their victims living close by than to those who never actually get to experience the pleasure of coming in contact with them.

Dealing first hand with this group of losers is always a gamble. You never know if the soft and friendly approach is best or not. While this will work in most everyday interactions with people that have an ounce of decency and any sort of semblance of respect for their neighbors, for others it may not. These are people that all want to live in harmony with their surroundings and the people that make up their neighborhood.

Then there are the others, the worthless idiots that couldn’t care less about how what they do effects anyone or anything else around them. Yeah, real winners. I should say losers. That seems to be more appropriate. People that have nothing better to do than to make everyone elses life miserable. If they’re gonna be miserable, might as well take everybody else down with ‘em.

I hate to judge people based on what others have said about them. Not knowing the history of the previous encounters that lead them to their perceptions, I never like to pass judgement on someone based on another persons interactions. Like they say, there are two sides to every story.

While I must admit, the laundry list of evidence against this family has been longer than the list of incriminating evidence against O.J. but if you recall, he was found not guilty. And so I had to approach the situation with an open mind. I mean c’mon, can a family really be THIS bad? Apparently so.

Now while I myself had never had a previous run-in of any sort with these people, I guess that’s mainly because I just wasn’t around the situation enough to ever have to deal with it or them. I’ve been lucky enough to have a friend let me stay in his Cabin near the lake in exchange for some home and yard maintenance and so far, I’ve been up here about five weeks. Sweet deal to say the least. No doubt I’ll end up with a blog post or two about my summer at the Lake.

As far as my opinion of the Hatfields (or is it the McCoys?) is concerned, everything changed for me yesterday and now I’m a convert, a true believer in what the others have said about him and his family. I found out for myself that this guy, the Leader of the pack, is a complete piece of shit!

Yep, them’s strong words I know but in this case, not nearly strong enough. Every time I see him walk by with his Pit Bulls (nothing against Pit Bulls, I think they can be great dogs in the care of responsible pet owners, which these people clearly aren’t. They continually let their dogs roam unleashed throughout the neighborhood, free to terrorize and poop wherever they please) I expect to hear a couple of banjos start to play (think Deliverance) and I immediately begin to hear Ned Beatty scream somewhere off in the distance.

This guy is the epitomy of one of those guys that lives wayyyyy back in the swamp, livin’ off the land, zero education, a product of incest. Yikes, now I’m even scaring myself!

Supposedly he used to work for the Studios in Hollywood and his wife was an artist but right about now, I’m having a hard time believing any of that. I’m choosing to go with the ‘Swamp Thing’ scenario and as far as I’m concerned, he’s havin’ (or had) sexual relations with his sister.

My friends (the owners of the Cabin) and a few other friends from around the neighborhood were relaxing on the front porch the night of July 4th, telling stories and just generally BS’n’ about all the fun we had enjoying the fireworks display that had just taken place. Watching all of the colors reflecting off the water, what seemed like a thousand boats floating out in the middle of this sea of colors, truly an amazing spectacle (more in another post).

Ok, I know sitting on the front porch, talkin’ BS sounds a bit Hillbilly~ish as well but up here, the stars are so close you can almost reach up and touch ‘em. It’s so wonderful just to sit outside and star gaze. That is, of course, unless an idiot neighbor has his flood lights on. And so the real story begins.

Doing our best to enjoy the evening, we were relentlessly confronted by this glaring light and with the houses all built on different levels, this one particular light is right at eye level. No shroud around it, just a light that looks like it was bolted way up in a tree to shine down on his parking area. No problem or so you’d think.

Well, when you have an unshrouded light that casts shadows 300 yards away, THAT’S a problem! At least for everyone within 300 yards of it! There’s a reason that they don’t have overhead street lights up here, same as in the desert. It’s to preserve the night sky. That’s why people leave the city in an effort to see an eclipse or even just to enjoy the stars. When you live in a world full of light pollution, all you can see is the next McDonalds sign down the street.

And so my buddy, that owns this Cabin, went down to his house to talk to him about the light and a miracle occured, the light went out. Oh, how we all cheered. Suddenly you weren’t in the City, you were back up in the mountains, at the lake, enjoying the night sky.

Well, that lasted about a day and then the light was back on. He even leaves it on during the day. Why, who knows. Maybe that’s how they roll in the swamp. Come to think about it, maybe that’s why he leaves it on all the time, they don’t actually have electricity in the swamp and he’s still enthralled by the magic of it all.

So yesterday morning, as he was roamin’ the dogs without a leash I asked him if we could come to some sort of a compromise that would benefit him and all his neighbors (that he’s buggin’ the shit out of). I told him I’d even buy the shroud for it or a whole new light if I had to. Anything to try and stop the paint from peeling off the front of everybodys cabins from his glaring onslaught.

He was more than fine with it, even going so far as to tell me that he had a ladder I could use if I needed to get access that far up in the tree. I told him no problem, I’m glad to do what I can to save the summer nights. I knew I’d be heading back down the hill in the next few days and I’d stop by Home Dump and pick one up. Right on, problem solved. Or so I thought anyway.

I went over there to check it out last evening to see how I was gonna tackle it. Would I need a shroud or an entirely new light? Let’s take a look. After a couple minutes, I decided might as well get a whole new light rather than try to half ass something on there. That way everybody’s happy.

As I stroll back across the street, here comes this drunk ass lunatic, waving his flashlight at me, yelling at the top of his lungs, “HEY YOU, HEY YOU!” he knows my name but must have forgotten it in his drunken rage. Then the cussing starts. “‘F’ YOU, ‘F’ THEM (as he points his flashlight at all the neighbors houses), ‘F’ ALL YOU PEOPLE, I’M NOT CHANGING THAT LIGHT! ‘F’ YOU!!!”

So I reminded him that I said I was gonna take care of it. He wouldn’t have to dig a coffee can out of the ground in his backyard for any coins. The light would just magically appear and everybody would be happy. He wasn’t havin’ none of that. He just kept on ranting and raving, screaming at the top of his lungs.

At first I thought he was joking, since he was totally on board with it six hours earlier but once I realized just how plastered he was, screaming at the top of his lungs at 10 o’clock at night, it began to dawn on me that this guy is just out of his mind.

He’s a mentally challenged (pickled brain) worthless old man and the best thing to do would be to bite my tongue. I did my best to contain my laughter but based on what a fool he was making of himself, I admit to letting out a couple chuckles. Hey, I tried.

You could tell he wanted to hit me but without his Pit Bull or his psychotic sons to back him up, he didn’t dare take a chance. I just stood there and let him go off. Like they say, you can’t argue with an idiot and so I let him go on until he ran out of hot air, agreeing with everything he said.

As he stumbled out of the yard and down the street, I just kept hoping he’d fall flat on his face on the asphalt but damn it, no such luck. I’m a firm believer in Karma so I know he’ll get his sooner or later, I just hope it’s sooner than later. In fact, I can hardly wait!

As I contemplated the evenings festivities, one question continually popped into my head. What made him change his mind, from one second being all for it and the next, totally against it? Then it finally dawned on me. Earlier that afternoon, while he was roamin’ his dogs, he saw that my neighbor, who despises him, was on the front steps and her and I were talking.

Both her and her husband are the nicest people on earth, big time church goers and they love everybody. Everybody except him and his family. Apparently the Hatfield and McCoy Family Feud has been going on for quite some time between them and it doesn’t appear it’s gonna end anytime soon.

As he walked by, she mentioned that one of his dogs had chased a friend of hers and boy, was he shocked to hear that (Yeah, right). He mumbled something about how “He’s never seen the dog do THAT before” and continued on his way.

I think it was at that point that his sick paranoid mind began to take over and he realized that it was all a conspiracy against him. Oooohhh, what could we have been planning? First, it’s the obnoxious overhead light, then it’s the obnoxious dogs, then what, the obnoxious color of his truck? OMG, when will it all stop?

As the one remaining bent, rusty and squeaky wheel continued to spin at a snails pace inside his brain, he obviously went into panic mode. All these people, they’re all against me, they all hate me and I can’t understand why!!! So he did the only thing he knew how to do, GET HAMMERED!

He lives in a constant state of fear, fear that he’s created all by himself. That’s the reason behind the overhead light. He’s afraid that someone’s going to break into his truck and try to steal something or better yet, steal the entire truck. And if he has a light on, he’ll be able to stop ‘em.

Too bad the jackass doesn’t realize that the only people that are going to do that are his own kids and they’ll just take his keys while he’s passed out on the couch, if they need to make a late night drug run. The light only makes it easier for them to see what’s in the baggie they just brought home.

To give you an example of just how sweet his kids are, the only semi coherent one (brain fried by drugs & alcohol) came by a few weeks ago to say he hoped that his brothers hadn’t been breaking in to all the houses close by, including this one, only the ones farther away (perhaps that’s why I haven’t seen the other three lately, they’re in jail) and this is coming from a guy that went to jail himself for threatening to kill his parents (too bad he didn’t follow through, like everything else in his life).

He’s so paranoid of the exact nightmare that he himself has created. He’s brought that Los Angeles Theft / Drug Ring mentality up to the mountains with him, which in actuality is pretty accurate since his family perpetuates it.

All this brings up the question, how do you deal with a psycho neighbor from hell? Hmmmm, good question. A friend brought up the fact that he’s a miserable person (got that) and he’s taking his misery out on those that surround him. Therefore, we should pray that he gets better.

That’s all fine and dandy but prayers seem to take an awful long time to come to fruition and so what do we do in the mean time, in the REAL world? How do we deal with someone that is a constant threat to everyone he comes in contact with? Forcing everyone to live in fear of retaliation from him and his sons, never knowing if your home, your car, even yourself will be damaged at the hands of these lunatics.

Calling the Sheriff obviously won’t do any good. They are on everybodys speed dial and they’re here so often that they might as well set up a Sub Station. Hey, come to think of it, there’s already a light set up so they can conduct their night operations without any problems.

So what are we left with? Do we really have any alternatives other than to just continue to live our lives in fear of retaliation? I guess we can start off by praying, hoping that someday he’ll see the light, realize what a nightmare he’s creating for so many others around him and all of a sudden become a courteous and conscienceous neighbor. Yeah, I agree, doesn’t sound too likely but I guess there’s always hope.

Or we could go with Plan B, which is to wait until he steps one foot on the property and then at that point the only decision will be whether or not he gets a single or a double barrel dose of reality. The choice is his to make.

If you can relate to havin’ some crappy neighbors, I always appreciate your feedback whether it’s positive or negative and if you enjoyed this post, please feel free to share it with your friends, whether on Facebook or Twitter, anywhere you hang out.

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What is it about a simple little tattoo that can create so much controversy? Whether you love them or hate them, it’s pretty much guaranteed that everyone has an opinion about them. And a rather strong one at that.

Does it really classify a woman as a Tramp, a Slut, a Sure Thing? I would have to think that there are many other ‘qualifications’ that need to be met before one can be placed into that elite category.

I don’t mind saying that I myself am a huge fan of the lower back tattoo. I don’t feel comfortable referring to them as “Tramp Stamps”, let alone all of the other terrible names that have been associated with them. No need to go into those here, I’m sure we’ve all heard them and most are extremely degrading.

Exactly why I love these tattoos, I’m not too sure. I haven’t quite ‘pinned it down’ as it were. One thing’s for sure though, when applied with taste, they can be sexy as hell.

Yikes, did I just say that? I guess I did. Maybe it IS the fact that I think they can be super sexy, especially on an already attractive woman. But the tattoo alone isn’t the ONLY thing a woman can do to look sexy. A nice pair of low rise jeans with a bit of thong ‘sticking up’ above the belt line, the proverbial “Whale Tail” as it were can also be a wonderful addition to a womans wardrobe.

Not to say that this ‘combo’ can’t be worn by women of all shapes and sizes but if they are being displayed as a means of getting attention to a certain ‘area’ that normally wouldn’t, let alone shouldn’t be displayed publicly, then that could be an issue.

But when a woman leans over and you happen to catch a ‘sneak peek’ at her lower back, discovering that it holds an unforseen ‘treasure’ of sorts, it just doesn’t get much better than that. At least not in my book.

As they say, “some things are better left unseen” and in the case of alot of these tattoos, I’d have to agree that ‘out of sight, out of mind’ might have been a better way to go. Perhaps it’s because the owners can’t actually see what’s going on behind them that allows them to display these ‘disasters’, seemingly without a care.

As with anything else, tattoos can be taken to the extreme and beyond, with the limits of bad taste being exceeded in no time. However, the decision is entirely up to the ‘owner’ and you’d have to think that quite a bit of consideration was taken before they ever let someone apply something to their body that no doubt would last a lifetime.

Although I must admit I do have my doubts as to the talent posessed by some of the so called ‘artists’ that actually perform the work. While some are exquisite works of art, others look as if they were ‘scratched in’ by some poorly trained meth addict in the back of an alley. I really do feel sorry for some of these women as I would have to think that what they ended up with is not how their dream tattoo started out in their mind. Truly a shame as there is no eraser that will make it go away.

Which also brings to mind all of the criticisms concerning how the ‘tattooees’ will look once they get old and wrinkled. What will happen to their ‘butterfly’ at that point? Will it just look like a wrinkled old vulture, hovering over it’s prey?

C’mon now, at that point, even if they do have somebody back there checkin’ it out I’d find it hard to believe that the person is going to make a comment about it. I could be wrong but I just don’t believe that’s enough of a reason not to get a tattoo in the first place.

Is this the same ol’ thing, where the people that don’t have the guts to get a tattoo choose to talk down the ones that can put up with the pain for a whole bunch of individuality? I’d hate to think they are that shallow but you just never know.

In fact, who came up with the name ‘Tramp Stamp’ in the first place? Wouldn’t “Buttper Sticker” have been a bit more ‘neutral’, somewhat less degrading? I’d assume it had to be a hater of Tattoos of all kinds. More than likely they also hate that other wonderful invention, the Belly Button Ring. But that’s an entirely different post altogether, one that I’ll more than likely get into later.

Could it be that most of the women that posess the lower back tattoos choose to display them for all to see that causes some women to be so against them? Could they be jealous? Perhaps these women don’t feel comfortable enough with their own bodies to ‘let it all hang out’, let alone put a sign on it sayin’ ‘look at me’.

I’ve never been a big fan of women that wear next to nothing in public. I’ve always preferred to leave something to the imagination, a little somethin’ for later. Especially when it comes to women I’m dating. Call me old fashioned but I’d like to think that there is something that is somewhat special, ‘off limits’ and only for me to see. Like I said, I’m old fashioned.

Just like the whole fake boobs thing. And yes, you guessed it, I’m not a huge fan of the quadruple triple double D’s. I’m all about the ‘real deal’, gimme real A’s as opposed to fake triple G’s anyday. Not only do they tend to look disproportionate to the rest of their bodies, they tend to ‘feel’ all wrong and again, it’s just not for me.

Sometimes I wonder what the actual stats are on fake boobs. Do guys really like them as much as women think they do or is it more of a thing where women do it to impress other women. I think the media has a bunch to do with it and while I agree that a bit of enhancement is ok, not to mention for medical reasons, but some of these women take it too far. OK, WAY TOO FAR!

Which could also be said for some of the women and their tattoos. I’ve heard that it can become addicting and since I don’t currently have any tattoos of my own, I’m only guessing but I wouldn’t be surprised at all to hear that it is indeed true. No doubt some have taken it way beyond the ‘mainstream’ to a point that’s it’s just about bordering on insanity.

Almost every square inch of their body being covered in tattoos is way beyond attractive. At that point it’s just seems a bit obsessive and then it gets kinda freaky. By no means am I saying it’s wrong but again, just not for me.

Which brings us back to my original point. While tattoos aren’t for everyone, each individual should be able to decide for themselves what is right and wrong for them. It has nothing to do with what anyone else thinks and they surely shouldn’t be labeled in any way for choosing to fly their ‘freedom flag’.

So to all the women out there that have been ‘branded’ as Tramps, I want to commend you for living life on your own terms and not givin’ a damn what others think. Because without you, we’d never know who the ‘good girls’ are.

I’d love to hear your opinion. If you’re a fan of Tramp Stamps, I’d love to hear about it. If not, I’d enjoy hearing about that as well and perhaps all the reasons why you don’t like them. And if you enjoyed this Post, I’d appreciate it if you’d share this with your friends.

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