It is getting incredibly tedious, but I it appears I am stuck in the roundabout of redding.
Every time the phone rings, it is for one of three guys: Ponda Boba, Greedo, or Bren Derlin.
I am seriously considering developing a taste for alcohol.
While Bren does not deserve any remarks, the first two do. It takes nearly every ounce of self-control not to break into Xena-whacking mode when someone coos that Greedo sounds like SUCH a catch, or that Ponda is SO nice.
Rather, hit me over the head with the bottle.