Awkward, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, Manic Monday, My Idea Of Being An Adult, You're Fine

Donald Glover Got It Right

I watched Donald Glover’s standup last night for the first time in over a year, and it was just as funny the second time around. He makes a joke about how Home Depot is where children die. When you’re a kid and you’re forced to go to Home Depot with your parents, you’re all like, “This is so boring! I can’t even touch anything!” And then the moment you walk in again and you’re like, “Oh! Look at these knobs!” That’s when your childhood dies. A beige, concrete hole of childhood graves.

My childhood died years ago when I got excited over a new lamp at Cost Plus. And I starting saving home decor pins on Pinterest. But I have officially crossed over onto the dark side because ladies and gentleman, I pulled my back out.

I’m currently sitting on my couch because I can’t move. It’s been bothering me for a couple of days now so I figured I slept funny one night. But then I went to get up, felt the stiff pull, and collapsed onto the couch and attempted to get up four times before rolling back over onto my blanket. I’ve popped three Midol pills, and here I sit, in annoying, excruciating pain.

It’s like that episode of Gilmore Girls when Lorelai gets a back spasm from making Rory’s dress for the dance.

First step: Denial.

Second step: Convincing yourself that you are moving

Third step: Admitting the truth

So please, wish me luck as I have just misplaced my water bottle and now need to go on a crippled hunt to find it.

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Awkward, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, I'm not a mommy blogger, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Thoughts, Writing, You're Fine

Conversation with Sixteen-Year-Old Jess

*Dials number to Sixteen-year-old Jess, fully aware that the ringtone is a Boys Like Girls song*

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Hey, hey, hey! Who is this?

Current Jess: I forgot how annoying you were…

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Okay, seriously. Who is this?

Current Jess: This is Jess…from the future.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: That’s impossible. I don’t believe you.

Current Jess: You’re probably wearing a really tacky and unfashionable Hollister sweatshirt right now.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: That doesn’t prove anything. Everyone has those sweatshirts. Tell me something nobody else knows.

Current Jess: You never read the first Harry Potter. And you read the rest of them completely out of order.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: That was a really lame example…

Current Jess: Okay fine. You kissed Aidan Murphy in the fifth grade…

Sixteen-year-old Jess: *GASP* What do you want? Why are you holding this against me?

Current Jess: He had extremely chapped lips and it freaked you out…

Sixteen-year-old Jess: EW. STOP.

Current Jess: I’m here to fill you in about life.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: How old is future Jess right now?

Current Jess: I’m 25.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: *Sighs* I can’t wait to be 25. I’m going to go to Clark University and study anthropology. Or I’ll go to the Art Institute of Boston and become an art teacher. 25 is going to be amazing.

Current Jess: *Chuckling* Oh Jess…none of that happens.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: What do you mean none of that happens? I had a plan!

Current Jess: I know you do. You were stuffing college brochures in your desk drawer since you were thirteen.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Did I at least study abroad in England like I always wanted to do?

Current Jess: Yes. I will gladly tell you that you accomplished that. Congratulations.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Okay, well at least that’s something. So what happened to the rest of it? You’re 25. You’re supposed to be set in your career. Am I an art teacher? Do I work in a fancy office? Do I wear nice clothes? Do I have my own apartment? Am I getting married soon?

Current Jess: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down, Lassie. First of all, you never became an art teacher. You studied art history.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: But I hate art history.

Current Jess: You grew up and changed. It happens to all of us. You also like broccoli now.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: So what do I do for a living?

Current Jess: I’m not going to dive too far into that one because it’s messy, frustrating, chaotic, and frankly, you’ll want to punch me in the throat.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: What about marriage? Am I getting married soon?

Current Jess: No, probably not.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: *hyperventilating* WHY NOT?

Current Jess: I don’t know, dude. Calm down. You can’t just marry the first guy to pay attention to you. It doesn’t work like that. Take your time. You haven’t even figured the career part out yet.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: But there is so much I wanted to do. I wanted to teach English to schoolchildren in Nigeria. I wanted to backpack through China. I wanted to hole myself up in a cabin in Washington State, away from everyone else for a little while. Kind of like Johnny Depp but without the mental breakdown.

Current Jess: There’s still time. Just because you haven’t done those things by the age of 25 doesn’t mean you need to write them off the list entirely.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: What about my friends? I still have my friends, right?

Current Jess: Eh. Not really. Only a select few. But that’s okay. You enjoy being by yourself, remember?

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Yeah, I suppose. But what happened to those friends?

Current Jess: You just realized they weren’t the best people to be around. Quality means more to you than quantity.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: So, what’s your plan now?

Current Jess: I don’t really have one.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: What do you mean you don’t have one? This is our life you’re screwing with!

Current Jess: Remember when you were around three-years-old, and you used to go with mom to her night classes at Lesley? And you would walk ahead of her through Harvard Square?

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Yeah. I would pretend I was a Harvard student even though I was three.

Current Jess: Exactly. That’s when you started dreaming about college.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Get to the point, please.

Current Jess: My point is you’ve been planning your life out since then.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Since I was three…

Current Jess: Yes.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: So you’re saying I’m a lunatic.

Current Jess: Yep. That’s exactly what I’m saying. Stop planning and start living.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: How do I do that exactly?

Current Jess: Don’t think. Just do. Just be happy. That’s all that matters.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: Okay. I guess that’s decent advice. Can you just tell me one thing?

Current Jess: Shoot.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: You’re still with Tristian, right?

Current Jess: HAHAHAHAHAAHA. Nah. He’s married to some Romanian girl now.

Sixteen-year-old Jess: What?!

Current Jess: Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee. *click*

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Awkward, Festivities, Internet Things, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Out of the Ordinary, Thoughts, You're Fine

Dear America

I still remember the presidential election of 2000. I was in the fourth grade learning about politics for the first time. Since most kids typically vote for the candidate their families vote for, I was rooting for George Bush. I come from a mostly Republican family. My best friend at the time, Megan, came from a mostly Democrat family, and her vote was for Al Gore. When Bush won, I jumped up and down for joy while Megan kicked her feet around saying, “Gosh darn it!” and we still ate lunch together as if nothing ever happened.

The same exact thing happened in 2004 with George Bush and John Kerry. I still managed to keep my Democrat friends close even after George Bush won. So, I ask America, what in the world happened to us? Unless I just grew up, opened my eyes, and realized what was actually going on.

The 2008 election was just a small taste for what we were in for: hatred. My best friend at the time, Katherine, was voting Obama and she let me know every day what a terrible mistake it would be if I rooted for McCain. I must admit, that election was during my senior year of high school and I honestly didn’t pay attention as much as others did because I had college applications and SAT’s on the brain. But, my family was voting for McCain. However, that didn’t alter Katherine’s hateful and sarcastic comments one bit.

The 2012 election, I was paying attention to the best of my ability. I voted Romney. And from a sorta-kinda-Republican/Independent point of view, this is what happened:

My college campus was jam packed with Obama buses to bring students to the nearest town hall to vote. Thousands of students were shoving Obama signs in my face, yelling at me to vote. Most of my friends spent the day screaming at the television about how much Romney sucked, and nobody was voting for him (which is ridiculous since obviously people were voting for him). I actually had people who I considered close friends express their hatred for Republicans, which made me uncomfortable to no end.

After Obama won, I wasn’t upset. I went to bed and slept like a baby. However, a former co-worker on Facebook figured out that I didn’t vote for Obama, and it MUST have been because he’s black right? Which he then felt the need to express all over the Facebook page of my employer at the time, asking them how they could hire a racist? That racist was apparently me, and he wrote my name out in all caps. Luckily, my boss was able to delete the comment immediately and block the person. But that didn’t stop the cooks from making racist jokes every time I walked by. I spent most of my shift in the bathroom crying.

Ever since that particular election, I’ve been too afraid to voice my own opinion in a country where we claim we can go ahead and do that. Between the Facebook posts bashing not just Republicans but Democrats too, to the unwanted political conversations where all I do is fold my hands and stare at the floor, it’s become too much. I understand this election has turned us into a mockery for other countries. A sort of lesson on “What Not To Do”. But I am here to say that whoever my friends and family vote for, I’m not going to berate them for their choices, and neither should the rest of you.

I haven’t asked one single person who they are voting for because it’s simply none of my business. I was raised to “never bring up politics at the dinner table” and I maintain that even more now. We have to get a grip and remember that not every Republican is so far right and not every Democrat is so far left. For every person you make fun of, whether they are voting Clinton or Trump, you are insulting someone you know or their families. It baffles me that I feel the need to write this to adults. I’ve been wanting to say these words since 2008 and I don’t want to be afraid anymore. It’s not fair.

So, whether you’re a Republican, Democrat, Independent, or what have you, I wish you all a safe Election Day. Don’t forget to stash those nips in your pocket for later.

fsdf

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Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, You're Fine

4 Methods On How to Handle a Fight You Weren’t Originally a Part Of

I’m in a bit of a predicament that I’ve haven’t been entwined in since my middle school days, so I’m a bit rusty when it comes to handling the situation. Let me do my best to paint the picture for you while brainstorming some methods I learned from catty middle school girls.

A couple of months ago, I was part of a group chat with four other co-workers. We mostly goofed off, sent each other silly gifs, and discussed the next after-work cocktails night we should have. It was all fun and games until something extraordinarily awkward happened.

Meet Don. He’s a bit of a grump with some serious mood swings. He acts like he hates you, and then the next day, says “Good Morning” and asks about your weekend. He’s a confusing, angsty soul.

Meet Katie. She’s sassy, firey, and has no problem letting you know how much she hates her job.

Katie said something sassy in the group chat, and Don fired back. With my clear eyes, it seemed like he was being sarcastic, which that is a language Katie doesn’t speak. Katie took offense to his comment, which started a very short mini argument between the two of them. The other two chatters were silent, and so was I. What do the kids call it? Ghosting? Yes. I did my best to ghost the conversation.

Within minutes, Don left the group chat. Since then, Katie hasn’t really spoken to him. Nothing has changed on my part because I barely spoke to him before the group chat anyway. Fast forward a few weeks, and one of the silent chatters mentioned how Don wanted to go out for after-work drinks, but without Katie…and apparently me. Fast forward to last night, and I found that Don unfollowed me on Instagram, along with Katie.

Needless to say, this guy doesn’t like me, and it’s clear that it’s by association. I’m friends with Katie. I talk to her, and eat lunch with her everyday. Therefore, since Don doesn’t like Katie, he MUST not like me too.

I’ve never dealt with something like this in “adult world”. Especially by a thirty-something-year-old man. What bothers me about this situation is that 1. Katie and I are nothing alike, and 2. this person has made up his mind about me without actually getting to know me, and 3. I’ve done absolutely nothing.

And now I’m left wondering how on earth I got dragged into a fight I was never originally a part of.

So here are some petty mean girl tactics that I haven’t pulled out of my closet since 2005.

1. The Silent Treatment

As adults, we have learned the art of keeping a straight face, smiling, and acting like nothing is wrong, especially in front of someone we don’t particularly like. In teenage girl world, you test out the silent treatment. The person you are in a brawl with asks for a pencil, you stare straight ahead without even a head nod to acknowledge the slight breeze in the air.

dsfsdfs2. The Stink-Eye

Any time they make eye contact with you, just act like they have a booger on their face.

gfdgg

3. Be Overly and Obnoxiously Nice

I don’t mean hold the door open for him or offer the last office doughnut. I mean being so nice that he knows everything about it is sarcastic.

“HEY DON. HOW WAS YOUR WEEKEND? I LOVE THAT SHIRT ON YOU. YOUR WIFE IS SO NICE. LIKE OMG.” – Valley Girl Voice

erew4. Take the High Road

Raise your hand if you’re over the age of eighteen and simply have other things to worry about? SAME.

Ignore methods 1-3 and just “take the high road”. I simply unfollowed him and will continue to move on from this invigorating friendship we once shared.

Feel free to share your methods on handling catty situations as an adult. I could use all the help I can get.

*Names have been changed to protect the semi-innocent.

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Humor, I Wasn't Worried, Insomnia, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Rant, Sarcasm, You're Fine

I Need a Paper Bag and a Bottle of White Zin

I don’t get easily stressed.

Well that was a big fat lie. I actually get very stressed but I pretend like none of it bothers me so that I can keep my cool and lie to myself even more.

I stress out about everything. I’m surprised I don’t have more anxiety attacks. I have one maybe once a year, and each time it creeps up my shoulder like the grim reaper. Why does my chest feel like this? Am I having a heart attack? Are the walls bleeding?

If something bad happens, I do a Nick Miller head nod and say, “Well…that happened…” And then I brush off the fleck of stress off my shoulder and continue with my day like I’m cool as a cucumber. I do this over and over and over again for months until one day, I explode. It’s like an episode of Ren and Stimpy, and I whip my head around my environment taking mental screenshots of everything I’m avoiding: the dishes are piling up, I need to take out the trash, I haven’t glanced at my mail for two weeks, my unfinished painting is looking sad, is that mold I smell in my sink?, why does it sound like my cat is choking to death every morning?, and for the love of God can he please stop clawing at all of my nice furniture?, am I going bald?, why does my hairline make me look like one of those patients in a Bosley commercial?, I still haven’t registered my car (I hope I don’t get pulled over and have to do the whole “Look at me, Officer. I’m cute. Please don’t yell.”), I have a zit the size of my evil twin on my neck.

Welcome to the inside of my mind. Grab a drink, take a load off because I certainly can’t. I feel like Mrs. Bennett in Pride & Prejudice and I don’t even have five daughters to marry off.

There has been a lot of things happening since last week that my mind simply cannot grasp and/or handle. When I reach a certain point, I babble and say/do weird things. I’ve been so up and down about various things that I feel my heart might burst into flames. So many people tell me I need to de-stress so I Googled some ways to do that and I already call quits on most of them.

1. Meditate

What am I, a monk?

Meditating would look a little like me sitting on my bed eating an entire bag of popcorn and not breaking eye contact with my cat.

2. Exercise

I already exercise regularly, so with my tsunami-like brain waves, my running has been golden. I’ve been walking into Planet Fitness like Usain Bolt. But what do I do after I run off all of those bad vibes? I stress eat. It’s like I never even went to the gym.

3. Drink Green Tea

Because sticking leaves that closely resemble marijuana into a steaming hot cup of water is going to make my troubles go away. Why don’t I just stop shaving and pray every evening to a bowl of granola while I’m at it?

4. Take a Nap

Sure, I could stumble into my apartment after work, crash on my bed and pass out at 5pm. But it doesn’t change the fact that my student loans need to be paid the following day.

I’d rather just take a bottle of wine to my face, talk to my pile of mail, and go to bed.

Tell me some of your de-stressers, or lack thereof. I’ll be sure to take some notes.

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Anecdote, Connecticut, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Rant, Sarcasm

I’m a Young, Fiery Woman…Don’t Make Me Choke You

I hope I didn’t scare you away with my title. It was the thought that crossed my mind as I sat at the DMV for four hours on Saturday. I had 0% food in my stomach. I feel like it’s important to add that information.

The only people excited to go to the DMV and walk out of the building a brand new person, alive, confident, and charismatic, are 16-year-olds who have passed their driving test and can finally cruise with their friends down the boulevard. That changes drastically when you have to go back approximately seven years later to renew your license. You think, “But I already passed the test. Do I seriously have to renew this? THIS IS BOGUS.”

Scratch that. The first time that kid goes to renew their license, they’re turning 21 and in the United States, that means they can legally drink which basically takes the fun out of it. So, they STILL walk out of that DMV a confident and charismatic person because they can shove that new shiny ID in the bouncer’s face as they stumble into the club. Many of us New Hampshire kids found reasons to head up to Canada for the weekend just to drink Canadian alcohol and eat poutine. Not I…I don’t care for your poutine, Canada.

Renewing your license after the age of 21 will make you think of a million things you’d rather do, such as eat a bucket of tarantulas or stab your arm repeatedly with a rusty knife.

Let me paint a picture of what the DMV looks like in New Hampshire:

A tiny, one room building with approximately two people working at the counter. You don’t even need a ticket number. It costs approximately $50 for the application and the actual license. You do a five second vision test, take a decent picture because nobody is rushing you, and you’re out the door twenty minutes later.

Let me describe my four hour adventure at the Bridgeport, Connecticut DMV:

I walked in and felt like I was crossing the border through Ellis Island. The security guard on duty looked like she would be of no help since I watched other lost souls run up with questions and she barely lifted her nose from her phone and told them to ask a manager. YOU GET PAID FOR THIS?

I eventually stumbled into a line I wasn’t entirely sure I was supposed to be in and walked up to the woman at the counter. I explained I was transferring my license and car registration from another state. She handed me my ticket number and told me I would be handling my license first. I think the angels above knew I would be waiting a ridiculously long time and opened a seat in this sea of irritated people. I sat down and pulled open my book Smoke Gets In Your Eyes by Caitlin Doughty. I started to rethink the book choice in public as it’s about cremation and Caitlin’s experience working in a morgue. I realized everyone else was zoning out and wouldn’t notice my morbid choice of read. Two hours passed, and my number was finally called. I ran up to the counter to find a man with no expression waiting for me. Since he didn’t start with, “Good morning” or “What are you here for?” I figured I’d start this wonderful experience by telling him what I needed to do. I pulled out my papers for registration and license before he slammed the breaks with his hands and told me to stop.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa…” he started. He sighed very loudly as if I was the worst possible person to walk into that DMV. “I need you to put everything together. You’ll need your passport, social security number, proof of address, and your current license.” I pulled out everything I had prepared and handed him my application. He slapped his hands together in annoyance.

“I SAID you need to put EVERYTHING together. Just put all of it on top,” he barked.

Well well well. If there’s one thing about me someone should know it’s that when I get barked at with a heavy level of attitude, I have no problem giving it right back.

So what did I do? I slammed all of the documents on the counter in front of him, hard.

“THERE YA GO,” I said sarcastically. Maybe he realized he was being harsh because he seemed slightly wounded by my reaction.

“Ma’am, you don’t need to slam it…”

fefeTHIS GUY was getting angry because of my attitude due to the fact that he gave me attitude. I started to feel the fire within my fingertips. I wanted to punch this guy’s lights out. What I wanted to say was, “I understand you don’t want to be here, and neither do I. I’ve been here for two hours and have accomplished nothing. Can we at least agree we should burn this place to the ground? Let’s do it together.”

Instead, he yelled at me for not having a second piece of mail for my proof of address (which their website states you only need one), but the angels were looking out for me once again because I luckily was using my electric bill as a bookmark. WIN.

By the time I got to the vision test, I was having an emotional breakdown and thought about bailing because in the end, this isn’t worth it. Oh, Connecticut. Never mind. I’ll just move back to California to avoid your DMV services altogether.

Let’s fast forward a bit after my crappy picture was taken. It’s going on 1:30pm and I got to the DMV at 9:30am. I watched residents, who took their picture AFTER ME, run away with their license in hand. And I was still waiting by the counter, tapping my feet with every passing minute. The woman looks up as she called my name.

“Did you get your license?” she asked.

“Nah.”

“Oh shoot. I noticed like eight people got theirs before you. How strange. I guess it didn’t print.”

rerq

I went home afterwards and took a three hour nap. I never even got to register my car, which means I have to go back. I think the angels are saying, “You ungrateful, bitch. You’re on your own now!”

Your thoughts and prayers for my second trip are welcomed.

 

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Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, My Idea Of Being An Adult, You're Fine

Fear Thy Dentist

I was always that weird kid that loved going to the doctor’s and the dentist. It usually meant that I got to miss out on a couple of hours of school. I never feared that when I arrived, the doctor would tell me I have cancer or something. I still don’t get that fear, with the exception of them checking my weight. That’s always a scary moment.

200w-8

At least with the doctor’s office, I could understand the slight fear. But the dentist? They brush your teeth for you! And they usually gave you that bubble gum flavored Novacane! And then you walked away with a brand new tooth brush. How could anyone hate the dentist?

I’ve now experienced the other end of the dentist. On Monday, all four of my wisdom teeth had to be removed. ALL FOUR. They were all terribly impacted, on the verge of damaging my back teeth like the little bastards they were. Since I was driving myself home, they gave me the gas, which made me feel like I was in a David Bowie music video. My whole body got numb and I was giggly about absolutely nothing. While the upside to the gas was that I felt like I was sitting in a tin can, I had the pleasure of hearing each individual tooth cracked and then removed like I was in my own personal Saw movie. If you hear of the newest Saw 18: Jessie’s Not-So-Wisdom Teeth, don’t be surprised. Also, please don’t watch it. Most of you have never met me, so your first impression should not be what’s happening in the inside of mouth.

Once all of the teeth were removed, the doctors slowly released oxygen into my mask so that I could come back down to planet Earth. During this process, what little mascara I applied to my lashes that morning started to smudge and smear, probably from horror. The dental assistant who didn’t speak the most fluent English took a napkin and started wiping it for me.

Assistant: Oh…eh. Let me…get that for you.

Me: Mmmmherrrrthanks.

Assistant: A girl like you don’t need make-up. You….very pretty girl. *Cue low deep voice* Veryyyyyyy….prettyyy.

Me: Mehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

I just want to point out that I never get hit on. I don’t think I have the usual face that men are like, “Hey, she looks of age to buy a drink for.” I’m just assuming that’s one of the reasons I never get hit on. It seems that the only time I get hit on is in these situations. The type of situations when I’m not capable of verbally saying, “Hey thanks, that’s very kind of you.” Instead, they are in situations when I’m most vulnerable and awkward where the guy has just spent an hour removing stubborn teeth from the back of my jaw, and I’m left dazed, confused, and not understanding what’s happening at that moment. On the bright side, someone was nice enough to still tell me I’m pretty while sitting under a fluorescent light with bloody gauze hanging out of my mouth and tears running down my cheeks. How sweet.

I found my celebrity look-a-like for the week though:

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Connecticut, Family, Home, I Wasn't Worried, My Idea Of Being An Adult

“Adulting”

Setting: Pub in downtown Fairfield, Connecticut

Girl: Ugh, I have to actually do adult things this week.

Me: What do you mean?

Girl: My parents are going out of town, so I have to do some adulting. Don’t you hate that? I like, actually have to cook for myself, and take the dog out to go to the bathroom. Isn’t that weird?

Me: ………..


I’m in no way judging this girl. Okay, maybe a little. I sometimes forget that not everyone has had the same life as me. When I graduated from high school, my parents moved to Texas about two weeks after the ceremony. I spent the summer living with my grandparents. I then went off to college, and saw my parents twice a year for the next four years or so. Every summer, and during holiday breaks, I stayed with either my grandparents or my aunt. I worked a lot during school, and did my best to help out around the house until I realized it was probably time to find my own place. I was always welcomed at their houses, but by the time I was 21, and I hadn’t lived with my parents since I was 18, I felt like it was time to get my own place.

I moved in with my boyfriend at the time, and continued to do so until about six months ago. But during those four-ish years, I learned to act like an adult. I kind of assumed everyone did around my age but I guess I was wrong. I had to keep up with grocery shopping, clean the apartment when it got messy, remember to bring my car in for an oil change, etc. All of these things that the average adult has to do, I found normal by the time I was 21.

About six months ago, my longtime boyfriend and I broke up. One of the reasons I got off Facebook was the fact that I didn’t want to deal with anybody. It wasn’t necessarily because I was sad, but I didn’t feel like answering questions like, “I saw you moved! Where did you GUYS move to?” or “He’s almost done with school right? What’s next?” My ex and I were not that obnoxiously cheesy lovey dovey couple to begin with, so even if we hadn’t posted about each other in a while, nobody would have noticed. Some friends are just finding out now that we are no longer together and it’s been about six months.

But my point in this post is that, sure, I already knew how to act like an adult early on, but I didn’t know my full potential until I was really, 100% alone. It started with my road trip. I was driving through the Arizona desert at 6am, and realized that I was alone for another 2,500 miles. That was probably the scariest part of this big change of mine. When I finally pulled up to my mom’s house in New Hampshire, something in me shifted. I had done it! All by myself without much help from anyone, minus the Indiana pickle I was in with the snow. I relaxed for a few days and got straight to work to find a job and a place to live. A month later, I finally found a job, and then found a place to live within that week. I felt like I was on top of the world. It’s an amazing feeling to know that I am capable of taking care of myself, when for so long, I never gave myself a chance. It was always a running joke that I couldn’t handle my own life because of how forgetful, klutzy, and at times, shy I am. I am all of those things, but I’ve broken out of the shell just a little bit. When it comes to getting things done, there’s no time for me to be shy. I’ve learned to keep track of important things in my own way, such as not leaving the stove on when I leave the house, or remembering to pay my electricity bill on time, so that I’m not so forgetful. I have yet to figure out the klutzy thing though; that will probably never go away. I will forever and always stub my toe on every corner and drop my keys while holding bags of groceries before getting to the door. I’ve completely put my faith and life into my own hands, and it’s a wonderful feeling.

Now when I have friends or new acquaintances complain that they actually had to go to the bank today, or ask me questions about car insurance, I just nod my head politely and remind myself that we all grow at different times. While some my age complain that they are still living at home with their parents, I remind them of how lucky they are. If my parents had stayed in New Hampshire, I probably would have lived with them a lot longer than I did. But I’m also grateful that I’ve had the chance to grow into the person I am now.

photo-1463474060256-bd0300417e6e

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Awkward, Home, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, I'm not a mommy blogger, My Idea Of Being An Adult, You're Fine

Breathing

Here is a brief update on my life:

  • I’m currently living back home in New Hampshire after driving 3,000 miles from California.
  • My car is still crammed with my belongings because I simply can’t wrap my brain around dealing with it.
  • I have no job.
  • I keep falling asleep while watching Making A Murderer which is incredibly frustrating.

Luckily, since I’ve moved back to New Hampshire, I’ve gotten more job prospects than I did in California, which only confirms my feelings when I yell “SUCK IT” when the wind is blowing west. My best friend Tierney sent a lovely text message earlier this week asking if I would be interested in rooming with her in…..*drumroll please*…..NEW JERSEY. Yes, the armpit of America. And I said hell yes because not only do I love Tierney, but until then, I had no plan. So right now, that is the plan, and I’m so excited I can’t breathe.

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I’ve been sending out my resume like hot cakes and decided to reach out to a friend of mine from grad school since he lives in Brooklyn and I will only be a mere 45 minute train ride. We can call him Joe. He called me the other day after examining my resume to discuss what my future plans are. Awkward, since I have none. He’s been living in NYC for quite some time and gave me the lowdown on employment and living situations. After asking a series of questions on what I’m interested in/looking for in a job, he then asked, “What do you see yourself doing when you’re 30?”

After serious thinking, I said, “I DON’T KNOW JOE. BREATHING.”

*Proceeds to pass out on the floor*

So I may not have actually responded in such a way, but it was pretty damn close. After complimenting me on my resume skills (at least that’s something), he gave me a few ideas I’m toying with. My future is looking a lot like those Texas farmlands where it’s just miles and miles of nothing until you see big, wondrous windmills that excite you. I need to pick a windmill. And soon.

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Anecdote, Awkward, Family, Festivities, Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult

The Stockings Have Been Ruined

Every year, Christmas morning, I’d stir from my slumber. I’d recall hearing the loud thump on my roof, hide under my blankets hoping Santa has no clue that I’m still awake. If I ever acted out, my mother would scare me by saying, “I just saw an elf pop up from the window. He saw you and he’s going to tell Santa you’ve been naughty!” It could be July and she’d tell me this, which may explain my fear of elves. Clever mom, real clever.

I’d feel a little lump on the end of my bed and find my bedazzled stocking by my feet. It would be the crack of dawn, and the small amount of sunlight would shine down on the candy and knick knacks that had been put together. Ever year, I’d try to stay awake and see if I could catch a glimpse of Santa bringing my stocking to my bed in the middle of the night, but somehow, I always missed it. Sad.

I’d start to unravel my stocking lightly because it was a law in my house to wait for my older sisters to wake up with their stockings too. The stocking is my sister Jaie’s favorite part of Christmas morning. That and the re-runs of A Christmas Story for the entire 24 hours.

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I’d hear my sisters giggling and knew they were awake. I’d take my stocking and scurry into their room where the three of us would go through our stockings filled with socks, jewelry, our favorite candies, and silly $1 toys. We didn’t care that it was 7am, we’d immediately dig into our bags of Rolo’s and Skittles. Finally, my mother would wake up and make us cinnamon rolls for breakfast while we slowly started opening presents together in the living room.

Last year, I told my mom how I couldn’t wait to do that stocking thing she did for my kids. It’s such a nice little surprise every year knowing “Santa” snuck into my room and placed my stocking by my feet. It gave me a rush and thrill at the age of eight. Here’s where I made the mistake in telling my mother that I plan to do the same for my kids. Here’s where the adult truth comes out to play because you’re twenty-four and you can handle it, right?

Let me re-tell this conversation a bit more animately.

“I love how you always put the stockings at the end of our beds. I can’t wait to do that with my kids!” EXCITEMENT FACE.

“You know why I did that, right?” my mother begins. Oh God. Here it comes. This is when my life ends, isn’t it?

“…………………because it’s clever and cute and creative?”

“Because I just spent most of the evening wrapping all of the presents and had one too many drinks, so by putting the stockings in your room, it keeps you kids from waking me up at the crack of dawn so I can sleep off my hangover.”

Sweet Jesus.

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Don’t forget to send me your holiday stories for the first You’re Fine Holiday Contest! Email me at jreyna91@gmail.com and if you win, you’ll get a New Years present from me as well as your story posted to my blog on Christmas Day!

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Anecdote, Awkward, Humor, I Wasn't Worried, My Idea Of Being An Adult, Things I Should Have Solved A Year Ago

Dealing with Dealerships

I had an unfortunate event happen last week. The wonderful world of street parking is your own personal hell. Anything can happen. During the late evening hours, some impressive California driver decided to park in front of my car, but instead of the good old fashion parallel parking, he decided to drive into the spot, scraping my precious white paint with it. When he realized what he’d done, he backed up, scraping it one more time before fleeing the scene. This moment was told to me by my neighbor, who watched the event take place.

Luckily, there doesn’t seem to be much damage to the actual front bumper of my car, but the paint is an eyesore. I also noticed the tire pressure light was on, which meant it was time to take a trip to the dealership.

I hate going to the dealership. I avoid it like the plague. My first experience wasn’t pleasant, which was when I decided to lease my car during the first month of living in Long Beach. The salesmen are like leeches. They suck out all of your energy until you’re too tired to think, and then you sign just about anything to get out of that hell hole. When Sam and I were sitting in the tiny boxed office, discussing whether or not the deal they laid before us was a good one, they had the courtesy of telling us that we were wasting their time, and they have “families to feed.”

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Once I was signing the papers for the car, they talked us into some insurance through the dealership, even though I just got off the phone with my insurance company. We first declined the promotion offer, and then, like we were denying a check for a million dollars they said, “Can I ask why you’re doing this?”

BECAUSE I DON’T NEED IT.

They tried to move on, but like some force of “kindness” to make sure we were doing the right thing, they felt the need to explain the upside to the insurance. We still denied it. The salesman’s hands started shaking because he felt defeated that he couldn’t help our poor souls understand the biggest mistake of our lives. He explained it again. And again. Before we both exploded and said, “FINE.”

In the end, we were defeated against the enemy.

Since I was getting my car serviced, I decided to pop over to the dealership and ask to remove the insurance from my monthly payments. I spoke with a financial officer and the same thing happened, only I was coming in stronger and ready to fight to the death.

“Can I ask why you’re doing this?” he asks. It’s a script. It’s just like the movie, The Truman Show!

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“Because I’m trying to save money right now, and I just really don’t need it.”

He stares at me. He was so friendly before but now he’s gone cold.

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, and the consequences you will face if you don’t have it.” The guy is acting like I’m creating a new disease in my science lab and testing it on a monkey.

“I understand.” But of course, everything he was saying was gibberish but after discussing it with Sam, we both knew I really didn’t need it. He takes a look at my address on my file.

“Ohhh, is that Belmont Shore?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you must be doing really, really well in life.”

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My answer: *Nervous laugh* “….sure.”

Awkward silence.

“So, how is work going?” I realized on my file it probably says I still work at my previous office job.

I nod my head and say, “Work is going fine.” I just went with it because it’s none of his business how work is going, or even where I work now. To me, it’s a weird question to ask a stranger anyways. He nods his head in response.

I finally got to sign the papers that would set me free, and the man’s face that was once friendly had turned into disappointment. He looked like a father who just found out his kid stole candy from a convenience store: like a failure. I almost felt bad for him, but I quickly changed my mind when I realized he actually feels bad for me for my “stupidity”.

No matter what you do, you will be in an argument at the dealership. There’s no escaping it. It doesn’t have to include yelling or screaming, but very subtle disagreements that show tension between the two parties. The salesmen are tricky bastards and almost always win. But this time, I’m the winner.

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Awkward, Humor, Internet Things, Social Media, Things I Should Have Solved A Year Ago

Acronym Guide for Dummies

acronym

What happened to “g2g”? And “brb”? And “ttyl”?

Those are the acronyms that will stick with me for the rest of my life. That was when AIM was our text messaging, and there was nothing better than hearing that screeching door open hoping it was your best friend or the cute boy from gym class. That’s how I got my first boyfriend, ya know.

7th Grade. I was at my friend’s house and she asked me why I didn’t have a boyfriend. I look back and chuckle because I was twelve. So she simply said, “The first boy to sign on to AIM will be your new boyfriend.” That was a terrifying thought. Many blossoming romances started and ended with the screeching door.

Nowadays, twelve years later, I’m on the Stupid Train when it comes to acronyms because it seems we have gotten so lazy that every phrase is broken down. I mean, back when we had flip phones and it was a total pain to text on them, it was easier just writing “ttyl”. But now kids have iPhones with a better texting structure and stability, yet we are still doing it. I can barely read Facebook and Twitter posts today because they are all made up of acronyms that I don’t understand. Here are some ridiculous acronyms that exist today I found on Huffington Post:

IRL: In Real Life

Huff’s example: “Your blog post was so interesting, I would love to meet you IRL.”

IANAD: I Am Not A Doctor

Huff’s example: “IANAD, but wouldn’t doing a juice cleanse slow your metabolism?”

TIL: Today I Learned

Huff’s example: “TIL people use their whole brain, not just 10%.”

IRONIC.

WDYMBT: What do you mean by that?

Huff’s example: “WDYMBT?”

^^ It takes more time to figure out what each letter means than it does to just simply read, “What do you mean by that?”

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Those are only just a few on that long list of 33 acronyms. So I’ve decided to come up with some useful acronyms of my own that relate to my everyday life.

TCSITBTA: The cat shit in the bath tub again.

My example: “TCSITBTA…damnit.”

NIWNMYB: No, I will not make you breakfast.

My example: “NIWNMYB.”

TT: Taco Tuesday

My example: “Is it TT yet?”

DDL: Don Draper Love

My Example: “Can we watch Mad Men? I need some DDL.”

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OOC: Out of coffee

My Example: “It’s a rough day. We are OOC.”

DS: Dieting sucks.

My Example: “I’m only allowed 3/4 cup of Honey Nut Cherrios. DS!”

WATPC: Where are the potato chips?

My example: “We can’t be out. WATPC?!”

YF: You’re fine.

My example: “Oh, stop and eat your chicken. YF.”

Let’s see if the kids go along with these useful acronyms.

Now tell me folks, what are some acronyms of your own that would be of some use to you daily?

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Awkward, Girls, My Idea Of Being An Adult, News, Rant

Enough with the Dress Code Arguments

I came across this article about a 17-year-old girl from South Dakota who quit her job at J.C. Penney because they told her she was violating dress code and needed to head home to change. It’s national news at the moment, but what “dress code violation” story isn’t nowadays? If you are lazy and didn’t click on the link to the article, then you didn’t see what the girl was wearing. She had on a pair of red “professional” shorts that she bought in the business casual section in the store, along with a tight fitted blue tank top with thick straps. Oh, and she was wearing sandals. The girl felt she was mistreated and got so fed up she quit on the spot.

I’m seriously so bored with these stupid dress code cries. This isn’t even turning into a gender specific thing like everyone claims it has. Men are not allowed to show up at work in shorts, nor shirtless. They have the same set of rules as women. I’ve worked in retail and I’m pretty sure the dress code still stands – no jeans, no shorts, and no open-toed shoes. It’s THAT simple. You’d have to be doing it on purpose in order to violate those basic standards.

For all you teens out there who keep complaining about the dress code for schools and businesses – they don’t necessarily set these rules because they think men are going to go ape-shit on your clavicle. They do it because they are a professional environment, and in order to keep that reputation, you need to dress the part. Nobody wants to hire a lawyer who looks like they just spent the morning on the beach. No one wants to buy food from a grocery store where all of the employees look like they’ve been rummaging through a dumpster. And no teacher wants their students to walk away from their classroom with only the basic knowledge of Alyssa’s zebra print thong. This is why we have dress codes.

This kind of attitude and behavior will not be tolerated when you’re 25 working as an accountant. You hate the dress code and you quit on the spot? Guess what – they don’t care. You are easily replaceable and they would rather work with someone who follows the rules to their business than deal with someone who doesn’t. It’s just a headache that can be avoided.

The only time I typically agree with arguments about dress code within middle school and high school students is because they get in a hissy fit when a girl wears a pair of yoga pants. That’s taking it a bit far, don’t you think? What honest-to-God difference does it make if the girl wears tight-fitted jeans one day and then a pair of yoga pants the next? They are still covering the legs, so I’m not sure what the problem is. Her ass is still the same regardless of the material so either way, boys are probably going to stare. They are hormonal. There’s nothing you can do about that.

If you wear yoga pants when working out, and allowed to wear them in gym class, then you should be allowed to wear them outside of gym class. There’s nothing worse than being uncomfortable in a pair of jeans that is squeezing out your muffin top for the whole class to see while learning geometry.

Go ahead and wear whatever you want when you get to college. The professor could care less if you show up in your Hello Kitty pajamas as long as you do the work. But don’t expect to get away with it at your job. Showing up in the office wearing booty shorts and a halter will get you fired. And you better not use the whole, “You’re sexualizing my body” crap. It won’t work.

P.S. To the school systems: Please stop telling the girls that what they are wearing is going to distract the boys from their schoolwork. Now you’re just blaming them rather than just simply stating, “It’s school policy. Deal.” It’s just not fair, man. 

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Humor, My Idea Of Being An Adult

The Office

office

It’s been a few months since my last office job and even though the stability of work and a paycheck was nice, I’ve come to terms with the fact that working in an office is not for me. Some people enjoy the same routine over and over again, day after day and I honestly wish I got that same satisfaction. I look back on my office days and can’t help but feel dread and gloom. Here are some reasons why working in an office is not for me.

1. I Eat My Life Away

When you are sitting at a desk for eight hours, you can’t help but reach for the chips, chocolate bars, and pastries. It’s just like when you are watching TV. You have to snack on something to pass the time.

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2. Everyone Is On A Diet

Just like you, everyone else is snacking. Therefore, all of your fellow employees are on a diet. So when you reach for that third miniature candy bar, they snatch it away, letting you know they are doing you a favor. And you also get to feel like the cow of the group when you head out to lunch together and order a burger instead of a salad, dry.

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3. You Have To Fake A Smile

When your boss approaches you saying they have a really awesome project for you with animation and jazz hands, only to find out you will be picking out the new file cabinet from Staples, you force that award-winning smile. And it’s ridiculously painful.

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4. You Get Thrill Over Silly Things

You never thought of yourself as a person who got excited over mundane things but when you’re stuck behind a desk, you become that person. Your entire day is mapped out before you, so when you get a mysterious package on your desk that actually doesn’t belong to you, it means you get to walk away for a whole five minutes to find the owner.

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5. You Are Never Sure Who To Trust

It’s always nice to have that best bud from work who you can complain with, and tell each other the latest office gossip. But sometimes, you don’t know who you can actually trust. Is that best bud going to use your friendship as a ploy to reach to the top? Or is she going to continue the frivolous friendship like you hope?

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6. Work Parties = Awkward Social Gatherings Where We Discuss Work

You’d think with the free wine and food and happy-go-lucky atmosphere, that work parties would be the time and place to break out of your shell a bit. Get to know your co-workers on a more personal level, and find out that Grumpy Dan from Accounting actually has a sense of humor. But in reality, you will be meeting more people at your company you had no idea existed, and then you are forced to make conversation with them, and naturally the first bit of conversation that comes to mind is about work. So it’s just more work…away from work.

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7. You Still Have To Deal With The Public

I always thought that outside of my restaurant and retail job, that I would eventually land an office job that included not talking to the public. People suck. End of story. But I have yet to come across a job that doesn’t require you to deal with shitty people. I’m convinced they don’t exist. To some level, you have to deal with someone at some point.

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8. Fluorescent Lights

I’m reliving my middle school dances all over again.

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9. When Projects Go South

Your manager says, “Hey, can you build a schedule for me, and color code it? I just need to stay organized but I don’t have the time to do it.” Coloring? Hell yeah! So you create this wonderful schedule, perfectly neat and outlined to help with her chaotic life. You are so proud that your graduated skills of coloring in between the lines has paid off. Until she sees it and says, “Hmmm….could you actually start the calendar week with a Monday instead of a Sunday?” And then you start over, but you don’t care. It’s fine. She didn’t specify. So you fix the masterpiece until she says, “Actually, can you label my PTA meetings in red instead of blue? It just makes more sense for me.”

….sure. So you fix it. Then she says, “Mmmm, no wait. The PTA meetings in blue were fine. And can you actually make the boxes bigger?”

You want to say, “Why the hell didn’t you just make it?”

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Perhaps my next office job, if I get one, will be slightly better. It always depends on the actual job. Sitting at a desk reading and editing would be a dream. If only Michael Scott was my boss. 

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Festivities, Girls, Humor, I'm not a mommy blogger

How I Found My Halloween Costume

It’s August, but I feel it’s a necessity to think about what I want to be for Halloween this year. Mostly because I will plan and plan and plan, and then it will be the night before Halloween and I scramble through my clothes hoping to make something out of anything. Sometimes the ideas I come up with never work out so I’d like to be prepared. But this year, I found my calling, and it’s only fitting because of the way my life is going right now.

I haven’t made any announcements about this because it’s not something I’d like to scream from the rooftops all the way to Catalina, but I’m currently unemployed, and have been for a couple of months now. I jumped on the “I’ve just been laid-off” train, and while it hurt during the first week, along with inner panic, I’ve now accepted it. I spent three weeks in my hometown with family and friends and it brought me back to my former self.

While it was a huge blow to our current success during our first year in California, Sam and I both agreed this was different. You see, exactly eleven months ago, I wrote a post about being unemployed. I was losing my mind. We had just moved out here to Long Beach, and we were quickly running out of money, and I was still in school. I don’t do well in school if I have too much time on my hands because then I will keep blowing it off. I like to be busy. I was interviewing job after job, and the worst part was that I didn’t even want the jobs I was interviewing for. I was set up with the interviews through my staffing agency, and almost 99% of the time, they hook you up with random jobs that have nothing to do with your goals and desires. Ever since I was laid off, I promised myself not to go through it again. I’m quite tired of constantly preparing for jobs I have no interest in just because I need to get by. I have a furnished apartment, food, a car, and money in my savings to help me until I figure it out. My goal this year is to find and interview for jobs I truly have a desire to be in. I’m finally familiar with my surroundings with the support of Sam and our friends, and I finally have my Master’s. This situation is entirely different than last year.

But, of course, I’ve come to the realization I make a less than decent housewife…or housegirlfriend I should say. Sam will give me a list of things to do to keep me busy, and nearly every single day, I get started on that list around 1pm. It’s things like: groceries, do the dishes, vacuum, laundry, etc. And the sad part is that I don’t always finish the list because I know I have all day tomorrow to do it.

I’ve basically been channeling Betty Draper from Mad Men when she finds out Don is a manwhore.

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Back to the Halloween costume.

I didn’t have a robe. Just a regular, good old-fashioned robe for when I get out of the shower and just want to lounge for 30 minutes before actually getting dressed. I decided to use my Amazon Prime and find a nice, silky kimono robe to purchase. Well, the robe finally showed up today!

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It fits perfectly and it’s absolutely comfortable. It’s wonderful for this hot, California weather we will continue to have through October. But it’s the type of robe that I told Sam to not be surprised to come home to me sitting with the robe on at four o’clock in the afternoon with a cigarette and vodka on the rocks. And then it hit me.

I will just portray an extremely disturbing, gross picture of a lazy, crappy housewife for Halloween. I’ve got the robe, hair curlers, 1960’s sunglasses, red lipstick, fill a small glass with water and ice cubes because vodka on the rocks makes me want to vomit, and buy some candy cigarettes. BOOM. Costume.

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I have to pat myself on the back for actually putting together a costume made purely out of nothing. And at the end of the day, I’m laughing at my own situation of at least attempting to take care of the household. Kudos to those who are/were housewives because I’m just not cut out for it.

Until I find a job…Betty Draper on.

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