Thursday, April 28, 2011

Fat Pants

Since I've gotten old and fat, most of my pants no longer fit.  In the past few years I've gone up at least two sizes and am trying to make it to a third.  Actually, I'm not really trying to make it...I'm just not trying very hard not to make it.  Does that make sense? 

I mean, I can't even keep up with daily food journals so how can I be expected to count every little friggin' calorie???  Jeez,  come on.  I don't even really know what a calorie is...I know it's some kind of measurement, but of what?  (At this point, I usually Google to find out...and I a little bit.)

One of the benefits of being old is not caring so much how you look.  I mean, I try to be "presentable" most of the time.  But if I'm clean and comfortable...I'm pretty much done.  My favorite thing to wear is flannel draw string pants.  They have got to be the most wonderful clothing invention ever.  I would wear them everywhere if I could.  And the truth is I could if I wasn't afraid of ending up on one of the "People of WalMart" emails that circulate regularly.  (I have to admit I'm extremely paranoid about this.)

My favorite jeans are Levi 560's (loose fit for chubby girls).  And of course, since they're my favorites, they've been discontinued...a long time long ago that I'm having trouble even finding them on eBay. 

One day I was whining about my problem to a friend of mine who suggested I try Wrangler Q Baby's...with elastic in the waist..."but you can't see the elastic" she I guess that makes it okay??  Has it really come to this??  Do we all just end up fat and wearing pants with elastic waists?  Like toddlers?

Since I trust this particular friend's judgement, I tried them.  She was right.  I was hoping she'd be wrong since I really didn't want to be buying pants with elastic waists...but comfort won out and was way easier than trying to loose weight to fit back into the old jeans.  Of course I didn't throw out the old jeans because a miracle might occur (that would be me losing weight) and where would I be if I didn't have the good old jeans hanging around?

So now I'm basically wearing pull ups for adults...but they're comfortable.  Next thing you know, I'll be putting pin curls in my short, dyed carrot orange hair with bald spots in the back that people are too polite to tell me about.  It's the stoopidist thing.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

On Boycotting

The boycott of the Homobile continues, unbeknown to The Husband, which in essence makes my boycott meaningless.  The purpose of a boycott is to bring attention to the fact that you're no longer doing something.  Thus, my boycott is failing miserably since The Husband has no idea I'm even boycotting.  Yes, I am cutting off my nose to spite my face and punishing myself for something someone else did...that's how stoopid I am.

When I "casually" mentioned the fact that he was driving the Homobile, The Husband said he wouldn't be driving it next week. boycott will have meaning.  I'll actually be able to pointedly not drive the precious vehicle and when asked (Please God let him ask) I'll be able to finally make my boycott known.  I realize the pathetic immaturity of this whole boycott.  And the fact that I'm actually looking forward to the minute I make it known to The Husband is completely embarrassing to admit.

I've actually spent more time than I care to admit daydreaming about how the conversation will go...

Me:  "Jeez, I just spent a fortune putting gas in the truck."

Husband:  "How come you're driving the truck?  Why don't you drive the Homobile?  It's cheaper." (Of course, he wouldn't call it the Homobile because he doesn't know that I call it that behind his back.)

Me:  "I'd rather drive the truck."

Husband:  "Why?"

Me:  "Because...every time I drive your precious vehicle you end up getting mad about something and it's just not worth it..."  (I would be appropriately dramatic here...of course)

Husband:  "I don't get mad every're being a little dramatic.." (I know he's got me here...but I continue on my charted course....)

Me:  "Yes you told me every time I drive it and you're in it with me that you end up hating my guts but the time we get where we're going."  "So it's just easier not to drive it."

Husband:  (Remember...this is my dream conversation)  "I'm sorry...I didn't mean to make you feel bad...(I know I'm stretching it here)"


Husband:  "Oh, okay."

It's the stoopidist thing...

Friday, April 15, 2011

Stoopid Pondering

People say things and you know they're wrong when they say them.  Like's not a word.  Someone at one time combined flustered and frustrated and the idiot who heard them, thinking it was a word, repeated it. (Maybe it was Karl Pilkington...every time I hear the word "idiot" I think of him.) Is this how words are born?  Someone dunders and voilĂ  a new word is born from a dunderism?

When someone famous does it the people in the new word business make it an official word.  Sarah Palin misspoke and said wasn't a word.  Like flustrated, it's a combo of two words...refute and repudiate.  How come when Sarah says it, they make it a real word?  Now I've got nothing against Sarah Palin, but from the utterance of her dunderism, a word was born, and I can't help wondering if that's the case with all words.

This morning I heard a woman on TV say "Never say never".  This makes no sense to me.  Now, I know people say "never say never 'cause it'll bite you in the ass every time".  I'm sure I've probably said it myself.  Doesn't make it right though.  I'd get it if she'd said "Don't ever say never", that would have made sense to me.  But if you're never supposed to say never, aren't you breaking your own rule even as you're making it up?  I'm sure there's a correct term for this, but I don't know what it is. 

I kind of like's not a real word and the word "dunder" is actually the dregs from cane juice used in the distillation of rum.   (I just looked it up.)  I've always used the word "dunder" as a synonym for "bonehead" which probably isn't a "real" word at all.  (Okay...I just Googled both and according to the Urban Dictionary, "dunder" means dirty underwear...LOL...and "bonehead" means an asnine person, usually a male...double LOL)

I know thinking about shit like this is a waste of time, but I can't help it.  Maybe someday dunder will actually be defined the way I choose to use it...maybe I could get Sarah to start using it so the definition could be changed to suit me...obviously I have way too much time on my's the stoopidist thing.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011


So here's the food intake for Monday...again I failed miserably

Less than a handful of pecans
1 Asian Pear
1 Baby Bella
Handful of almonds
Handful of almonds
Handful of almonds
1 Butterfinger Egg (this is really small)
2 Hershey's Rabbits (these are really small too)
1 York Peppermint Patty - (again...really really small)
1 Hershey's Rabbit (still small)
1 Costco Dog on a slice of white bread (almost no mayo w/ketchup)
1 Skinny Cow Mint Ice Cream Sandwich (this was wonderful)
1 Klondike Ice Cream Sandwich (why didn't I just stop with the Skinny Cow?)

Could have been worse...I guess.

After work I went & rode.  So at least I got some exercise lifting the saddle.  Sometimes I like to fool myself and think that riding is good exercise but really...the horse is the only one who gets much of a workout.  I try to do a lot of posting thinking somehow it's gonna make my ass far, no such luck. 

When I finished riding I stopped at the gas station...this is the first day of the Homobile boycott...and maybe the last.  Fuck me runnin'...diesel fuel was $4.39 a gallon...and that was the cheapest place I could find.  So, figure the truck gets around 20mpg...the Homobile gets 50mpg...I don't know how long I can hold out...just to make a point.  And the sad thing is, The Husband doesn't even know I'm boycotting his precious vehicle so basically, I'm only making a myself.  How stoopid is that???

The good news is that the silence has ended at home so that's a plus.  And we have to have pie tomorrow at work for a co-worker's birthday.  We use any excuse to have pie..with ice cream...or cake and ice cream...or pastries.  Weekly meetings are simply another excuse to eat...we never actually accomplish anything or learn anything of value.  It's the same at every workplace I think.  Managers think they need to have meetings to tell worker bees things they already know.  Worker bees (like me) just use meetings as an excuse to eat.  Worker bees just smile and nod at the manager and think...just shut the fuck up and let us eat without having to listen to your useless's the stoopidist thing.

Monday, April 11, 2011

The Return of Food

I kind of quit the whole food listing for two reasons.  One, it was kind of embarrassing seeing in print all the junk I eat, and two, it was even more embarrassing that seeing it in print and being embarrassed didn't stop me from eating all the junk.  How stoopid is that???

Now I'm going to actually try to focus on not eating soooo much junk food and try to eat a little healthier.  So starting today, I brought an Asian Pear, cheese, and un-roasted pecans to work for snacks.  I will be strong.  I will be strong...I will be....

P.S.  I also brought an opened bag of Nestles Chocolate/Butterfinger eggs and Fun Sized M&M's from a birthday party yesterday.  BUT...I don't plan to eat them.  I'm putting them in the office candy box.

P.S.S.  I hate it when people use the wrong words for when people say "weary" when what they mean is "wary"...(I heard it on the Real Housewives this morning...what can I say...I'm hooked).  I know it's petty, but it bugs's the stoopidist thing.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

The Husband - Bless His Heart

The Husband is obligated to commute for his job.  As a commuter, and a person with a penis, he became obsessed with finding the perfect commuter car.  Since he's old and practical and past the age where chicks are going to be impressed with him, he was torn between the Prius and the Jetta, two veritable chick magnets to be sure.   

Being thoughtful and logical, much like our President, The Husband decided to do some "research" before deciding which vehicle to choose.  Many months were spent on "research" before a decision could be reached.  Truth be told, I'm fairly certain he didn't actually "do" any of the "research" himself, but rather "read" the research of others.  Which is, to him, doing research, and to me, reading.  When I work in the yard, I'm "puttering", when he sprays Roundup, he's "working".   This is but one of our many differences.

(As I'm writing this, Jennifer Hudson is on VH1...and she looks absolutely wonderful.  She's gone from fat to fabulous.   She's now such a thin mint...I'm so envious.)

I have a grown son from a previous marriage who also commutes and I was telling him about The Husband's quest for the perfect vehicle.  When I told him The Husband was considering buying a diesel Jetta, my son said  "Mom, only gay guys drive Jetta's".  The Husband, like most men of his generation, would usually shudder at the thought that someone might think he was gay.  I debated telling him about the Jetta/Gay connection thinking it might be more fun to tell him "after" he bought one.  Then I could spring it on a good way, of course..." there something you're trying to tell me by buying that Jetta???" 

The choice to preserve my marriage won out and I told him about the conversation with The Son (This makes it sound like I'm referring to Jesus, doesn't it???  Guess I'll have to come up with another Stoopid name for him).  Now, I was pretty sure that The Husband might be swayed by this bit of information, but again he surprised me "I don't care" he said "I'll just get a bumper sticker that says NOT A HOMO".  Cracked me up.  I now refer to his beloved Jetta as the "Homobile" (I know it's politically incorrect, but the name just...fits)...behind The Husband's back, of course.

The reason for this lengthy discourse...if there is one, is that the Homobile is a constant source of friction between me and The Husband.  The Homobile is his "baby".  He washes it, vacuums it (he never vacuums the house), waxes it, and would probably blanket it at night if he had a down comforter that would cover it.  Every time I drive it we seem to get into some sort of argument.  I drive it too fast, I use the brake too much, I bump into curbs...the list of crimes committed against the Homobile by yours truly is a mile long.  And each crime can and is intimately detailed by The Husband long after the original occurrence. 

Last night we went to a local restaurant (I had liver & onions...yum...most people hate it) for dinner.  I drove as is usually the case, because frankly, I'd like to get there before midnight, and The Husband is and has always been, a Booberdoober (one who drives consistently below the speed limit).

As we leave the parking lot, The Husband feels the need to point to the parking curb in the space we've just exited and warn me for the umpteenth time that I need to be careful not to run into those because it could rip the bumper off his precious Homobile.  We immediately exchanged words.

Me:  "I didn't hit it"
Husband: "I didn't say you did...I'm just telling you" as he does every time I drive the royal ride.

More words ensued in this exchange and he even said, after being spoken to harshly by me, "I'm not gonna censor myself".  Here I become impressed that he used the word correctly however I'm also certain that were he to spell in in a sentence he would spell it "sensor".  (Just a little dig but it made me feel better)

The rest of the ride home was filled with complete silence...not a single word was spoken the entire way.  Fortunately it was dark when we got home and I was tired, so I put a load of clothes in the washer, took a bath, and went to bed.  Yes, I punished him by going to bed early and giving him complete control over the remote control.  It was very mature of me and I'm sure he was heart broken to get to watch the Weather Channel for the rest of the night (which he L O V E S).  I showed him...boy howdy.

When we have a disagreement, our house is quiet.  Neither of us are yellers, we both clam up, so there have been days of silence in the past.  They pass...eventually...this too, shall pass. 

In order to resolve this continuing conflict, I've decided henceforth, to boycott the Homobile.  No longer will I opt for fuel efficiency even in these days of outrageous gas prices.  No longer will I enjoy the comfort of heated seats (I'm really gonna miss those) and the non commercial satellite radio.  I will be a martyr and will suffer in silence.   (Unless, of course, I really need to go somewhere and that's the only car available...I mean come on, I can only sacrifice so much...) 

I'm also quite sure that The Husband will not even notice my boycott, so in effect, I'm cutting off my nose to spite my face.  But I'll know...

I'm also going to secretly get a rainbow bumper sticker and put it on the back bumper of the when he drives it, people will really think he's gay.  I realize it's probably the height of immaturity to do this....but I don't's the stoopidist thing.

Friday, April 8, 2011

The Washing Machine

The other night I came home from riding after work.  It was about 8 pm.  Still daylight thanks to the time change, which I love, love, love.  I hate it when it gets dark at 5pm.  It's dark when I go to work and dark when I get's annoying.  I don't really know why they don't leave it on daylight savings all year long.  They do in AZ, why not here???  Things would be different if I were king, let me tell you. 

Anyway, when I drove in I could see that The Husband had already fed the other horses (I rent a stall in a barn with a covered arena during the winter and swap the horses out so I can ride after great and forces me to ride and not be a big friggin' baby about inclement weather).  Bless his heart...he really is worth his weight in gold...most of the time.

So The Husband ambled up (he doesn't walk...he ambles...s l o w l y...drives me crazy) and walked into the house with me.  Having gotten home before me, he had already been inside at least once...probably more than once...

We always use the side door that goes through the laundry room.  Actually it's so small it's more like a laundry closet and the addition of the new giganto bright red (I actually strayed from all white...boring appliances) front loader washer &  dryer make actually doing laundry physically I do it as infrequently as possible...that and I'm lazy.  I'd rather be doing just about anything than housework.  Root canals are the exception...actually any dental procedure is worse than housework.  Oh God, I'm off track again...(must focus)

I followed The Husband in and immediately noticed the standing water on the floor.  The Husband, of course, was oblivious as he splashed down the hallway until I pointed it out. 

Me:  "What's with the water??"

Husband:  "What water?...huh...these are all wet" pointing at the clothes laying on the floor next to the washing machine waiting to be washed.

Husband:  "Did you turn on the washing machine before  you left this morning?"

Me:  "No" as I'm grabbing towels to sop up the mess.

Obviously there's a problem with the washing machine.  There's some "FE" code flashing on the digital display.  It means nothing to me or The Husband.

I manage to get towels down and start getting the water soaked up...but it's also seeped into the hallway which has carpet...which is saturated...which is impossible to dry out...which The Husband, who never wipes his feet, is now making mud on.

Men, being only slightly removed from their caveman predecessors, feel compelled to "take charge", to fix things...even if they really don't know how. It's my personal belief that the possession of a penis gives them a false sense of superhuman power...I could be wrong...but that's how it seems. As was the case with The Husband here...bless his heart. 

While I'm standing to the right of the washing machine in front of the dryer sopping up water on the floor, he opens the door of the front loading washing machine...a word of warning...never, never, do this without first looking to see if it's full of water...which it was...which added a good several gallons to the water already standing on the floor...which also filled my boots lined neatly against the opposite wall...which are about 24 inches from the washing machine  He did manage to get it shut before it completely emptied its contents onto the floor...bless his heart.  It was like that TV commercial that shows a house flooding...the closet door opens and out pours a closet full of water carrying the contents with it.  I started laughing...the look on his face was priceless...besides what else is there to do???

I finally manage to get most of the water off the floor in the laundry room.  I'm now trying to soak it off the carpet with wet/dry vac for me, no sir...too it was way down in the barn...and as I've already established...I'm way too lazy to walk all the way down there.

While I'm sopping up water with towels, The Husband has managed to walk in and out of the house a couple of additional times...looking for the owner's manual for the washing machine.  "Please God, please don't let him find it."  My prayer goes unanswered...or the answer is no, I don't know which...personally I'd rather think it just didn't get heard rather than I was told no.  I hate being told no...even by God...which I'm sure is probably some weird sort of blasphemy that will keep me out of heaven.

Now it's almost 9 pm and I still haven't eaten. Water is finally gone from the laundry room floor...the carpet is as good as it's gonna get for the night.

Husband:  "I read the manual and found what "FE" means.  It means there could be a faulty water valve" as he starts to open a little door on the front of the machine. 

As I'm typing this I vaguely remember the sales person showing us this little area...I'm guessin' there was probably a significant reason he took the time to point this out...I obviously didn't pay attention.

Me: "You know, now is probably not the best time to try to fix it" said as diplomatically as possible.

Husband:  "Why not?" I can see Tim the Toolman itching to get out...I expect him to start grunting soon.

Me:  "Because it's late".

Husband:  No answer...just starts fiddling with the little door and unhooking a tube.  Basically I'm being totally ignored.

The Husband puts a five gallon bucket in front of the little door and turns a handle that starts to unscrew the filter.  As he unscrews, water starts pouring out...all over the just dried floor...a few drops actually made it into the bucket.  This does not please me but do I say anything???  No...I exhale loudly...heavy sigh...does The Husband hear it...of course not...he's deaf...and even after all these years, completely oblivious to my not so subtle signs of displeasure. 

After the initial flood, this is mild by comparison.  The Husband thinks he's fixed it.  I throw a pair of jeans in and run it through the cycle.  It's not fixed. 

Husband:  "I'll do some research tomorrow and see what I can find".

Me:  Dead silence.

Before my mom passed away, we moved a little mobile home on the property for her next to our house. has a brand new washer & dryer in it!!!  Score!  So I start lugging sopping wet towels over to the mobile home and throw them on the porch.  Loads are washed and order is restored to the laundry situation. 

Now most people wouldn't see this for the treasure it is.... If I'd been an organized, Johnny on the Spot type, the mobile home would have long ago been sold and moved by now.  My sloth like ways and tendency to procrastinate in all matters have paid off...big time...I don't have to lug laundry to a laundromat miles away...and I feel so...vindicated.

It makes me feel better to know that procrastination isn't always the evil trait it's made out to be.  It's the stoopidist thing...

P.S.  The Husband's "research" consisted of finding the number of a local repairman....Thank God he was here...what would I have done without him?

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Stoopid Thing I Did

Actually it's more of a stoopid thing I said.  And now I feel guilty...and I'm not even Jewish...and why is it that guilt is always associated with being Jewish???  Why not Catholic or Protestant?  Is it an ethnicity thing or a religious thing???  Something for greater minds than mine to ponder I guess.

This is what happened. I was talking to a woman at work the other day and I was describing a man to her.  I called him a big fat slob.  As it so happens the woman I was talking to was a large woman, okay, I'll say it...fat. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I knew it was the wrong thing to say.  So what did I do?  I ignored it.  I went on like it didn't happen and was no big deal while all the time inside I was silently praying, as usual, that God would open the ground and swallow me up.  It seems like every time the opportunity presents itself, I happily comply and shove my foot as far down my throat as it'll fit.  Why don't I think before I speak?  Will I ever learn???  At this late stage in my life I'm thinking it's doubtful.  How is it that some people always manage to say the right thing at the right time?  And why can't I be one of those people? Do they sit around and plan appropriate responses?   I don't want to have to watch what I say every minute of the day...but then again, I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings either.

Is it really wrong to use the word "fat" around someone who is "fat"?  Or do I just feel guilty because it seems wrong.  I mean if you're fat, you know unbuttoned pants while I sit here typing will attest to that fact.  I don't have a problem using the word "skinny" around skinny people so why the big deal about fat?  Should I have said large?  Have you ever called someone a "Large Slob"?  I don't think so.  Wouldn't it seem weird to call someone "large" around a fat person?  Wouldn't they immediately know you were only using the word "large" because they were fat?   This is the kind of stoopid shit I think about.

Having some extra girthage myself I think I'm fat.  But compared to some other women I know (like the one I was talking to) my girthage can't hold a candle to their girthage. Then I feel guilty if I whine about my girthage around someone with way more girthage than me. Someone with twice the tonnage wouldn't think I'm fat, but I am. I have fat thighs, a fat butt, and since I hit my 50's, fat spilling over the top of my jeans...charmingly called a muffin top...but I don't know why they call it that...there's nothing sweet or cute about it.

So now my dilemma is do I apologize to a fat person for calling someone else a fat slob around them?  Should I have apologized then ?  What if she didn't notice and now I go and apologize for using the "f" word (as in fat...not fuck)?  Will she now think I'm drawing attention to her fat by apologizing for using the "f" word?  I don't really know this person that least not well enough to gauge if she'll be offended more by the apology or by the original faux pas.  Is this what they call a conundrum?

I hate confrontation....worse than almost anything.  I get almost sick to my stomach at the thought of being involved in a confrontation of any kind.  What if I apologize and she starts telling me how much I offended her...what do I do then?  Cry???  Puke???  Or worse...get a giant case of nervous diarrhea??  Which would involve me being a sneak a pooper at work. I'm almost making myself sick just thinking about this.  Maybe I could just avoid her for the rest of my life..this actually sounds like an option I would choose...sad, but true.

Of course, I realize the whole incident could have been avoided had I been nicer.  If I hadn't originally been such a bitch and called some poor schmuck a big fat slob this never would have's the stoopidist thing.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Reality TV

I hate to admit it but I'm a reality TV show junkie.  It started with Survivor, went on to the Amazing Race, and now I'm pretty much hooked on any reality show that comes along.  I have been know to watch marathon Bridezillas (thank the Lord they invented Tivo/DVR...I don't know what I did before this miraculous invention), marathon Real Housewives, marathon Idiot Abroad (my current favorite show of all time), and now on the Oprah Winfrey Network I've been watching "Behind the Scenes". 

Personally, I don't know how ANY of the girls on Bridezillas have managed to get some poor schmuck to marry them.  These women display the most spoiled rotten, self centered behavior I've ever seen...and I'm glued to the TV.  The "C" word was invented for girls like this.  Can you believe people actually behave like that?  Who would want to marry someone like that???  They must just be on extra bad behavior so they can be on TV.  It says something about our society I suppose...I do know if I had ever talked to my parents the way those girls talk to theirs, I would have been picking myself up off the ground.  I wonder if they look back and have the good grace to be embarrassed by their behavior?  And why do all the heavier girls always wear skin tight dresses?????  Why would you wear a dress that accentuates every single roll of fat on your body?  I mean, let's face it...white isn't the most slimming color to begin's even less attractive when it's got a tonnage of human flesh squeezed in between seams threatening to pop open at any time.  It's gotta come out somewhere... usually with boobage becoming part of the neckage under the chinage...I'm just sayin''s not real attractive.

I love all the Real Housewives.  Again, bad behavior on this show is the norm...but they all look so fabulous while behaving badly that it doesn't seem so bad.  They have housewives for pretty much every big city, Orange County (okay I's not really a city), New York, Beverly Hills, Atlanta, Miami..I don't think they have one from Dallas yet, do they?  If they do, I missed it, and I find it hard to believe I could miss something like that.  I think they should do a white trash version of the Real Housewives.  It could show us shopping at the local WalMart telling our friends how we really got a good deal on Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and now we got us enough to last us for most of the year.  Add a box of Moon Pies and a bottle of RC cola and we got us a feast in the makin'.  I think some of us have already been seen on you think they'd let us be on two shows at once? (...every time I watch that show I have to throw something away...I seem really normal compared to those folks)

On the current Amazing Race right now is an Asian father/daughter team.  The father is a complete dickhead.  I like the Cowboys.  They get along and aren't assholes.  The mom & deaf son kinda got old.  I realize it must be hard being deaf...but come on.  What a mamma's boy...I wanted to slap him.  Quit your cryin' ya big baby...I know that's being completely insensitive but I can't help it...I also kinda like Asperger Boy (that's what I like to call him...I think I just like saying it) and his brother.  Ultimately, I hope the Cowboys win.

On to my current love...Karl Pilkington.  What can I say???  An Idiot Abroad is my current favorite show.  I would rather watch an hour of Karl Pilkington (don't ya just love the name even??) than just about anything.  Just the looks on his face make me laugh.  My favorite episode was when Karl was in Mexico and ended up being a masked, caped crusading wrestler.  That's some funny shit.  I hope they have Season Two in the works.  Head like a fuckin' orange... it's soooo true.  Remember the old commercials for MTV??  I want my M T V.  Well I want my Pil king ton.  I can't help's the stoopidist thing..

P.S.  I hope Boston Rob finally wins a Survivor.  After all this time he deserves it.  He's a pretty funny guy. And that weird Phillip...Mr. Special Agent Man?  WTF???  Talk about a fruit loop.  Jeff Probst is right.  They should bring Coach & Phillip back to team up together.