Love Affair....

Last spring, my sister, Meradith, who is a passionate, opinionated woman, decided to read the "Harry Potter" series. Shortly after, she began suggesting that I, too, read the famed series. She began delicately, "Hey Ness, you should read 'Harry Potter.' You'd really love it!" But what started as gentle prods quickly developed into heated, resentful, demands and accusations, "Why the hell won't you read 'Harry Potter!?' What the crap is wrong with you?! You think you're BETTER than Harry!?!?!"

My responses were, as always, meek and understanding, "I'm sorry I've upset you, sister. Please don't be angry with me. I know how much you love Harry, and I don't judge you. I simply can't prioritize a children's fantasy series right now. I just have too much going on. Please understand.... "

I wasn't surprised to hear that her verbal assaults were falling on the ears of my other sister, Bethany, as well. And we talked a whole lotta shiz about Meradith and her obsession with that bespeckled little boy from number 4 Privet Drive.

Things took a nasty turn in the summer when I ventured from my sanctuary in San Francisco to stay at Meradith's house in Utah for a few weeks. One afternoon, I noticed Meradith creeping behind me up to her exercise room. I didn't think anything of it at first, until I situated myself on an exercise bike and put in my headphones. At that moment, Meradith burst through the door with none other that the first HP book clutched in her white-knuckled, spindly little mitt.

"Hey Ness! I thought maybe you'd want to start this book. I mean, you don't have anything else going on while you're exercising, so it's pretty much the perfect opportunity to squeeze some reading in!" Exasperated, I digressed and took the book from her, her face full of anticipation and glee.

She left and I began reading. I had gotten about 15 pages in, not particularly enthused, when the jerking of the exercise bike, mixed with my increasing sweaty-ness, made it irritating to continue reading and I nonchalantly tossed the book to the side. And in that instant I looked up and noticed Meradith's giant, bulging, pulsating eyeball peering in at me through the crack in the door....

Anxiety swept instantly over my body. I tried reaching for the book, but it was no use. She was ascending upon me like a killer whale on a baby seal. She snatched the book before I could blink. She bore down on me with cold distain in her voice, "Did you not like it? Was it not exciting enough for you?? Is there a reason you stopped reading?" In that moment I faltered. For some reason, "my hands were getting sweaty" didn't seem like a good enough excuse. "I... uh... I...." and then I mustered some courage and said, "You know what, Mera? You've been pretty freaking pushy about Harry freaking Potter! I'm not readin' it!"

And it was over almost as soon as it had begun. She said, "You're dead to me!" And turned on her heels and marched out of the room.

We didn't speak of Harry Potter again that summer. But Meradith, dripping with disappointment and resentment, didn't miss a chance to mockingly refer back to our altercation, "Could you pass the potatoes, Ness? Oh, wait, sorry, I'm not meaning to be PUSHY or anything!" I had really struck a chord.

My move to Chicago, and subsequent "getting ons" with life served to ease the anger Meradith felt towards me and my HP rejection, and fortunately it stopped being a hinderance to our sisterhood.

I didn't think of Harry again until I moved to Baltimore a couple of months ago. Suddenly my lack of a husband and social life, and my overall pregnant laziness, left me with lots of free time each day and a friend happened to have a set of the series hanging around. I considered reading it. I hesitated, flashing back to my traumatic confrontation with Meradith, her eyes blazing, her hair swirling around her head like venomous snakes, her cold, cruel, laugh as she snatched the book from my trembling hands and jumped out the window..... I wasn't sure I could do it.

And then I threw caution to the wind and delved, head first, into the first book. And all of a sudden, I knew. I knew why Meradith had been such a crazed loon about Harry. I knew why she had tried so desperately to persuade me to her way of thinking. I knew why she had so passionately dedicated herself to the Harry Potter cause.

It was like a drug. I found myself staying up late into the night, like a strung out crack addict, devouring the books and shouting "Expecto Patronum!" at anything that bumped or creaked in the dark. I neglected my family. I screened phone calls. I became resentful and surly towards anyone and anything that tried to horn in on my time with Harry. And I proceeded to read the entire series, all 4,224 pages, in less than 3 weeks.

So, the big news of it all is that I've decided to name this baby Hermione. Just kidding. But I wouldn't judge you if you did. Because it's that good....

Now, if you haven't already, go read "Harry Potter." Or I'll kill you.

IDAHO! No, UDAHO!!

That's pretty much the funniest joke to ever come out of Idaho. I remember feeling extra bad-A on the playground, waiting from someone to mention the name of our state for some reason so I could shout it out. I was a sad, sad, overdeveloped little elementary school student.

Anyway, I've been feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of writing this post and therefore, avoiding it. Not for any unpleasant reason, just simply because I have so many pictures that I know it will take me ten years to go through and upload all of them. No body knows my struggle.

This is also the first real batch of photos that I've appeared in since I've been pregnant. And it is with a heavy heart that I announce the commencement of the "Frieda Transformation." Don't be judgy.

NOW, without further ado, I present a picture overload of our three glorious weeks in Idaho! No, Udaho!

Sorry.

We begin with a little rub-a-tub delight in the form of two adoring cousins. They were so cute together on this particular bath time occasion that I had to use every restraint in my body to keep from dunking them both under the water over and over again.

I took Leah to her very first cinema and it was quite excellent. Though, "How to train your dragon," is slightly terrifying. Even for me. Here, the Turkey Sub and her cousin, Ham n' Cheese, were pondering the loot before the show.

Our little herd took up a whole row. Paramount Theatre woot woot!

Grammy doing what she does best.... hypnotizing all of the grandkids and making them feel magical.

Leah and Isaiah when they were still feeling novel and loving towards one another. After their three week stint together they became quite disillusioned and wretched.

Yes, she does ride a razor scooter, beyotches!

This picture merely demonstrates my point of view for no less than 75% of the day. Note the rotund belleh.

Being the watchful auntie and mother that I am, I dutifully took a snooze (snoozing feet pictured in background) whilst my daughter hoarded all the fritos. This developed into quite the scuffle.

Jesse's headstone was finally finished when we got to Idaho. Carson sat for nearly the entire time, pressing his cheek to Jesse's picture and saying, "This is where my daddy lives! This is my daddy!" I will bawl my eyes out right now thinking about it. It was a wonderful, and terrible and tender.

Bethany and Leah Mae at the zoo. This may be my all time favorite picture. Too much beauty.

Me, Mera and her little Scarlett at the "Wolf to Woof" exhibit at the museum of Idaho.

Mera, Leah and Bethany. Is there anything more beautiful than my sissy doodles? No. No there isn't.

Mama and Turkey Sub at Taughtphaus Park.

Seesters. I yuv them.

We took a little jaunt up to Bear World and this shot was taken right before our entrance into the park. Needless to say, those bears wiped that angelic little smile right off her face. Poor little terrified beedja.

Deer are cool! Even the mangey, emaciated, captive ones!

Rabid turkeys are scary! (one was contemplating a pouncing on the other end of this shot)

Goats are gross! Enlarge this one and take a gander at Leah's face. I yuv it.

I will freak out right now.

A little shot of Leah and Bethany's Elyza from inside the safety of the car.

My mom commandeered this enormous waterslide extravaganza and put it up in the backyard for our time together. After some shrieking and objecting to the freezing hose water, Leah finally became a sliding fool.

Warming up, contemplating the universe.

Leah: "Look how cute we all are and how much love we share. We are the best!"

Leah: "Alright, Isaiah and Carson, that'll do. Time to stop the loving."

Leah: "Get the *%$@ off me you %&*$@&%$#@!!!!"

Warming up in the sun after some slide action.

We may or may not have gone to see "Eclipse" twice. And Edward may or may not have been extremely disappointed in me for becoming pregnant since the last time we saw each other.

At the famous Idaho Falls 4th of July fire works. I ended up leaving Leah at home in bed and cruising the river side for dudes instead. I find my pregnant belly to be irresistible to most men. The show didn't disappoint. Here is my brother, Abe, his youngest son, Ethan, my sissy, Bethany and her brood, and a couple of extras thrown in.

This post really doesn't even document half of the crap we did together. I just kept editing out pictures while I uploaded out of sheer laziness. But my motivation will return soon enough, and then I will attack you with a post so full of pictures and stories and dirty secrets your head will explode.

Oh, and just one more tiny little tidbit of info cannot be ignored. Turns out THIS little meatball sub:

is a wee little lady!

Yes! Yes! Yes!

I love you all.

Newest Chapter...

My brain is in a post-move mushy funk. And so this post will mostly be just a few pictures for the sake of updating. We made it to Baltimore---and Sam started his first week at his internship, a day that couldn't have come soon enough due to the extreme nerves/pant peeing that took over my husband during his last few days of freedom. We were happy to give him a kiss and give him the boot on Monday.

Before I get to talking about Baltimore, I will say that it seems that the insect population in Chicago joined forces and plotted our swift and sure exit from their city. I spent our last couple days there officially creeped out and heebie-geebie-ish when these little dears set up camp outside ALL of our windows:

I will freak out right now. I felt like I was on Arachnophobia. And they're not small, either. Like the size of a quarter. Want a closer look?

BLAM!

I think I just peed a little.

THEN! About an hour before we left, Sam opened the medicine cabinet in our bathroom and found this little P.O.S. making himself at home:

(That's my hand in the photo. To show you how big he was.)

Sam and I tried to kill him at first... but our united front against him quickly dissolved into rage and blaming and personal insults. The kind that only manifest themselves under circumstances of extreme duress and fear. The roach kept scurrying away, running into my bare feet, and across Sam's hand at one point. And each time he made a break for it I would become so overcome with terror that I'd botch the operation and prance around for 15 seconds straight, shaking all of the cockroaches off of me. Sam became so enraged that he banished me from participating... which I resented due to my superior skill and knowhow concerning most everything in general.

Nevertheless, I became quite liberated once I was dishonorably discharged from Operation Cockroach and listened intently from the safety of the living room as chaos erupted and then ended abruptly with an ear-splitting STOMP! After which, Sam emerged from our bedroom with his arms raised above his head, nodding slowly.... little remnants of cockroach dangling from his mouth. Victory was sweet. And it was his.

And then I sent him off with a clorox wipe to dispose of his prey properly. Because there wasn't actually cockroach remnants around his mouth. Just mostly all over the floor.

And so we gave Chicago and the spiders and the cockroaches the bird and headed off on our adventure to Maryland.

Our little, furnished apartment reminds me of our home when we lived in downtown San Francisco. Which gives me bitter-sweet-newlywed-blissful-no-kid feelings. Anyway, we're right by the harbor and there are lots of shops and restaurants and everything splendid in and around our building.

A shot of inside:

Views from our windows:

A little stroll with the Bischoffs down to the harbor two blocks from our building:

We took the day Saturday to head down to Vienna to visit Sam's brother, Joe, and his family. Heather, Joe's wife, gave birth to their 5th child one week ago, but that didn't stop her from preparing a delicious barbeque feast for us. It was a delightful day, indeed.

Pictures of Leah and her cousin, Maggie. Maggie is a complete chimp in the climbing department and left Leah in the dust all day. Here she had climbed into her crib, and then quickly out again as soon as Leah caught up with her.... took Leah a good 15 minutes of grunting and heaving to get out of that crib...

Maggie is of the mind-set that smiling for pictures is unfashionable. Much like her dad... and our ancestors of old. Every time she saw the camera, she'd get this very solemn look on her face. I thought she was quite dignified for a 2 year old. Leah, on the other hand. Well...

Babies gone wild

The few pictures I got of the boys were mostly far away of them playing soccer. And therefore quite uninteresting. I will send them to you, though, Heather. Thanks for the glorious day!

In other news, Carina and I have been exploring around (what would I do if she wasn't here with me!?!?!) and set off to a giant mall out in the burbs' the day before yesterday. We felt fat and ashamed with our pregnant selves when we were both pretty much out of commission yesterday... blaming our comatose state on "really overdoing it at that mall!"

I'm planning my most exciting venture to date today... a little jaunt to a fudge shop down the way that Carina has been raving about. It will probably earn its very own blog post.

And Today Makes Thirty-Three

My brother, Jesse, would have been 33 years old today. I wonder what his 34th year on this earth would have held for him. Would this have been the year that he was able to finally get his life back after such a tumultuous 4 years? Would he have started to be the wonderful father that he was only able to be in glimpses during his struggle with this life? Would he have finally started to live the principles of the gospel this year? I'm happy that I know he is living the gospel now, with our Savior, a teacher greater than any of us could ever hope to be. A perfect teacher.

My sister, Bethany, and I were peeing our pants with laughter on the phone yesterday, recounting some of the crazy things Jesse did during his last couple of years with us. Things that may or may not have made us laugh when they actually happened.

One of the attributes that made Jesse stand out from the rest of us was how fiercely protective he was. His exposure to the harshest realities of this world gave him a sense of suspicion and danger that his more sheltered siblings could never have even conjured up in our imaginations.

Bethany visited my parents in Idaho Falls last summer with her family and recounted one night when she was awakened by a black-hooded Jesse, hovering over her bed and shouting in a whisper that someone had just broken into her van. He insisted she get up and inventory her belongings. Bethany agreed, but not until she gave him a swift verbal lashing for waking her up in the night, clad in a hooded sweatshirt, hood up, shouting about "robbers!!" Don't screw with a mother of four, dressed as a robber yourself, in the middle of the night, Jess.

He laughed, as he often did, "Sorry sis. Sorry sissy."

Bethany went out to her van to find it locked and secure, with nothing out of place. When she reported back to my brother, she noticed he was fashioning a small arsenal of weapons that consisted of an ice pick, small hammer, and a lock tied to the end of a shoe-lace, to his belt. He was unsatisfied with her report of no foul play and decided he was going to go on a patrol of the neighborhood. And then he set off into the night.

In this instance, there were no robbers. But rest assured, Jesse employed himself as the Neighborhood Watch: protector of all mini-vans, for the remainder of my sister's visit.

This story itself may not seem too extraordinary. But I tell it because it was just so him. Jesse always fancied himself a sort of vigilante... always looking for some injustice to make right, some underdog to protect or stick up for, some naive sibling he could wise-up to the "real world."

I had an awful dream the other night that something unspeakable was happening to my brother, Abe, at the hand of some corrupt government. In panic and horror, all my family could do was look to Jesse. We knew he was the only one with the strength, courage and skills to do anything. And the rest of my dream consisted of watching Jesse wreak havoc on those who were trying to harm his little brother.

I woke up relieved and desperate to see both of my brothers. And then relief settled into the all-too-familiar sadness that comes with this sort of reality. I will be gloriously reunited with my brother, Abe, in Idaho in couple of weeks. But for Jesse, I will have to wait a little longer.

One thing I do know is that it has been just over seven months since Jesse's passing and, somehow, he is still finding a way to fiercely protect his family. I am sure of that.

Happy, happy birthday, my dear brother. Your littow sistow can't wait to see your face.

Pregnant Beast Insanity

You know those days where you feel like everything in the universe got together for a secret meeting with the sole agenda being how they (the universe) can plot to send you spiraling into a dark abyss of rage and hate? Oh, you don't? Hmmm. Weird.

My new found hero, Allie*, brilliantly coined this phenomenon, a "Sneaky Hate Spiral," and today, well, mostly just this evening, actually, I found myself in the midst of my very own sneaky spiral of hate.

It started with more of a hate ambush, actually. My mom called me and exclaimed that some soulless, hateful, wretch of a white-trash-no-good-lilly-livered-two-bit-sonoffabeach-scheister stole the potted lilies she left on my brother's grave a couple of days ago. I couldn't believe it. Who would do that?

After we raged to each other and ruminated about the sure damnation of whomever it was that would do such a thing, we hung up the phone and I sat for a while stewing over the suckiness of humanity in general. Naturally, I dreamed up an elaborate plot to wait in my brother's cemetery this summer, clad in ninja gear, ready to pounce and assassinate any would-be flower/hope-in-humanity burglers. I felt confidant that no one would ever suspect a largely pregnant woman to be capable of a crane kick to the face. And that's exactly how I planned to administer the assassination.

After I felt satisfied with my assassination plot, I decided I should head to the gym to begin training. Since I haven't gone to work out since the very beginning of this pregnancy, just the thought of getting some exercise made me feel all wonder-womany and empowered. Look how awesome you are for going to the gym when you're feeling all sub-par and pregnant. Everyone will think you're so adorable and admirable with your pregnant belleh bouncing around on that elliptical. You'll probably make some new friends. And when you explain that you are simply there to get in shape to selflessly rid the world of flower/hope killers they'll think you're a real hero!

Yes. This was a great idea.

I gleefully pulled a pair of spandex workout pants from my closet and pulled them up over my protruding stomach. I'm currently in the awkward regular-to-maternity clothes transition where nothing fits quite right, and my non-maternity workout pants cut me off right in the middle of my baby bump. And it gave me a complete BIF**. Which happens to be my very favorite look.

I decided not to be discouraged, pulled on one of Sam's t-shirts and went on my way. I made my way to the front door where Sam was studying on the couch and, in a plea for moral support, turned to him and asked, "Am I too fat for these pants right now?" WARNING! WARNING EVERYBODY!

Sam looked me up and down, furrowed his brow, and said, "Hmmm. Turn around."

HOW!? HOW!? HOW ARE YOU STILL SO STUPID?! HOOOOOWW!?

Me: Um, you really should have just said, "no."

Sam: Honey, you're pregnant!

Me: Not in my thighs! Thanks.

Sam: No, it goes everywhere baby. Thighs, butt, arms. You know.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Me: Alright, that's enough out of you. You really should have just said, "no." (DEATH STARE)

I exited immediately feeling the flower ninja rage start to fester up again in my gut.

I pulled up to the gym and parked alongside a car whose driver was still sitting in his seat. As I got out of my car, I saw him exit his in my peripheral. He was startlingly tall and huge and looked like a yeti. And he proceeded to walk six inches behind me the entire way into the gym. I kept waiting for his foot to scrape down the back of my achilles. He was that close.

He continued to close-walk up the stairs all the way to the cardio room. I considered blasting him with a horsekick behind me on the way. I shot him a crusty over my shoulder. I pretended to stumble in hopes that he would dodge me and move on. But Yeti was undeterred. When we entered the cardio room, much to my dismay and bewilderment, he climbed right up onto the elliptical next to mine. And as we started up our machines, I noticed him peeking over at me as I entered my weight. Judging me.

It didn't help that both my weight and age had increased since the last time I had been at the gym. And that my little TV didn't work. And that Yeti smirked and blew a little snot out of his nose when he saw me discover that it wasn't turning on.

What is going on here? Were you sent here by the flower/murderers of hope and love to taunt me? YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME, YETI!?

I sat there, glancing longingly from side to side as he and the lady on the other side of me chuckled along to "The Office" while they labored away.

After Yeti had worked up a nice sweat, he lumbered over to one of the huge communal fans in the corner and proceeded to hercules it over his head and set it down right beside his elliptical on the side opposite of the side where I was located. He positioned it so that the air was being blown directly across his body and blasting me in the face with his sweaty stench. And then he got back on his machine and began pumping his arms up and down.

I hated Yeti. I hated him even more as his huge Yeti body started making his machine jump around because he was getting a little too enthused about his workout and he had clearly left the "resistance" at the lowest level causing a complete elliptical spazz-out. And I hated the lady on the other side of me whose TV worked and who took her cues from Yeti and went ahead and positioned a fan on the other side of her, forcing me into a turbo-wind vortex of stranger B.O. and SARS and bird flu.

And I felt the hate start to boil over, consuming my body. And I did a jedi-mind hulk t-shirt shred... in my mind. And threw some heavy equipment through the second story window. And I verbally berated Yeti about how he was a dude and how he should be over on the treadmills with the other dudes because his body was too huge and lumber-y to be graceful on an elliptical....

Things really took a turn for the worse when I finished up my workout and made my way to the exit. I noticed Yeti immediately shut down his machine and walk towards the exit as well. No, No this can't be happening. I left in a hurry, Yeti still right behind me. It all came to a head when his close-walking continued all the way back to my car. I couldn't handle it anymore. I turned around and raised my hand to try to slap him. He grabbed my wrist and muscled me up against the garage wall and slapped me in the face over and over. They weren't really hard slaps. Just mostly hard enough to let me know he meant business.

Just kidding. None of that happened. I never even went to the gym. Just kidding again. Only the him following me out and slapping me part didn't happen. Oh, and I never tried to slap him either. But you can imagine what it would have been like if I did.

I don't really know what else to say. Because truthfully, I just finished my work out and left. And felt a little better as soon as I got out of the stink-vortex-of-hate-and-everything-bad. And I feel even better now that I've spewed everything out on this here blog post. But if you feel like recounting this story to any of your friends, feel free to end it with the slapping part. I won't judge you. But I will say that those flower/happiness ruiners really have it coming this summer.

And now I've got to go say family prayer.

*Read her blog at your own risk. Your productivity will be hindered greatly and you will start to only ever be able to think in terms of her illustrations.

**If you know what this is, you'll think what I said was funny. If you don't, I'm sorry.

A Little Bit of Lately... And Oh Happy Day!

Hyde Park in the summer is a magical place. It's amazing what a stark difference the weather makes in this neighborhood. The winter rips through, killing all of the ivy on the buildings and leaves and flowers and turns it into a mangey, desolate wasteland. Saying I was ready to give winter 2009/2010 the boot would be an understatement. I was ready to beat winter 2009/2010 to a bloody pulp, actually. With a rusty mallet. Laced with anthrax. And smallpox.

Anyway, the point I'm trying to make is that we've been having loads o' fun since it warmed up here. And I've been feeling happy as a clam and quite rejuvenated.

First off, I have to give a shout out to my lovely husband who got me this beauty of the Mount Timpanogos temple, where we were married, for my birthday:

My sister has a similar painting of the Salt Lake temple that I have been coveting for some time so Sam really came through big time! The picture doesn't even do this baby justice. And it's HUGE! Like 4 feet across. And every time I look at it I get all giddy and swooney. And I love it. And I love Sam. And I love all of you.

We had a little joint birthday party to celebrate all of the summer birthdays that we're going to miss out on while away for summer internships. It turned out to be quite the fiesta.

Turns out Matt and Mimi are baking ninjas and showed up with this mind-blowing Mario Bros cake in tow. They just threw it together before the party. No big deal.

Sam loves to have his picture taken.

Paparazzi

I would have to say the highlight of the night for me was Leah's fascination with the boys' football game. I couldn't keep her away.

Setting up the play...

Clothes-lining Matt... completing the play.

Walking it off...

Just look how gleeful these boys are. They really love to play together. And it was so cute how they would hug hug hug and give a niiice tushy squeeze after each play... just to show there was no hard feelings.

Wiped out after a day of partying... she didn't quite make it through her book.

Leah doing a little meditation at the beach... channeling her inner dolphin spirit...

Then the freezing water ascended and sent her scrambling. Little did we know she was merely transforming that handful of sand into a delicious dorito...

Leah and "Cookie" (Leah's version of Brooklyn) soaking up some rays...

A few teenage boys made this little "sand city" and the munchkins were occupied for hours stomping around wrecking all of their labors.

*Thanks to Carina for most of these excellent pics! (Amber, we missed you!)

Somebody thought she was better than the sun and too cool for sunscreen even though her pasty skin hasn't been exposed for any significant amount of time for a good 3 years. I'm seriously an idiot. I feel like I have to learn this lesson at the start of every summer.

Leah has been climbing up on me all morning, under the guise of wanting to snuggle, and then full on slapping my sunburn and saying "Owie! Owie!" like it's hurting her. I think she may be possessed. She's nearly been punted out the window several times.

This was the only "appropriate" crispy-skin picture Sam gave me permission to post. But you can view the others at www.nudie-sunburns.com.

Just kidding. That's not a real site. Just something I made up just now. But I did embed a tracker on it to see which of you actually tried to click on it.

Just kidding again.

And finally... one of the perks of living in Hyde Park is our somewhat unorthodox sacrament meetings. Our bishop really caters to the local crowd, which results in rather lively musical numbers, unlike what you'd find in your typical, more reverent LDS services.

That being said, this last Sunday our ward choir sang "Oh, Happy Day" and I was delighted (terrified) to be the song's soloist. Don't think for one second I wasn't pretending I was singing in the finale of American Idol the whole time. Cause I was. Which is why I rushed the mic right afterward and starting shouting "thank yous!" and "I love yous!" and blowing kisses and crying. And, while I debated posting this clip at all (feeling a little sheepish, and a lot heffer-ish for doing so) I decided to throw caution to the wind and be brave.

Thanks so much to Carina and Lincoln for recording this on the down low (hence there being no picture, just sound.)

Oh, and listen closely at about 2 min 10 seconds. You'll hear a spirited fellow choir member bust out, "Sing it! Sing it! Sing it!" It was definitely the high point of the song.