And like a bad neighbor, State Farm won't care.
Damn shame, for her or anyone with cancer. I had a friend, quite a while ago, in her 30s. She developed ovarian cancer, and it took her out in short order. You never know, best to enjoy every day.
Ask Microsoft Paint CoCreator to draw a "human male reproductive organ" and you'll get something like this.
Resist as much as possible without getting killed. BTW, I'm an Old-White-Guy Boomer. Not all people in my generation are lining up to kiss Trump's ass...
"Politics is Hollywood for ugly people." — Paul Begala
My best thing happened unexpectedly on March 15, 1973. (Probably makes me the oldest person in the room.) My high school guidance counselor died in his sleep. Bummer for him, but lucky for me. Back in the ’60s, my school system had me pegged as a gifted student, which was a one-size fits all label. That tag followed me to high school, where as a green sophomore, I was assigned the "gifted" guidance counselor, Mr. Daly.
Daly was also a history teacher, and greatly loved and admired. He was a retired USMC Vietnam vet, and suffered from Marfan syndrome, giving him a strange and imposing appearance. He was a force of nature, that guy.
I was 15 when we first met, and I had no idea about what I would do with my life. Because of my label, Daly had it all figured out. In his mind I was on my way to become a doctor, lawyer, CEO, etc. Yeah — no thanks. I had no goals, only passions — Photography and Design. I wanted to enroll in my school's tech classes and follow my interests. Daly squashed that idea. Wasn't going to happen. I was heartbroken. As a kid of 15 I had no leverage, and didn't know how I could get what I wanted. My parents were no help; "He probably knows best" was the best they could do.
A few weeks later, when I came to school on the 16th of March, word was that Mr. Daly had died the previous night. While the school was in mourning, I was a pretty happy kid. My new counselor had no objections to me taking the photo and design track. :: After high school, university and some preliminary jobs, I started my own marketing communications business (then called freelancing, today gig work) and continued for 30+ years by myself. Of course the work had its ups and downs, but I was happy and always employed. :: Now I'm 66 and retired, and I always wonder what my life would be like if Mr. Daly had lived and imposed his vision on my life. Guess I got lucky. :: Rest in peace, Mr. D.
Groundhog Day.
Welp, there's your two choices ...
Exercise their water valves. Crawl under the kitchen sink and the bathroom sink, reach around behind the toilet, find the hot and cold valves behind the washing machine. Especially if you live in a hard water area as I do, in Southern California. I have it on my calendar to do it twice a year. If I don't, the valves will eventually become calcified and ossified and worthless. I say this based on hard experience.
Today: 203,067 miles. 85% of the distance to the moon. Destination, the Sea of Longevity.
1999 Toyota Tacoma. A dinky two-door job. Still running. It's old enough to buy itself a drink. Has a shell on the back. I'm the kind of guy who runs the car until it runs no more or isn't cost affordable. Get regular oil changes, general maintenance, nothing spectacular. A life utility vehicle. Little rusty around the edges, and definitely a car for an old dude who doesn't have to impress the chicks. As a matter of fact, it tends to attract older guys, like me, who walk up and say "that is such a cool truck."
Very grateful for your focus and dedication. Bummer about the DDOS bullshit. Your efforts mean a lot to the communities.
Never am.