Becoming 12 is such a big deal in a girls life.  Only one one year till 13–the teens–and another that distances them from being considered “a little kid”.  Most girls are anxious to get past “the little kid” stage by 12.  They’re in middle school now.  Transition is happening in their body, and they want to move solidly into the “teen” stage.  To wear a small heel and longer dangle earrings, carry purses, wear the latest fashion, use lip gloss…

To witness Grace move through this stage has been wonderful.  She maturing into quite a young, confident lady who carries herself very well.  It causes a warm smile to drift into my lips and my eyes to soften as I observe her.

While all of the maturity is going on she and her friends are also in the giddy stage.  A time in a girls life when unbridled happiness is being gushed all over the place.  Grace is the last of my girls that I will have to go through the wonder of this period and I have to say it’s hard to believe that this is almost past.  This is a time that comes and goes quickly and a parent must never hesitate to catch it or risk missing it altogether.  But if they do catch it there’s a lot of wonderful, enriching fun to be had.

This giddy stage is something, that at times, I yearn to embrace in my adult life.   Life of an adult can be so stiff.  So serious.  So full of do’s and don’ts that if we aren’t careful can choke us like smoke that fills the air and leave us gasping and snuffed out from most of the joy, happiness, and wonder of living.

I happen to be an individual that knows the exact moment when my joy was chocked out.  I had a friend point it out.  She said, “Theresa I need to tell you.  To warn you that since the baby has been born I see that the wonderful joy you have always had has left you.  I tell you so that you might get it back.”

I was 27.  I stood in her driveway holding my new born son in my arms.  The first of my two children, both sons, to be born with Spina Bifida.  And I resented her comment.  I couldn’t see the truth of the statement at all.  I was the same as ever.  But I should have had ears to hear.  It would have saved me 18 years of going flat line, icing over, mostly surviving life…

Then there’s my ex-brother in law, who I grew to love almost as much as my own brother after 23 years of being in their family, had a heart attack on Friday.  He’s going to be 60 in June.  That’s young in my mind.  And yet his heart was threatening to give out.  Thanks to the hospitals intervention thankfully he’ll continue here with us.  He’ll have a stint put in and things should be fine.  Being 45 the shock of hearing that someone of his age has had a heart attack doesn’t effect me as it once did.  But, even still, this did cause me to stop, think, and reflect.  Reflect on me.  Reflect on him.   How he’s lived out his life.  Of his family I knew him to laugh more than the rest.  When I think of him typically my mind’s eye sees him with a laugh jiggling his body.  But then he lived a strained life and largely unlived life, in many ways that I’m not at liberty to share, that I do think took it’s toll.

So hearing that he had a heart attack at his young age coupled with watching my daughter and her friends bubble with a love and exuberance for life yesterday, took me deeply into reflection…

I believe life is meant to be a joy.  Meant to be full of laughter and may I say a good bit of silliness.  This thought began a couple years before my divorce when I found myself going around saying, “There’s got to be more to life than this.”  Life with my ex had grown far too serious and by then I had solidly lost my joy.  I had gone from an optimistic, springy, fun seeking person, who my ex had annoyingly remarked, “Your the otter type personality.  You think life is about play and fun.”  He had heard something about personality types being associated to animals and I was, apparently, solidly an otter.  Let’s see what was he??  Can’t remember but it certainly wasn’t an otter.  Even with my lack of otteryness he still saw me as one.

Since my divorce I’ve been coming out of my negativity.  Attempting to move back into being an otter… just one with sensible grounding when need be.  But I will say that the progress has been too slow and since yesterday I’ve been thinking…

I need to take my life and all I have to do, with all that’s swirling around me, and keep the smile.  Keep the joy.  Keep the laughter and mirth amongst it all.  Lean solidly into happiness.  Embrace the otter while I work.  Like Snow White’s Drawfs–whistle while I work.

This is my focus.  This is my desire.  This is my goal.  Just thought I’d share.
How about you??  Where is your joyness?  Your happiness?  Your silliness with life? What’s your personality type.  Do share…

Night, love ya,
Theresa
-btw I Googled the whole animal personality thing and it seems my ex is a beaver.  Want to know yours? Here’s a fun link: Personality Types with a table that you can expand if you like on the link underneath.  I have to say that the entire otter column is so me.  And I couldn’t help but giggle when I saw that that Snoopy from the Peanuts gang is another animal I’m in line with.  Why the giggle?  Well, since I was two or three I have love the Peanuts Gang and my favorite has always been him.  My first cat when I was two or three was named Snoopy and it was a girl.  I’m also in line with Tigger, from Winnie the Pooh.  To say the least he has always been my absolute favorite too!   Not only that but the Swing Dance is there as well.  And of all the dances in the world I regret not learning it would be that dance, and sadly I do believe that it’s too late now!
I think this table is helping it to all come clear as to why, as I shared a couple weeks back, I’m not what you might call a “book keeping” type which also made getting my taxes assembled such a struggle.  LOL!

So while I’ve been doing the bunny hop all over Birmingham this my posts suffer.

For the last few weeks I’ve been going around with a metal sliver in my toe.  I’ve tried repeatedly to get the bugger out.  But no go.  Hard to get something out you can’t see.  But I know it’s there because I felt it go in and it’s been hurting ever since.  The last few days I’ve put Black Salve on hoping to draw it out.   After I tested it today by walking around without a bandage or sock I can assure you that it’s not out.  There’s been a small ache in my foot that starts at my toe and moves up.  The other day the pain was radiating up my leg.  Have no idea how I’m going to get this thing out but I can’t help but make the connection to how things in our lives effect us even if we can’t see them.

They’re there every day causing a little pain and effecting our mental and physical health to some degree without our even knowing it because it’s not staring us in the face.

For the last near 7 years I’ve worked intensely on healing childhood traumas.  I continue to be surprised at how they’re having a lasting effect on me.  How I react to things and so forth.  I carried those issues into my marriage and the “unseen metal slivers” had their effects.  Then there was the marriage and the “slivers” that I accumulated there.

So where am I going with all this??  Last week my “ex” and I finally went for counseling.  It was a productive session.  I left crying.  But it was a good cry, like the drawing effects of Black Salve, the tears were drawing out the “slivers” we have between us.  These days I am feeling better toward my ex and he has improved toward me.  We’ve agreed to go every other week so I am hoping to see even more healing take place between us till finally all the “slivers” are drawn out and life is peace and sweet between us.

Love ya,
Theresa Jane

In order to heal something you have to actually be able to see it first.  Otherwise you don’t even know the sucker exists.  Consciously at least.  Because it’s there… destroying your life.  But you have no idea.  Kinda like an ominous presence in a Stephen King novel…there’s something out there lurking in the dark, creating trouble, but you’ve no idea why.  Till one day during your healing process a Boogie Man jumps out of the dark, scares you half to death, and swipes it’s claws at you.  Wide eyed you stagger backwards, your heart pounding, and you keep repeating, oh my God, oh my God, that can’t be real.  Will it hurt me?  Should I run?…

The worse thing you can do is run.  You have to hold your ground.  You have to get a good look at it in the full light of day while you have your chance.  It’s where you can see how to kill it.

For years I’ve kept things that happened to me sealed up
and stored deeply at the back of the forbidden dark tower of my memories
and in the recesses of my bowels.
Things that happened and how I think and feel.
This is what you do isn’t it?
Your mother teaches you it’s wrong to hang your family’s dirty laundry
out for the whole world to see.
You keep family secrets.
You don’t even speak of them to each other.
It’s a shameful thing.
It’s the ultimate betrayal to so much as utter them alone in the dark of night…

Instead you keep them hidden… in the blackness.
Where they rot and fester.
Where mice infest and they leave stinking excrement everywhere and make nests out of the “dirty things”.
You learn to live with the filth.  The infection that sets in.  The fog in your thinking.  The demons that lurk and shriek sending your emotions out of control when you least expect and steal you of peace and happiness.

I’ve been finding powerful healing through my life couch sessions and classes.  The problem has been that I’ve dug deeply into the depths of unconscious and memory all the while either partially revealing or keeping a safe distance from certain “shut away things”.
Till the !BLAM!…
That’s when I let the vomit fill my mouth and evacuate my gut.
To purge the putrid rotting, infestation.

This tore at my stomach and sent a shutter throughout my system unearthing a good many Pandora Boxes from far reaching hiding places.  These boxes were left on the edge of my conscious and shook with the roar of the monsters that held them.
Their presence has been so frightening that I’ve no choice but to drive myself to find the key to open and unleash them into the world so I might see them for what they were and free myself.

This “drive” produced yet another !BLAM!ming however this time my mother didn’t hear it.  It was urged on by my life coach when he heard their roar.  He knew how to unleash at least some right then… I needed to say things that I hadn’t already.  He encouraged me act as if she were there and this time to call her names.

I tried.  But at first the words stuck firmly in my throat.  I stopped and said, “This is ridiculous I can swear a blue streak when I’m mad and even if I simply choose to, but without my mom even present I can’t do it. “So I took four slow deep breaths, closed my eyes, and tried again.  The words came out slowly, as if trapped by the bowel cramping the proceeds explosive diarrhea.  Then they released and poured out unable to be suppressed.  I called her every name in the book and let her know what I thought of her.  I was surprised to hear some of what I said.

I left feeling better.

But there were more boxes lying there, thundering with the earth shattering anger of the monsters they held…
That’s where I’ll pick up tomorrow…

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane

When I went home to seek resolution with my parents a few years ago, my step-father was remorseful and changed…
So WHY did I !BLAM! him as well?

Well, as I said in my video I side stepped a lot back then, swept it under the carpet if you will.  I didn’t want to shove the past in their face, make them wrong…  All I really asked was that they admit that I had a reason to have cut them off for all those years because:  the past was horrible.  A nightmare…  And I asked that because my mother has always continued to be upset, and held it over my head that they were cut off for all those years and claimed cluelessness about the reason–God, sometimes my mother makes me roll and squeeze my eyes shut and my stomach to cease in knots . . .

Since then I have come to see that by not bringing everything out, my childhood pain and fears, the adult fears and pains and lingering effects… I stopped short.  Far short.  Which kept me carrying the burden.  A participant in hiding the past.  Protecting the awful that it was.  And although my step-father was remorseful and has changed, I really was left needing to express to them the searing pain and lingering effects I have suffered from their hands.
Get it out of me…
Bring to light what was in the dark…
Give the burden back to them…
Facing the awful makes it real.  Validates it.  And allows the person/people to become free.
Therefore when I called to !BLAM! it really needed to be to them both.

Night again, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who just senses unasked questions  and wonders who is holding a question that they want to ask?  I say, ask away, I’m an open book and love questions

I’m not making my step-father innocent mind you, by no means he played his part.  He was awful.  But he has asked for forgiveness and admitted his wrong and by now time and again.  AND he has CHANGED.  For the most part he’s doing things completely differently.  No one that has been that broken and is changing deserves to be beaten on.  No one deserves to be harangued and demoralized when you’re the other person that played as equal a role in the mess.  But this is what she has done to him in a very demoralizing manner all these years.  

Let me give a couple recent examples:

Example 1: Remember when I had gone home a few years back, to try to achieve some form of establishing a basis for us to move forward from, in a healthy manner rather than just enduring the periodic forced phone calls she had pushed on me for the few years prior? (click here for post) Well, during this very meeting she said, “I regret ever marrying him.  He ruined my life and my children’s.  He was the reason for all the problems…”  Then, through tears, she went on to ask, “How could you just forgive him after he destroyed our family and lives.”  

I was so so shocked I said, “I can’t believe you.  He’s sitting right here.  How can you do that?  Not to mention this is the man you have been married to for over 40 years.  You played your role or have you forgotten?  My God you’re awful.”  
Her response was tearless with a small care-less shrug she said, “Yeah, well.”

Example 2: She had told my brother the week before that I had “called” (the !BLAM!) and, “Theresa was extremely rude and mean to me.  Here your father had caused all the problems and ruined everything and she treated him like royalty and me like shit.”

So, it’s pretty simple to put two and two together even if you don’t know a lot of history.  She’s been bullying him to carry all the blame for years…and it’s obviously worked.  Look at his reaction to me.

Well, anyways, there was no way I was getting cornered like this.  I had compassion for him but I’m sorry this wasn’t happening.  My mother needed to stand on her own two feet.  Be an adult.  Own her stuff.  I wasn’t getting bullied anymore.  That call/!BLAM! I had made was serious to me.  To my life.  To my growth.  To my experiencing real healing.  And no one was going to take this from me.  I had already been through the issue of her backing me into a corner a few days earlier (click here to read that post),  I wasn’t going back.  No sir.  And frankly all I could think was, what on earth has that woman done to you???  I felt his pain.  I felt the shame she had foisted on him.  I felt more love and compassion.  AND I KNEW how he felt.  My mother had done the very same thing to me for my entire life.

This call gave me exactly what I had cried out for for the days I was stuck in that corner…
Strength to stand up for myself and never go into my corner again.
Giving me even more resolved to not back down.
To stop the sadistic cycle my mother had created:
The fear,
the control,
the intimidation,
the psychological torquing she had done to my brain,
to stop concerning myself with what she might do to me or herself if she were pushed in any way.  (since I was young she’s threatened, “I wish I were dead.”)

Monday morning I began to be equipped to take my life back in a new way.
To beat that iron mask of worthlessness into a new shape…
Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-more tomorrow

For years I’ve pretty much been doing the same thing over and over again with my parents and expecting different results.  !BLAM!ming them was doing something different.

By not ever dealing honestly, openly, and calmly with the past and being straight up with them I swept everything under the carpet.  The result was I continued to get walked on and held responsible for their guilt and pain.   This allowed them, but honestly mostly my mother to continue with a lot of her/their hurtful ways.   The most recent examples: the card and phone call to the hospital mentioned in the prior posts.

She’s been bullying me my whole life in similar and much, much harsher ways.  She’s made me responsible (and her husband and son) for her wrongs and guilt.  I finally came to a point where I felt no guilt for what she had done in her life, or to me, or what she ever would do.  I decided that I was giving the guilt and pain back.  I had been bullied long enough…So the !BLAM!

Once I did this I set myself free.
Since I’ve been experiencing freedom, more self-confidence, much more clarity.
Some of the clarity has come in the form of being able to see myself clearer.  Remember my posts on “Peering Down the Rabbit Hole” and I talked about feeling worthless most of my life?  And how now that I see it I can 1) heal it and 2) must to be on the look out for slipping that mask back on?  Well after the hospital phone call I discovered that when it comes to my mother I tend to put that mask on right away.

She hung up on me and I felt worthless.  Unvalidated.  Wrong. Wrong for telling her she hurt me.  That it was wrong what she/they had done to me…  Typically in the past I would have gotten angry and spewed it out.  This time however, when I felt these feelings rise up I stopped.  I began to observe…calmly.  And that’s when I got in touch with “something different…”  I saw the little girl inside me.  She had backed into a corner, drew her knees up to her chest, put her face between her legs, and hid. 

I continued to watch.  She didn’t know how to come out.
I’m 45 for heaven’s sake and I’m reacting as if I’m a child.  Good God who knew?
…Later, the little girl was still in charge and was nervous on the phone with the man in her life that’s showing her love, kindness, and acceptance and hasn’t a problem in the world with her, yet she felt he did and she began to say things that questioned this.  But this time I/the adult saw what I/the little girl was doing.  I/the little girl was creating a situation where he would get upset with her/me, thereby proving to her/myself that I was indeed worthless.  Worthy of the worthless mask.

Once I saw it I countered it by being honest and admitting exactly what was going on, that I was going to do all I could to overcome this illusion, and I needed help.  And I received it    I received love.

Since I have wobbled around coming out of the corner.  But I’ve been observing. Learning things about myself.  Healing and growing and creating new realities.  Happily I haven’t created a mess with him, my children, or my ex as I would have in the past and wondered how it happened.  Instead I have dealt lovingly with myself and strove to not let the past effect my present.  I’m an adult, my mother can’t hurt me this way anymore.  I have value.  I have worth…

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-whose finally leaving the past behind and beginning to really live in the present    because I did something different… I !BLAM!med…

CONTINUED from yesterday, I said there was more that has opened for me…
The day before when I was writing about my thoughts on “The !BLAM!ming” (click here for the post) and stated that I was like a war vet suffering post war trauma, the strangest thing happened.  There were visions in my mind, like the Ghost of Christmas Past had taken me to when I was a child… I was watching scenes of myself in my parents home.  I was able to observe “this little girl”.  Bad things were happening and she was frightened.  Many scenes flashed as we moved through the years.

As I observed something came vividly clear…

I was able to see the connection between me and the war vet. People go to war healthy mentally and can come home very different.  They can’t help it.  They lived through horror.  They can’t stop the psychological traumas: The flash backs.  The fears.  Living on edge.  Waiting to protect/defend.  Watchful.  Suspicious.  And everyone including themselves know why they changed from the great person they were before they left… the effects of war.

This experience broke open an understanding why “the little girl” in the visions became the way “she” had.

How much worse for “her” then the vet?

She was 2 1/2 when her mother married “her” step-father. “She” was just a baby. Never even had a chance to develop healthy mentally. Her brain was forming. Her experiences with life were taking shape. The networking being laid was hard wired with traumas: fear, jumpy, hide, go outside…run, protect, shut down, defend, stop listening, be suspicious, be watchful, lie, keep to herself, no one loves her, no where is safe, stop feeling, don’t express “herself”, shut up, go away, do as “she’s” told, don’t question, “she’s” worthless, who would want to love “her”, look for others to hurt “her”, be: depressed, suicidal, pull away, ice over, protect, feel worthless, shut down, survive, defend, argue…

“She” suffered the effects of “war”/horror/violence inside “her” home. It’s all “she” knew. “She” couldn’t help it.  “Her” brain’s beliefs and patterns took over and “she” was stuck there.  In that past.  Hopeless… unless someone helped “her”.  Everyone, including me, should have known…

But I didn’t know.  I didn’t cut myself an inch of slack. All through my life I have been destructively self-judgmental and just plain self-destructive.  I curse myself. Put myself down. Call myself names. I’ve had no patience with myself. Couldn’t receive compliments.  No acceptance of myself unless I was perfect and my bar was so high I rarely, if ever, reached it.  And certainly never accepted my failures.

The !BLAM!ming freed up a ton of bottled up energy that I used elsewhere…

The other day was the first time I connected with the small child inside. The one that was hurt and scarred.  For the first time in my life I was able to understand “her“.  Except “her” faults.  Feel compassion. I wanted to pick her up, sway side to side, stroke her hair, and tell her, “It’s okay, I’m here now.  I’m protecting you.  I understand.  I’m going to keep you safe.  I’m taking you out of here to live with me.  You don’t have to stay.  You can leave with me.”  And walk off with her in my arms and not stop till we were in my apartment.

You know what?  That’s exactly what I’m going to do right now.  Spend time with the “little girl”.  Let her know she’s safe…

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-Tomorrow… what the response from my parents has been so far.

Christmas bells are ringing, for me!

It’s been a week and two days since I called my parents and !BLAM!ed them. (click here for video) I took control of my life.  Stood up, as an adult and said, “Wait just a minute here…” and the results are continuing to be astounding.  Since I hung up it’s been a new experience.  My healing has taken off at warp speed.  Even John1 mentioned it today…

It’s all been soooo dramatic I must tell you, from the beginning:

After ending the call I cried.  I sat down on John1′s couch and became a blob of human flesh, exhausted and staring at his TV as characters danced around in the “White Christmas” movie.  Pain pierced at my temples and in the middle of my forehead.  I felt drugged.  Almost listless.  My brain creeped just like during “the drug days” when creepy crawlers moved along the surface of my brain.  Except this didn’t end and it covered my entire brain.  I felt the entire networked surface of my brain.  Front to back, side to side.

About an hour later I staggered off the couch.  Went to John’s office where he was working on rendering the video of me !BLAM!ming into the computer, told him I needed to go.  Slid into my coat and drove home.  As I drove paranoia crashed over me.  When I was young I had became paranoid a lot.  So this made sense.  I had stood up to my parents and the old brain patterns took over and old fears struck out at me…

In my apartment I was stir crazy, fighting paranoia, almost afraid to be alone.  I kept telling myself my childhood mantra: “Everything’s okay.  I ‘m going to be alright.”  I couldn’t even watch TV anymore.  John1 called to check on me.  He helped me through it till I was finally able to woo my body to relax and sleep.  Then I slept.  Like a rock.  Till 12 pm the next day.

Woke feeling like I had cried the whole night through.  Honestly?  I think I had.  In another state of consciousness.  In another plane of reality I spent the night griving and releasing.  Finally totally facing the fact that I never had a childhood.  I never had a family life.  It was like someone had sat me down the night before and said to the small child inside me, “Theresa your parents were killed in a car wreck.  They’re never coming home.”  And that little girl cried and cried till she was dry of tears and when she awoke she was ready to face life with the reality that she was parentless and needed to move on.

I awoke a bit fuzzy headed.  Eyes, head, and body heavy from the all night cry.  But inspired.   Excited.  Too excited to sit at the computer and work.  I wanted to spend time with my daughter Grace.  So I went to her school, intercepted her before she boarded the bus for home, swept her off to see “The Christmas Carol”,  then went C. shopping.  Great fun.  Great mom daughter time.  Our best ever.

Came home wrote my blog and was feeling nostalgic so that’s what I wrote,  a good childhood Christmas memory mixed with the day’s events. (click here for this post)

From that day to this I have noticed a very different me.  Freer.  Happier.  Stronger.  I walk straighter.  Feel confidence growing.  I’m looking people in the eye more.  I am speaking my mind.  Laughing freely.  Being playful.  Oh it goes on and on.  It’s been the melting of the Ice Queen, me, to an unrecognizable puddle.  Thank God.
Who could ask for more?  Well…there is more.  A lot and it’s wonderful.  And that’s tomorrow.

Night, love ya,
Theresa Jane
-who catches herself smiling for no reason    that’s the greatest present of all…

Thoughts since the !BLAM!…

A great metaphor for the forgotten child.

!BLAM!ming my parents was one of the best things I’ve ever done.  I feel so different inside.  I’m experiencing transformation daily.  I let my parents know that I was a forgotten child in all their violence, drama, and destruction.  And I did it calmly.  No screaming, no yelling, no my parents yelling back…  I let them know in a controlled, clear adult manner that what they did effected me.  That I’ve never stood up and said.  I had always basically summarized: “You and dad were terrible.  You were out of control…”  This time I let them know what they did hurt.  How I felt.  How I was effected.  That I remember what they did to each other and me.  It was REAL.  It happened.  It destroyed me.  I’m tired of it not being acknowledge and them expecting me to just go on as if, to quote my mother, “We were just a family who had problems”.   Good God, it was more than that.

I grew up in that mess.  I was a child.  I had to find a way to survive.  Through my private sessions with my couch/therapist… I discovered that I never came out of survivor mode.  Possibly the best way to describe it would be to say, I functioned like a vet who suffers with post war trama: flashbacks/jumpy/edgy/suspicious/on alert/ready to protect and defend…

Not me. Just a great pic for here

I have lived on “survive mode” since I was a child.  It has only been until the last 7-8 months that I can say I am finally, really, really coming out of that state.  Out of the “training” I went through at home, when I grew up and my brain was forming.  The way I processed life, my psychological state of being, formed and letting that go and even seeing some of it was a very difficult thing to do.  A very tough row to hoe.  Those ways of being were what allowed me to survive what I lived through.

Letting go took two things: A committed couch who wouldn’t give me any way out and my unwavering commitment… leaving appointments with swollen red eyes or swearing a sailors stream of cus when it came to the session I just left, “what did that son of a bitch know about anything…”

Since leaving home I have searched for my healing.  Tried many things.  So I could live normally.  Feel normally.  Like other people.  It wasn’t until 6 years ago this January 2nd that I really found the source of my healing.  That’s when I found my life couch and he had a system (birthed from the book he had been writing: Red Book and Cotton) and through it I found the way out.  However it’s taken a lot of work and it wasn’t until the last 7-8 months that I can I say I have had the earth shattering break throughs that could allow me to say, “Now I’m really starting to live my own life.  I feel it.  I see it.  The lingering effects are falling off in chunks… finally.”

That’s not to say that through the years I haven’t seen major changes in my life, emotions, reactions, how I deal with life around me.  It’s just to say that all that work finally added up to the “Wow” I see and feel in me today.  And the !BLAM! rocketed me.

I know I’m not done.  I have more work to do.  And I will, “Sell all I have in search of the pearl of great value”…that being my wholeness.  I have to be whole.  I have to feel like a confident adult who has value and worth.  I have to be happy from the inside and not from what happens on the outside to “make” me happy…  So I’m not stopping…

Love ya,
Theresa Jane
-if you are clueless about what I’m talking about when it comes to what I did when I !BLAM!med…

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P3dcbzTwu7Y&hl=en_US&fs=1&]