Without fail, I get an e-mail like this for whichever company I am working for:
As soon as I get this e-mail, I instinctively put my head down as if the teacher is going to call on me. With the exception of soccer (or football as my wonderful friends across the pond call it, your welcome), I don’t give 2 shits about basketball. Filling out brackets would only result in me looking like a complete moron.
I let my husband and sons know of this pickle I was in.
“I’ll help you fill them out.” My oldest announced.
“Yeah but how much does this even cost?” I asked.
“I don’t know, $5 or $10 bucks.”
I didn’t say anything but in my head I was thinking, ‘I’m not giving $5 to some stupid game when that $5 would buy a perfectly good grande vanilla latte at Starbucks.’
Honest to God, here would be my bracket as I know nothing of basketball:
Why isn’t it all filled out? Because I got bored and this is pointless. I do think Colonel Sanders would have won though.
I can’t even remember how the topic was brought up, but I think it was with Ben’s Bitter Blog. This past weekend at my nightmare motel, I saw more hoverboards than I care to see. Shocking, but it was the kids that were clearly not athletes that felt the need to own and operate a hoverboard.
Admittedly, I was intrigued at first. Hell, my only frame of reference was Back to the Future-II. By the way, do you know that the “future” they were portraying was 2015? I wish the hoverboards would have come about but the real ones that don’t touch the ground.
Now hoverboards are annoying and I want to see their owners fall off. There was one kid who rode it into the pool area despite drenched floors. There was another kid rolling right into the elevator with his. At Kenwood mall there was an adult just rollin’ right out like this was just normal.
Is this our last ditch effort to become THE LAZIEST generation of all time? How does it get any worse then something doing our walking for us? I just sat there for a few minutes pondering what is lazier. The only thing I could come up with is if we found a way to have something sleep for us, while we are doing absolutely nothing. Did I just blow your mind?
So in my mind hoverboards are the Ed Hardy shirts and Blue Tooths of this decade. I loathe both in epic ways. So what are your thoughts? Is this the transportation of the douche and the douchebagette (female version of douche in case you weren’t aware)?
This morning I lost my shit. I was done. Done with with the shit hole motel we were assigned to, done with the ridiculous soccer schedule and done with the jacked up road system that is Southern Cincinnati.
P’s game this morning was at 8 am. Now, he had a game at 7:15 last night so we had roughly a 12 hour window between games to do things like sleep and eat. Oh wait, no…11 hours because the moron that scheduled these games didn’t take into account daylight savings time.
- Last night I had washed P’s uniform in the sink.
“Why not take it to the washer and dryer on site like every motel/hotel has had since 1990, Hot Mess?”
Well folks, it’s because our motel was so ghetto-tastic that they didn’t have an f’ing washing machine/dryer on site. I get that they want to give you the whole experience of Kentucky and living by the Ohio river for a few nights but if they think for one second I am taking my son’s uniform down to the Ohio river and washing it, they’ve got another thing coming.
After washing his uniform in the sink with the Tide Pods I had brought to use in a WASHING MACHINE, I rung out the uniform and hung it up to dry for 6 hours. 6 hours later itwas still damp so I had to use the hair dryer that was connected to the wall to dry it. This became a challenge considering 3 other people had to use the restroom and 1/2 of the time it was to shit.
2. Liquor City
I cannot get over that there is literally a liquor store in the parking lot. What the hell was Paris Hilton thinking when she chose this land……oh….now I get it. Well that makes sense:
I actually saw the liquor store as a perk except for the occasional hobo in the parking lot. All I wanted was a good Cab and didn’t want any trouble.
3. Possessed coffee maker
Yesterday morning I fished through the 3 foil packets only to discover they were all decaf. I heard the Housekeeper in the hall so I approached her for regular. This decaf thing was pretty cruel. She was helping an older Gentleman who heard my question. He went back into his room, 610 and returned 15 seconds later with his regular coffee packets. I thanked him and returned to my room.
I began making my coffee. All went well until I grabbed the completed cup and was burnt by a sudden burst of air that caused hot water to splash on my arm. I’m not Mc Donalds and the hot pickle incident but I did rip the machine out of the wall and took the little ass hole down to the front desk. Normally this would be the point in time they would offer me a complimentary dinner, breakfast or free wifi but seeing we were in a hovel, the front desk clerk had NOTHING to offer me. She simply took it and said she would get me a new one.
4. Half cleaned room
I think I’m a pretty good hotel guest. I tip all the time, clean up after myself and make sure everything is picked up so my room can be cleaned properly. After returning to our room after the first soccer game, I hit the restroom in our room. I deduced that our room had been cleaned as we had fresh towels, the trash was removed and they did the following tacky thing with our shower curtain:
I walked into the room afterwards and found the bed completely unmade. What the hell? Not only are we paying $75 more than what this room is worth but now what do I do? If I go out to the Housekeeper who’s making $7.35 an hour and declare, “You didn’t make my bed. You need to get back in my room and make it,” I am going to feel like one of those bitches in The Help. I wondered how many other people didn’t have their bed made. I’m guessing the carpet wasn’t swept either.
Because she did hook me up with extra toiletries that I had requested (my hair requires a TON of shampoo) I decided to not say anything and just make it myself.
5. Bathroom odor
Starting last night, our bathroom began to smell as if someone was on their period. I’m not on mine and no other female as visited our room except the cleaning lady. I was not going to dig through the trash can either to confirm this theory. There was nothing we could do. My youngest, C, declared this morning while wrinkling his nose, “Mom, what is that smell?” I couldn’t wound him for life and tell him what I thought it smelled like. I just had to empathize with him and count the hours down till we were gone.
6. The icing on the cake
I went on Trip Advisor this evening to see if other had had similar experiences or if I was just being a brat. I was horrified to find the following review:
OUR ROOM WAS 611.
Against my better judgement, I promised my youngest I would take him to Build a Bear at Kenwood Mall in Cincinnati. By now we had 2 teenage girls in our group who were bored as hell so I asked them if they wanted to come along for the journey. They practically attacked me.
We piled into the SUV around 3 and headed North. 20 minutes later we were pulling into the Kenwood Mall and so was the entire population East of the Mississippi. I told the girls I would meet them in 45 minutes outside the Pottery Barn Kids. C and I checked the directory to find not only were we on the right level but we really weren’t that far.
15 minutes into walking we were confident that we clearly missed Build a Bear. Turns out the map was NOT to scale and we just hadn’t gotten there yet. We checked another directory in the wing to confirm this. 5 minutes later we were walking over the threshold of Build a Bear.
I’ve always had a thought about Build a Bear and it is this: What adult man applies AND works at Build a Bear? Build a Bear corporate, that’s fine, I get it. But when you are wearing an apron, with an Easter bunny rabbit in a nylon backpack, while dragging around a wiener dog on roller skates, that signals a mental problem.
“Can I help you?” Ken doll says without blinking, eyeing my youngest.
I push C behind me as a form of protection. “Oh, we are just trying to figure out what bear to buy. We’re good.”
“Ok, well my name is Ken. Lemme’ know if you need anything.” He says, eyeing my child like a sweater he wants, emphasizing the word need.
Then the cult magic of Build a Bear happens.
“Do you want a smell to put in your bear?” The bear maker asks, splaying her hand out to what looks to be miniature soaps.
“Nope, we’re good. I’ll just use perfume.”
After a minute, Bear Maker asks C what his name is and if we’ve ever been to Build a Bear.
“Do you want a voice for your bear?” She asks.
‘esus Christ, we just want the f-ing bear.’
C picks out a Boba Fett costume costing more than the bear. For Christmas he received a $10 gift card and I had “bear bucks” that were to expire 3.15.16 allowing this trip to be a little cheaper. He attempted to rally me for a $12 light saber in which I immediately put the squash on.
“Would you like to purchase a nylon backpack or just use the cub condo?” The teenage girl at the wrap desk asked.
“How much is the backpack?” I asked.
“C, you want a backpack?” I was willing to get this for him as he would be adorable with a bear hanging off his back.
“No. I just want the cub condo.” He said as if he was reaffirming his lunch selection.
“You qualify for a $10 gift card for only $5. Would you like that?”
“No thank you.” I said politely. I was officially loosing my shit inside.
Once out of Pedophile’s paradise and ready to head back to the our car I saw a unicorn. Not an actual unicorn but a type of person I’ve only seen 3 other times in my life- a midget.
She was walking along with her friends, completely animated. She had a super long weave and I really felt like the weave wore her and wasn’t proportionate to her body type. Then again, I really shouldn’t judge.
After we met with the girls and got in the car, one of the girls began to rattle off things she can’t stand. I don’t know how we got on the topic.
“I can’t stand clowns, sporks or cockroaches.” She announces as if she was telling us what extra curricular activities she participates in.
“What? Sporks?” I ask her, giggling at the randomness.
“Yeah, I was once hurt by a spork and have hated them ever since.”
“Well…what if you had a clown, using a spork to each cockroaches?” I said slowly so they could process the epically awesome concept I had just thought of.
“Yeah, no. On their own they are awful.”
“True,” I concurred.
Hot Mess Hits the Road This will tell you about our planned trip to Cincinnati and why.
So at 12:30, the family was in the SUV bound for Cincinnati, actually Covington, Ky for a weekend soccer tournament. I had plans to fire up the ole’ laptop and get some work done while my husband drove us but I quickly realized I was needed in other areas for our journey.
My husband was at the wheel and I would like to describe his driving style. My husband feels that if he is in the passing lane and he is 3′ behind you, you are to move. Immediately. When most people don’t abide by this, he rides their ass, going 80 mph. This makes me absolutely batty, causing me to feel the necessity to watch the road as if I were the driver. We continued to go between 80 and 90 the entire way there, riding someone’s ass 3/4 of the time. When I brought this up, his response was:
“You wanna drive?”
‘No ass hole, I just want to get there alive.’ Was my first thought.
“I just don’t want to rear end someone.”
The bridge from Cincinnati to Kentucky was a disaster. Cars were merging everywhere. I didn’t even know there were that many people in Kentucky to cause this issue. My sons did not realize this was stressful for both mom and dad and continued to chatter about absolutely nothing. It hit a fever pitch when my husband firmly said,
“GUYS! Can you stop chattering for like 2 minutes? Just 2 minutes. JESUS!” This exchange was occurring while I’m looking down into the Ohio River thinking, ‘One false move and we swim with the fishes.’
Thankfully, our ghetto-tastic Hampton Inn was immediately the first exit, once off the bridge. A gabillion other hotels, either the same cost or lower and we pick this hovel? Just as we turned in, I suddenly realized why this hotel was selected for soccer tournaments:
‘Everything is gonna be ok,’ I thought. ‘Everything is gonna be ok.’ Do you see what is literally in our parking lot? Fun fact: according to my husband, at one point, Cincinnati was dry. Covington, Ky took this as an opportunity to offer what the city would not. Even as we turned on to our street, there was this liquor superstore that seemed to be as big as a Best Buy
From a Trip Advisor review, the views of the Ohio River are “just lovely” from one side of the Hampton Inn. When my husband checked in, I asked that he request a top floor, preferably over looking this majestic scene.
Apparently this review was written by a Hampton Inn employee as the view is more reminiscent of a crime scene or the backdrop of Silence of the Lambs. I already saw a hobo and his dog hanging out right when I walked to the window to check out the “lovely view.” Thank God I didn’t waste $10 using The Sandwich Trick to get this view. I would have gone back downstairs and asked for it back.
So now I’m up here alone because I sent the boys out with another father for wings and boys time. I don’t like wings and I can only take so much soccer talk.
My room is a complete shit hole but of coarse I knew that going in because I did research. Hampton Inn fools you thinking they have remodeled by showing the one place they did remodel:
The rooms haven’t been touched since probably 1998. Here is our piss color room:
I asked for 2 queen beds so our sons would not wake up feeling like they were 80 from the sofa bed. Of coarse that is too modern for this hotel as they only offer a King with a sofa or 2 doubles.
The hotel is almost full because apparently this is the hotel de choix for not only the soccer tournament but a girl’s basketball team and a local Mary Kay convention.
So alas, I am going to get my shoes and walk over to Liquor City. I hope they have wine and not Boones Farm wine. If they don’t have wine, I’ll have to go to the superstore a 1/2 mile away.
P.S. C is hoping to see Colonel Sanders while in Kentucky. I told him it’s a definite possibility.
I was working on a post this evening when received a text from my sister S with a property her and her boyfriend are interested in. For anyone that doesn’t know, my younger sister has entered the housing marketing ready to buy and I’ve posted 2 of the houses, both which didn’t happen (one sucked and the other was scooped up). Here is that posting: Hot Mess House Hunter Homes to Choose From
The post I was working on went COMPLETELY out the window once I went online and checked out this house. OH MY GOD! I have never, in my life, seen a house that has remained so ridiculously outdated. It’s like a movie set. It’s like a time warp but a time warp with Liberace. I quickly began to snag pictures of the house and I am so excited to show you guys this hot mess that I can barely contain myself.
I would imagine this house to be like the crush your best friend has on a bad boy in high school. Sure, he’s needs work and he’s hot in his own kind of way. Your egging it on but in the long run, you know it’s wrong and in the back of your head all you hear is DANGER!
You guys ready? I give you the Brady Bunch House:
Would the Golden Girls consider this a lanai? Check out the indoor hot tub…
Do you think that is a fountain?
Let’s talk about this side of the living room for a moment. Again, is that another fountain/garden area? Did Liberace throw up in here? Look at the wall candles….
All the provisions one needs should Liberace show up: a piano, feathers, naked statue and candleabra.
E.T. phone home…..
Every well respected home needs an Asian landscape mural on the wall and saloon doors:
This was Barbie’s room before moving out…..
This is almost a deal breaker…..
I’m sure the former tenants cried while making love in this room since it’s like angels and clouds colliding together…..and I also feel as if I’m at a funeral parlor in this room.
Yeah, I’ll get to that part in a minute. Shall we recap why I am convinced my car drove over an ancient Indian burial ground sometime in February?
Tuesday: Paid $463 to Tire Discounters because I virtually had no breaks left.
Thursday: Returned to Tire Discounters with the knocking noise I told them about back on Tuesday. Another $64 gone.
Friday: Lock my keys in my car. Call AAA only to discover my husband had not renewed it. $88 dropped.
Saturday: I get in my car, buckle in, look in my rear view mirror only to see a mouse crawling into the seat belt hole. This left me completely paranoid, even when I saw the mouse jump out.
This evening: Get pulled over. Officer Dwight Schrute fines me for expired plates. I have not made the time to get them but Jesus, a warning would have been nice. $125 fine.
So here is how my evening started out…..
My friend and neighbor is a stylist. She does my hair and my sons. P had an appointment for 7 pm and C came along for the ride solely for the toilet. If I were in his shoes, I too would have come along for the toilet.
So what’s up with the toilet Hot Mess?
This is like no other toilet you’ve seen. This toilet has a seat warmer and is a bidet. Now, I have no idea how to work a bidet. I’ve stayed in hotels with a bidet but I didn’t want to run the risk of squirting myself in the eyes so I just opted for the traditional pee and flush.
Because I can be shameless on occasion, I took the following pictures of the toilet:
After using the uber toilet I hit the side of my head REALLY hard on the corner of some sort of stupid cabinet that was awkwardly placed directly in front of uber toilet.
When I came back out, my other son was livin’ it up as my friend massaged shampoo into his head. It’s becoming a tradition for her to have to lecture him on taking extra time to get ALL the shampoo out as he takes a 30 second shower thinking he got everything clean. He literally had a tweener version of cradle cap.
Earlier that morning, I had bribed the boys with shamrock shakes on the way back home if they promised not to get us kicked out of the spa. I thought about picking them up before, but then had visions of them spilling green shake all over the salon and thought better about it. After C knocked down an entire display of hair gels in the lobby, I knew I had made the right decision.
After the salon we went through the drive thru and grabbed the sweet little nugget known as a shamrock shake. Once back on the road, I noticed a cop car in the other lane. As long as he stayed on that side, I felt he would not notice my expired tags.
Just then he glided into my lane, behind me. Because irony is a Comedian and given the laundry list above, I knew what would be happening so I prepared my sons.
“Now boys, there is a cop behind me. More than likely he is going to pull me over….” I was cut short by the sudden flashing of lights.
“Damn it! Where do I go? Crap! Where do I pull over?” I had this vision of him thinking of me as O.J., running because I wasn’t pulling over fast enough.
I pulled into the Starbucks parking lot.
‘Keep your hands on the wheel,’ I told myself. I had seen one too many COPS shows to know my hands need to be where he can see them at all times. I didn’t need him to think I was pulling a gun out of my Louis.
A prepubescent cop comes to my window and shines a super awesome flashlight in my face. Really? Is this really necessary? I am clearly lit by the soft glow of Smoothie King and Party City lights nearby.
“Ma’am, I am Officer Ass Hole of the We Have Nothing Better to Do police station. Do you know why I pulled you over?”
“Yeah, my tags are expired. I’ve had like no time.”
“Is this car registered to you?”
“Yeah, I think. My husband’s name may also be on it.”
“And that is?”
What was this? It was 8 PM and I was not down with a Q and A session.
“I ran your plates and it shows your husband’s license to be suspended.”
“WHAT?” I was becoming livid now. Suddenly in my worse case scenario mentality I saw him needing to take someone to jail for this and that someone was going to be me.
“Can I please see your license and proof of insurance?”
“Yeah, sure.” I began to fumble in my wallet for both. What I produced was my license….and an insurance card for the year 2013.
“Hmm, seems I don’t have my most current card on me. I’ll keep looking though.”
At this point, my oldest thought this was the right time to start singing the theme song of COPS…
“Bad boys, bad boys, watcha’ gonna do, watcha’ gonna do when they come for you!”
The youngest thought he would add his own spin on the situation by making up the following lyrics and belting them out between giggles:
“Bad girls, bad girls, watcha’ gonna do? Watcha’ gonna do when they come for you?”
I was willing them to shut up.
Officer ass hole gave me some time to look for a new insurance card while he did whatever coppy thing he needed to do in his car. For flair, he still had his lights going full speed and by now we had attracted a few onlookers.
Once on the phone with Progressive they were totally cool and said “yeah, we can just tell the cop you have insurance.” Easy peazy.
Officer ass hole walked back over with a metal clip board and a stack of tickets. Since I knew I was already getting a ticket, I decided to have at it and tell him about my week.
“Can I tell you something?”
“I knew this would happen. How? I spent $463 on Tuesday, $64 on Thursday on a tire, Friday I locked my keys in my car and Saturday, now get this…you won’t even believe this. I have a doctors appointment Saturday, get in my car, look in my rear view mirror and find a mouse crawling up the seat! I’m telling you this because it’s only fitting that we round out this entire car train wreck with a ticket from you.”
No emotion whatsoever from him from my sob story.
As we drive away I begin to laugh maniacally.
“Um, what’s so funny?” My oldest asked.
“I just knew this would happen. Like literally, it was in the cards. It’s so funny at this point. All I can do it laugh.”
Suddenly I gather myself and look at my sons in the rear view mirror.
“Boys, we can learn from this. What is it?”
“Um, don’t wait till the last minute to do things?”
“Yes, but how to stay completely calm when you have a complete Dwight Schrute that your dealing with.”
“Who’s Dwight Schrute?”
I received the following e-mail from a co-worker and friend about Shaun T coming to my city a few years ago:
Hey all you insane peeps,
Shaun is making a special appearance at the downtown YMCA on 3/15. We have the opportunity to work out with him for only $20 per person! RSVP by 3/1 if you want to go. We can talk about car-pooling later.
Holy Shit! Shaun T? I have been doing his work out 3 times a week for 30 minutes….well 20-25-ish minutes in the company workout room with other co-workers. I was in the best shape of my life and I was so ready to be a bad ass.
I hurried up and RSVP’ed as I was used to seeing hoards of people like the image below and didn’t want to miss my opportunity.
For anyone that has ever done Insanity workouts, you’ll know it’s rigorous and tough. I would find a complete workout in the warm up alone and would lay on the floor between sets to give myself healing time. There were days I couldn’t move after the workout. I encouraged everyone to do it by ensuring them that I do the best I can (lie) and take it at my own pace.
The blessed event came and I carpooled with 2 other co-workers. We were going to meet the other 3 co-workers there. It was a Sunday and the Y was empty. I was waiting to see the Village People around the corner but it never happened. We were 15 minutes early and got there before Shaun.
We were the only ones there until 2 more women walked in. We politely smiled and made small talk. A few minutes later, in walks Shaun T. He was ripped and exactly the way he is in the videos.
A few more participants rolled in but 5 minutes later, I came to the realization that this was it! The combined total participants amounted to 17. How was my plan to hide behind hoards of people going to work if there were just 17 people? I get exhausted after the warm up. This was not going as planned.
Shaun started the music and the rigorous warm up began.
I thought all the yelling normally reserved for the video, remained on the video. This was not the case. He was walking around yelling motivations and to “dig deeper”. 2 minutes into it, I thought ‘wow, this really sucks’.
3 minutes into this I thought ‘fuck, this is not manageable’. At 5 minutes the room began to get white and it wasn’t because of all the participants. I was about to pass out after 5 minutes. After debating on which was worse- retreating or passing out, I sheepishly put my head down and made a b line to the women’s locker room.
The locker room looked like a powder room you would find in a department store of 1963. It was empty and quiet except for the quiet humming of the fluorescent lights. The locker room was carpeted and included a living room, coffee table and magazines. I looked around and thought ‘fuck it’, sat down, uncapped my water and drank it on the comfy sofa. I looked over the coffee table and to my delight, there was a magazine I’ve been wanting to read for some time now. I thought to myself ‘you know what? I am in the best shape of my life so far. Why am I doing this to myself? I’m chillin’. For the rest of the workout I laid on the sofa and read while my co-workers killed themselves.
After about 40 minutes I felt rejuvenated and stress free. This had been the most amazing workout ever. I walked back to the gym and peered through the window in one of the doors to see if the workout was over. Everyone was sitting in a circle around Shaun T. for what I took as the question and answering session. I quietly creeped in and took a seat on the outside of the circle. I nodded my head to a few people that acknowledged my return. No one dared asked me what happened as it would be met with either “got sick” or “lady problems”. My friend Stacey mouthed over to me ‘are you ok’? I gave her a reassuring nod while mouthing ‘I’ll tell you later’ wanting her to focus back on Shaun T.
Thirty minutes later we were off to dinner. I was a little disappointed that my Bucca di Beppo nomination was outvoted by some organic/ vegan restaurant but whatevs. Over my veggie burger and wine I came clean about where I had spent the past 40 minutes and my motivation behind it. No one batted an eyelash at my reasoning.
So I began this quest with: Hot Mess’s Guide to Understanding the Election Process-Intro
Here is my thought process when I voted for my Government officials in my 20’s:
“I like the sound of his name…..I’m going to vote for him.”
“He seems like a dick, I’m NOT voting for him.”
“Surprisingly, this candidate is kinda’ hot, I am totally voting for him.”
Thought process in my 30’s:
“I have to vote for the school levy. Good for my kids, good for my property value.”
“I don’t know anything about the candidate so I’m not voting for either one of them.”
This will be the election I go into knowing a little more. What I learned, I am going to put it in “hot mess” terms and hope to have a little fun teaching it. Here it goes….
I was a little pissed to learn my vote may not be carried out to the candidate I want. What I mean is when we vote for President, we kinda’ aren’t voting directly for the Presidential Candidate. We are voting for a person called an Elector.
Who are these Electors Hot Mess? Good question. Apparently it’s state elected officials (I could totally see this person’s name being Thurston or Howard the III), Party Leaders (no, not Paris Hilton), or peeps affiliated with the Presidential candidate.
What is the Elector’s Job? Well, these little ass holes….sorry…inside voice. The Electors (Jesus, they kinda’ sound like a Hunger Game employee) are supposed to be more knowledgeable then us when it comes to the whole political process. They have the final say on if a vote will be cast for the candidate. Usually it is.
Not saying this is how it works but I get the feeling like the government is my mom and to “make me feel like I have choices” they present to us a red dress or a blue dress. There are no other options but you do have 2 options: the red or the blue dress.
If the big wigs choose the Elector nominees, how do we, the people vote for the Electors? And when do we vote for them?
The Elector voting occurs simultaneously during the Presidential voting. Based on which state you live in, this is how it appears on the ballot:
a. You won’t see the Electors names. Basically a vote for the Republican candidate equals a vote for the Reupublican’s Electors.
b. You will see the electors name(s) directly underneath the Presidential candidate and you vote for them.
Are these Electors part of a club? Yes, it’s the Oprah book club.
Yes, the club they are a part of is the Electoral College and actually the Electoral College is a process- the process I’m talking about above. It’s not a place. Sorry, this isn’t the YMCA.
In summary of the first Hot Mess Coarse on the Election Process, you know that the President isn’t decided on by each individual citizen, but by the Electors. Now that you know what an Elector is, I’ll post next about: the whole winner takes all thing and how Maine and Nebraska are the EMO’s of the group by practicing the Congressional District Method (I just sounded like a doctor discussing various birth controls methods, didn’t I?).