Wednesday, November 30, 2011

I'm a selfish sleeper.

Actually I'm pretty selfish in most of my activities, but especially when it comes to catching some Zzzs. I need the cubbies more than he does. I need enough room for a person five times my size. I need to be able to manically wiggle my legs around whenever I please. I need a warm leg to put my fat, cold toes on. (My little sister's biggest pet peeve from all the times we shared a bed.) I usually take the good pillow (which is actually Grahm's). I will stay awake reading or clicking away on the computer, even if someone else (definitely not me) has work the next day. And I have a terrible (unique) morning smell that envelopes my entire body, all the way from my sweaty feet to my top-of-the-morning-to-you, stankapotamus breath. (My siblings have pointed this out for years. Nothing makes you reevaluate your morning self like the beginning months of marriage.)

See? Selfish.
To my credit, I've had 22 years to milk this sleeping self-absorption. It'll take a little bit to break these bad habits ... although my glorious morning smell is probably here to stay.

Grahm on a road trip. I told you, cute! 
This reality hit me late last night when Grahm was snoozing. (Men are like babies, they get so much cuter when they're asleep! Refer to photo if you need further convincing.)

When we finished catching up on Parenthood (are Jasmine and Crosby really back together?!), Grahm was pretty zonked. I got to sleep in much (much much) later than he did, so I wasn't exactly ready to crash. I decided to stay up and figure out Christmas gifts... and by that I mean, I was on Pinterest for a solid two hours. Productivity at its finest, my friends.

When I finally decided to turn in, I had this intense urge to snuggle. This pretty much happens every night, and Grahm is good at indulging my irrational need to treat him like a fluffy body pillow. Last
night, however, he was asleep... so snuggling was out of the question.

Or was it?

Grahm was facing the opposite wall, completely turned on his side and in the middle of a REM cycle. (Side note: I watched an episode of Regis and Kelly once about sleeping positions and what that says about your relationship. Grahm and I sleep on our sides, butts touching, facing opposite sides of the room. I don't remember a lot about the show, but basically, that was the WORST sign for your marriage.
Uh oh. We're doomed.)

I slowly inched my way toward him until I was close enough to hear him dreaming. (There was no escaping this surprise cuddle attack.) I took his shoulder and turned him over on his back, so I could snuggle up to him at a better angle. (It's all about me, people.) I even put his right arm around me. He was startled awake, but quickly fell back asleep. After five minutes, I rolled back over to my side. I can't sleep while cuddling, I just like to cuddle before I sleep.

This morning I woke up and I had all of the cubbies, and Grahm appeared to be falling off the bed.
So the Cliff Note's version: I snuggle sneak-attacked my already sleeping husband. I got him to drowsily cuddle for five minutes before rolling over to my respective side of the bed because I can't be touched when I'm trying to sleep. And I took all the room and blankets by morning.

Poor Grahm.
It's a wonder he doesn't want to sleep on the couch every night. Oh wait, we don't have one. Ha!

Peace and Blessings

Monday, November 28, 2011

It was a successful Turkey Day. I'm up two pant sizes. How 'bout you?

We set out on Tuesday afternoon for Nashville. My parents recently moved there after our wedding.  The four of us piled in to my little 2-door Yaris (his name is Dink, if that tells you anything) and set out on the open road.

I'm great at road trips. Seriously, if there were awards... I would have five. Usually, I pass out and wake up when we arrive at our final destination. Bladder of steel, my friends. This time around, I couldn't fall asleep because we were packed into my car like sardines in a can. There was no where to rest my little head.
Needless to say, our ten-hour drive felt like forty.

800 games of Hanging with Friends later, we finally got there. I haven't seen my parents in a couple months and was so excited to see them!

Thanksgiving day was filled with eating and lounging around. My two favorite things.
Mom (right) and her twin (Kiki) preparing the meal.
Gramps carving the turkey.
Our bountiful feast.
To say I ate lots of food would be the understatement of the year. My plate looked like it could feed a third world country. Bring on those delicious carbs! It's seriously hard to resist when we have all of my favorite foods, like honey-glazed ham, mashed taters, 7-layer salad, corn casserole... Okay, I have to stop because my mouth is watering.

I especially loaded up on the mashed potatoes. I figured I needed some extra padding to fight through the crowds of crazy shoppers for our annual Black Friday shopping.
Mom and I. We look pretty dang good for 5:30 a.m.
I went to bed especially fat and happy that night. The next morning, we woke up at 530 in the a.m. to hit the mall. We do this every year, and it's something I really look forward to... but there's this five minute period when I first wake up and my body feels like holiday roadkill... like a turduckin (isn't that the best word?) that was obliterated by a semi-truck. The last thing I want to do is get my fat self up.

But then I get over that and promptly get into game-day shopping mode. The boys don't get it.

I felt a teensy guilty this year.
I've never had someone to report back to on how much I spent. It's always been up to my (lack of) discretion. The good news was that I stayed under the budget Grahm had set for me. The bad news was that I bought ONE Christmas present. The rest was alllll for me. So really, none of my purchases (however on sale they may be) were really justifiable.

Luckily, I married a keeper and he wasn't mad. He even pretended to enjoy watching me whip out all my bags full of new things. Don't worry, I bought him a shirt. He wasn't totally left out.

My feet and Grahm's wallet hurt the rest of the night, but it was a triumph!

We played Pictionary with the immediate family for several hours that night. (We now have 6 people with Grahm as the newest addition, so hooray for even teams!)  It got pretty heated. None of us can draw. These were two of the best (worst) drawings. See if you can guess what these objects are (Answers at the end of the post).
Saturday night we went out to a nice restaurant, and I was reminded even more of the crazy wonderful family I have.
We somehow made it back to Oklahoma last night. My sister and I did some damage on Black Friday so we were even MORE squished in the backseat of my little car. But don't worry, our purchases were well worth the 10 hours of discomfort :)

I have a wonderful family, and I seriously have so much to be thankful for!

1) Dad's drawing of a mango.
2) Pete's drawing of a pair of scissors.

the best day of the year

Thursday, November 24, 2011

I'm taking a break from cooking and eating, eating mostly, just to wish you all a happy turkey day! Today is a day to be grateful and also a handy excuse to eat three times your body weight, like I already have. That's quite the accomplishment at 10:30 in the a.m.

May you all eat so much your buttons pop off and your thunder thighs sing a heavenly tune, but not so much that you are unable to pry your fat self out of bed in the wee hours tomorrow morning for some intense shopping!
Priorities, people.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Apartment Hunting

Monday, November 21, 2011

Have you been apartment shopping lately?
It's fun for a whoppin' five minutes.

I'm reeeeally bad at it. You may be wondering how that's possible, but trust me, it is.
My first mistake was I wore heels. The one time I decide not to dress like a 10-yr-old boy on his way to basketball camp... 

They make you walk all over. The model they show you is usually the farthest building away, so you have to walk about three miles before you can see it. And by the time we got there, I'd almost bitten the dust about three times. Classy.

My second mistake was assuming that I knew what kind of apartment I wanted. One bedroom? Two? How many bathrooms? First floor or third? There are way too many things you need to know. I thought I was prepared with my list of must haves, which was comprised of "bigger" and "closet."

My third mistake was assuming that I can read floor plans. I can't, no matter how long I stare at those little boxes.
This is the floor plan for our new place, for those of you smarter than me.
My fourth mistake was assuming that there would be any decent apartments in the entire city of San Antonio. It's amazing the layout of some of these places! Does the water heater in the kitchen sound appealing to anyone? Or the washer and dryer in the bathroom? I mean, who in the world wants their clean clothes next to the toilet? One wrong move and the clothes are dirty again.

And what is so great about a built-in desk? One place we looked had a desk built into the kitchen. Another had one in the living room. And the last one had one in the bedroom. Gross. What's even worse is that each of the apartment guides pointed the desk out, like it was the best feature of the whole place. 
Nooo thank you. How am I supposed to decorate that? 

My fifth mistake was that I forgot how easily swayed I am. I found myself Ooohing and Ahhhing about the decoration of each of the models, not the floor plan. "Oh what a cute couch!" or "That's such a pretty mirror!"  I swear they decorate because of people like me who forget that all the stuff inside isn't coming with the apartment.

You would think that picking our next place to live after pleasantville 2301 would be the easiest decision ever. As long as it has a closet and a non-gas stove, I thought I'd be sold. But noooo, it was much more complicated than that. Or... I'm more complicated than that.

After two full days of searching, we finally found the perfect two bed/two bath. It's perfection. 
It's really weird that we're going to be moving to a different state so soon... but we're both excited/nervous/anxious/thrilled. The trick is going to be living in 400 square feet for one more month when we know our new home that is 3 times the size is waiting for us.

An oh, did I mention? My walk-in closet is as big as Kelly Clarkson’s butt last night on the AMAs!  
I am one happy girl.

This is not a happy post

Thursday, November 17, 2011

This afternoon is the pits.

Grahm took me to Moore on his lunch break to get part of a Christmas present that I'm working on. I found a gem on Craigslist and needed my strong man to protect me just in case they turned out to be craaa-crazy murders. I'm being vague about "the item" because the project is for a reader. Yes you, mom. He dropped me off at the apt. with said item, and I was thrilled with it! I couldn't have been more chipper.

My hands were full when I tried to get our door open. This door has a tendency of getting stuck, and I often have to bump it with my bodacious hips. This hasn't really bothered me before. Today I gave the stubborn door a hearty kick, eager to get inside and set my things down. 

Immediately following my kick, I heard a crash.
I wasn't too worried because it didn't sound terrible, just like something had fallen.

It took me .0005 milliseconds to figure out that the worst had happened. 
The beautiful paper rose wreath I finished a few days ago and bragged to you about just two posts ago had fallen from the back of the door. 

It laid on my ugly 70's carpet... in pieces. 

Being the rational, calm person that I am... I instantly burst into tears. I called Grahm, crying and trying to explain to him what had happened through unintelligible sobs. He probably thought I was having a heart attack.

I'm not a pretty crier. Not only that, I'm not really understandable. I moan for a long time like I've just been shot. Then I start breathing really hard.  This is followed by some high-pitch squeals that sound as though a squirrel is being strangled to death. And the ugly, messy process starts all over again.

Eventually, he got the gist of what happened. I sort of expected him to laugh... but he's a wise wise man and didn't. He knew how many man hours I put into this DUMB wreath. 

I've tried hot glueing it back together. I've tried duct tape... thereby proving that no, it does NOT fix all things.  I'm considering writing Hobby Lobby an intensely worded letter protesting that their styrofoam should be WAY more durable. I mean seriously... a two foot drop and it's busted??

My love for crafting is now under serious question. I obviously have attachment issues.

Now if you'll excuse, I'm off to grieve.

Marriage Milestone

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Eat your heart out, Kim Kardashian.

A record if there ever was one :)

Marriage is about sharing.

Monday, November 14, 2011

We share an itty bitty living space. We share soap [always been a question mark to me], toothpaste, towels. We share meals. We share money [Grahm is really the sharer in this situation]. We share that uncomfortable feeling when one of us has to pee and there's no where to hide in our small home. All we can do is turn the sink faucet on to drown out the sound. [I'm really the only one who does this. Courtesy, my friends.]

I guess it's only natural that we share illness, too. I was top-of-the-morning-to-ya perky on Friday until I got infested. The vow really should say "in sharing sickness and in health."

This is what we've been staring at for the last two days. I realize that toilet paper is a bit misleading. Don't worry, we've been using it for other purposes.

We don't even have the manly kind of sick, like the trots or vomiting or an intense fever. It's the pansy kind of sickness that I always roll my eyes at when people claim they're "ill" with it. We have sinus headaches. Our noses are stuffed like we clogged them with a couple of jelly beans.... We're somehow still able to produce an ungodly amount of mucous, which is a mystery to me. And we're hacking up our lungs. Night and day. It sounds like the smoker's union over here. It's the pansy kind of sick, but it's miserable. I now have a newfound empathy for all my friends who get "sick" with this every other month.

I guess if I'm gonna be sick, there's no one I would rather be with. More accurately, there is no one [besides you, Mom] that I would allow to see me. I haven't showered in two days. I've been wearing the same PJs since Saturday night. I'm surrounded by snot rags, and I sound like James Earl Jones.

Last night Grahm tried to kiss me goodnight, and we ended up holding each other as we uncontrollably coughed over the other's shoulder. It was real romantic. He's super great for still wanting to kiss me despite the undeniable stench that has surrounded my achy body. 

After all, he's the one who shared. 

An old man and old books

Saturday, November 12, 2011

About a month ago I walked in to a very creepy used bookstore. I was a little nervous because this store wasn't in the best part of town. There are only two windows, and they're covered with some weathered yellow cardboard, so if I died inside... no one would know. I figured the hardcore mobsters probably don't hang out in used bookstores, but what if this wasn't really a bookstore like the sign advertised?

Inhibitions aside, I trudged inside the small store. Books were everywhere, stacked in every which way. Normally I would love this, because I love to read ...but I was still a little paranoid that I was going to get jumped by the, ya know, mob. 

Eventually I asked the large, frumpy man at the back for help. He had some severe pit stains from the lack of air conditioning. 
"Sir, can you help me find some books with aged pages?" Mistake number one.
He muttered something under his breath and reluctantly got up from his cluttered desk. Organization, I gathered, was not his forte. 
But what customer service!

"Thank you so much for your help! I figured you knew right where to go."
He picked a few random books of the shelf. "Will this work?"
"Umm...yes. That's good. Maybe a little more yellowed?"

After a few minutes of wandering the store, I guess his curiosity got the best of him because he eventually asked, "What are you planning do with these anyway?"
"I'm making a wreath! So I have to cut these all up," I said with a grin. Mistake number two.

His bushy eyebrows furrowed. Before I knew it, he had snatched the books out of my hand. "You're going to deeestrooooy these? I'm sorry then, I can't sell them to you."
“Oh, uhh…. I’m sorry?”
“I will only sell you books that are already falling apart.”
“Okay… well, can I see them first?”  Mistake number three.

After a little bit of haggling, I had my worn books and I was still alive, the mob hadn't murdered me.... so I considered it a successful trip even if I had offended a disgruntled old man. I'm sorry but if you own a used bookstore, something tells me you aren't exactly in a position to be turning away business. Just sayin'. I didn't have the heart to tell him that I'm a huge bookworm. I think that would have been rubbing salt into his weird wound. 

This project is not the faint of heart. It took a while. A very long while. That feeling that you get when you touch something hot is completely gone from me now. My identity is probably also gone, because my fingerprints have been singed off by all the glue. I guess I'm an official crafter now, huh?

I just followed the tutorial I found on Pinterest.
My fingers hated me after hours of hot glueing these paper rosettes. And don't worry, yours will too. You have to make gobs and gobs of them. 
I'm not sure if all that time was worth it. 
I think when I'm old and gray and my hands are suffering from carpel tunnel, 
I'll have the wreath to blame.
I hang in on the inside of our door because I spent too much time on it for wind or rain to tarnish it. This is horrible, because only Grahm and I get to admire it. He's super nice though and compliments all the time.  ("Whoooa babe. This is so great! I can't believe you made this.")

I bet he's wondering when my crafting will carry over into the kitchen. Me too, hubs. Me too.

Three Cs

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Ignore the fact that I look like a fetus in this picture. The pigtails don't do much for my "I'm a big girl now" image that I'm currently working on...

I don't like winter or anything that comes along with it (except fabulous scarves and hot chocky milk, of course). Chills. Goosebumps. Shivers. Nothing is worse than being cold, except being hungry. Being cold and hungry would be hellish.

Usually I can mostly avoid this by hibernating for the season. I stay inside as much as possible and focus on warm things, like cuddling. What I didn't know when we moved into pleasantville 2301 was being inside is worse than being outside. It's a mystery, right? I am currently wearing two pairs of leggings, two pairs of socks, jeans, two long sleeve shirts, and a jacket. My nose has been runnin' like Niagra, I can no longer feel my toes, and my lips resemble Kate Winslet's in Titanic when she whispered, "I'll never let go, Jack" right before she, ya know, let go. We have a gas heater, but neither of us can figure out how to turn it on. I thought problems like this would be avoided by marrying a mechanical engineer, but I was wrong. We just gotta learn to snuggle more.

Coconut Chocolate Cheesecake Ice Cream
That's a mouthful, a tasty mouthful. I saw this at Braum's today and may or may not have hugged a confused 15-yr-old cashier due to my excitement. I mean coconut, chocolate, and cheesecake are all things me and my thunder thighs adore... and ice cream? Ooo la la. I think I'll go fatten up as to avoid future shivering. (I realize that doesn't make a whole lot of sense, since ice cream is cold.)

Hence the plaid and pigtails pictured above. I'm obsessed with award shows. I love seeing people, famous people, get dressed up and perform. It's a comfy concert in my living room! Not to mention, I have an intense love for country music that most people don't really understand. I don't think it's really an option when you're a born-and-raised Oklahoman. I used to dream of being a super famous country singer, but Taylor Swift stole the whole blonde, blue-eyed, can't-really-sing-very-well thing from me. It's okay, we're cool.

This award show was entertaining. It was especially fun watching my husband ogle over Carrie Underwood and her perfect legs. "Babe, I'm not staring, I'm just watching the show.... You look just like her anyway!" Flattery (lies) will get you no where, my sweet.

Most of the female performers were dreadful. Don't get me started on Sara Evans, who ruined "Stronger" for me. And I'm sorry, but Carrie? Screaming is not singing. (I know because my mom had to tell me this a lot growing up when I thought I had an awessssomme voice.) And Faith Hill? Been there, done that. Give it up, grandma, you're last century's news. The real treat was Natasha Bedingfield, who I'm pretty sure pulled up all the carpet from her house and wrapped it around her body in a haphazard fashion. Do yourself a favor and google that one.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to work with Grahm on our vocals so we can be the next country power couple. Move over, Miranda and Blake.

A Smell and a Crack

Monday, November 7, 2011

I've officially joined the American housewives club.

I broke down and bought the safest "candle" in the world - aka a lightbulb. Grahm and I have only lit a couple wicked candles [oh that's funny, you could read this like wicked as in evil] in our apartment, but since we have a gas heater and a gas stove I figured an open flame probably wasn't the smartest idea.

...Not that anyone would be crying if this jankosaurus place burned to the ground. I guess I would, mostly because it takes time and considerable care to rebuild your wardrobe. Grahm would basically need to buy seven more tee shirts and three pairs of jeans. Mine, however, is a collection of years beginning with my vintage seventh grade fashion, which I mostly keep around as a self-esteem booster to make sure my hips can still slip into those jeans. How would I make sure that I'm still maintaining my 12-year-old boyish figure if that faded denim was burned to a crisp? My hips would explode by the sudden freedom.

Scentsy not only makes sense, it also makes scents. Ooo that was bad. But seriously, my apartment [all 400 sq. ft. of it] smells like heaven right now. More accurately, blueberry cheesecake. My honker is actually not very good at smelling, so the fact that I'm in yummy sensory overload is kind of a big deal.
This is great because it masks my intense Clorox cleaning from yesterday. It's also a bit deceptive, because Grahm and I are expecting a blueberry cheesecake to pop out of the oven at any second. But we both know me. That's not happening. Need I refer you to the infamous pot roast?

Hooray for yummy smells and no fire. You should contact my friend, Mary Rachel, if you're interested in getting some for your home. If you're friends with me, you're probably getting this for Christmas. Surprise!

So we have no fear of fire over here in Oklahoma City, but we DO have earthquakes? Go figure. The one time Oklahoma decides to get scary, my husband isn't here. Thankfully, I was with some church friends in Norman when the second quake of the day hit on Saturday evening. Kinda crazy. We were laughing in our confusion, not knowing what to do. This would be the best way to suddenly die, I think.
"Ha ha ha! What do we do? Ha ha ha! We're in an earthquake, this is fun! Ha ha ha!"

Don't worry, no one died. Nothing even fell over. It did seem to last a ridiculously long time though. We stood in the door frames, waiting for the trembling to stop. Maybe this is how Satan gets his kicks every once in a while - he grabs houses from below and shakes them back and forth until we think we're going to die.

I was a teensy bit nervous when I came home. What if Oklahoma just needed to perfect its earthquakes before we all actually died? Three times the charm, anyone?  Thankfully, no more craziness happened.

Grahm got home last night from his way-too-long-of-a-trip to Tampa. We both decided that saving 300ish bucks wasn't worth the separation. Aren't we cute? I'm glad we didn't have the opposite reaction, thankful for a break. We are, after all, approaching 72 days of marriage... the length any covenant should last, according to Kim Kardashian.

So if I get swept away by a tornado or lost in the cracks of an earthquake, at least my handsome husband will be with me!

Free Fallin' into Fall

Thursday, November 3, 2011

Today was the first day it really and truly felt like fall in Oklahoma. I wore my new Northface and everything! I think it would be my favorite season, but almost every year we fast forward right to snow. Ick. Who likes that?

 Today I wore my out-of-control feather earrings. They kind
 of make you feel like you're being tickled.

I drank a Caramal Apple Cider from Starbucks [coffee? gross] and finished 
my book [Emily Giffin, win].

I saw some really pretty colors as I was driving around to have lunch with the best friend. I'm staying with my grandparents for the next few days in Tulsa. The husband is in Tampa for a friend's wedding, and I'm too terrified to stay in OKC in our spider-infested apartment by myself. The daddy longlegs might eat me and no one would know! We decided to save money, so I didn't get to fly to warmer weather and sandy beaches this time around. It's barely been one day and I'm already missing him like crazy. I literally teared up today.
Newlywed much?? 

And I worked on my NaNoWRIMo project. Basically for nerds like me, November is 
known as the national writing month. People all over consciously decided it would be a good idea to write 50,000 words in one month. Crazy, right? I've done it before, but it took an entire semester to get it done. I also had this really mean man forcing me to do it ...called my professor. But that book stank. Like really really stank. Like hard boiled-eggs-in-the-sun or my-dad-just-ripped-one kind of stankkk. 

This one will be different.

I have to hit about 1,600 words a day to finish on time. This blog post doesn't count. Aren't you lucky that I took time out of my book for you people? I'm so selfless. 
I seriously doubt I will make it to 50k by the end of the month, but I'm gonna do what I can. I figure why not put my Professional Writing degree to use, especially when I'm a young wife with nothing but time on her hands? 

Pretend with me for a second that I'm cool and not [entirely] insane.
Hooray for round two of book writing!

Hip and Happenin' Halloween

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Grahm and I are out to prove that we are still a totally happenin' married couple. . .

even though our 10:30 bedtime and regularly scheduled TV programming are probably two strikes against us. What's the opposite of cool points? Anyway, we decided to go to a Halloween party to show the world that we're still a good time. Our fun friends, who still hang out with us fogies for some reason, invited us to OUHSC Dental Scream on Friday night.

Oh the irony, dentists getting their groove on to celebrate the most intense cavity-filled holiday of the year. Whatever keeps them in business I guess...

This year Grahm and I decided to be independent with our costumes.  Okay, Grahm was actually the one who took a nosedive off the couple train. [Last year we went as Double Rainbow and were a huge hit! So bright, so vivid!]  I'm all about showing the world you're part of a couple, a couple so happily in tune with each other that they play dress up together. That's real love, people. 

But noooo, not this year. He wanted to be Keith Stone.

You may be wondering who in the world that is. I don't blame you. I wouldn't have known either. KStone is the spokesman for Keystone Light beer.  "So smooth!" The commercials are ridiculous, but Grahm thinks they are the best things in the world. He originally wanted me to be the "hott girl" that's with him, but if you're scratching your head about who KStone is, you surely aren't going to recognize his "hott girl." So I declined. No one wants to explain their costume over and over again.

Grahm went all out and even bought a 30 case of Keystone Light. Full beer cans are all over our apartment. We haven't touched them because neither of us really like beer and if we did, it definitely wouldn't be Keystone Light. Ironic, yes? I'll probably set them out by the curb today with a sign for "Free Beer." I almost did that yesterday, but I didn't want the trick-or-treaters to get confused.

I was a bit more classy and went as Audrey Hepburn, the blonde version. [According to Grahm that's like trying to be a white Obama, but what does he know? ;)]  
Did you know that there is an ungodly amount of hair tutorials on Youtube for getting your hair to poof into perfection? I don't know what's lamer, making an Audrey Hepburn hair tutorial or watching it five times like I did on Friday night. Now you may be thinking that my hair is super lame, and you're probably right.  But this hair-do is like Picasso's masterpiece compared to the childlike finger painting I usually do. [That analogy didn't make sense.] In other words, if you have enough hairspray and 8,000 bobby pins you can do anything.
All in all, we had a great time. I don't think we fooled anyone into believing we're still hip and happening, but our friends already know we aren't. Now I'm off to curl up with my new Emily Giffin book because that's what fun wives do.