Yeah, that's right, moving is awful. Even when I'm moving into a nicer place, I'd still rather stick pennies up my nose until I have to go to the ER.
I had the pleasure of being the last tenant in a dynasty of continuous renters that lasted approximately 10 years. When I moved in, 3.5 years ago, there was already so much crap that wasn't my roommate's it was unbelievable. When my brother took her spot, we removed a TON of crap. Two couches (one of which I had to saw into six pieces because it wouldn't fit out the door), a bunch of kitchen shit, other random things like books/DVDs etc. Now imagine cleaning EVERY LAST THING out of that place that has been gathering dust somewhere in the depths of a cabinet FOR TEN YEARS.
That being said, my new place is glorious - completely brand new everything in my unit, including the ever-elusive dishwasher and a working AC. I have a pool, a workout room with reasonably new equipment and I live ALONE. GOD LIVING ALONE IS SO MAGICAL. I haven't unpacked some things because I don't know where to put them, so they're in the middle of the floor. AND THAT'S OK.
I did, however, sense some problems when I found out that I was balcony-less and therefore was going to have to part with DirecTV, which I love like my firstborn son, but figured I'd get used to the new cable company. I found out that not only am I only allowed to have Time Warner Cable, but it's 9 billion percent more expensive for subpar TV and internet than my beautiful DirecTV even after the discounts expired. I call our complex's "representative" and he nicely speeds up my installation to the day before I move so I don't have to go one moment sans internet and TV. Thoughtful.
Once it's installed, I go to work trying to find my shows to record on the DVR. I NEED DVR. I have no idea when my shows are on, and usually I don't even know what day of the week it is anyway. DVR is my lifeline. I set it to record Suits and Chelsea Lately and went off to do some other shit. Fast forward to two days later, and there's nothing on my DVR. NOTHING. Chelsea is on every night, so there should have been at least two of those, but it was empty. I decided to go through the guide and manually choose to record something. The little red dot appeared next to the title so I thought in the not-too-distant future I'd have something to watch that was recorded. I was so wrong.
After a long call with everybody's favorite customer service, it was determined that my DVR was broken and they were going to send me a new box. Basically they screwed up on DAY 1. The new box arrives 36 hours later, which would have been unbearable if I didn't have Hulu and my obsessive binge-watching of Korean dramas, and I hook it up. I call to activate it and leave it for a while so it can download all the guides and whatnot.
Come to find out the second box they sent me was COMPLETELY worthless and wouldn't even show the correct time zone, so now I have two broken cable boxes in my home and a really shitty internet service that can barely handle streaming an hour-long show without stopping to load 3-4 times.
Since I finished my Korean series last night, I thought I'd take my TV-less day to do some laundry. I've been hoarding quarters for the past 6 years because I've needed them for laundry, but apparently my new place has a card service. Great! No more quarters! I push the button on the machine that says "buy new card" and it asks me to insert a $5 bill. I do so, and voila, my laundry card pops out. Unfortunately, I find out after filling the washer with my dirty clothes that $5 is the price OF THE CARD and it has absolutely no value. When I go back to the machine, it only has a cash slot, so I put in the $1 bills I had in my wallet. NOPE. DON'T WANT YOUR $1 BILLS, GO HOME ASSHOLE. WTF? Then a lady in the room said that it only takes bills IN INCREMENTS OF 5! There's no coin slot, there's no credit card slot, there's just a cash slot that discriminates against poor people.
So I have approximately $10 in quarters, $5 in ones, money in my bank account and a bag full of still-dirty clothes. WORTH. LESS. Once I stop being so angry I'll walk down to the gas station and get me some 5s, but GOD THAT IS SO STUPID. I HAVE LIKE 12 WAYS OF PAYING BUT YOU WANT THE ONE WAY I CANNOT PAY.
Someone punch me in the fucking face.
Friday, July 18, 2014
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
RUNNING BACKWARDS
This sounds oh-so-metaphorical, like I'm going to inspire you with a tale of how I've found the right path in life, but it's not. It's actually literally about running backwards. Not a superfluous use of the word "literally" right there, by the way.
With all of the running talk of recent weeks, I had forgotten one of my most memorable 5ks. It was, in fact, the only 5k that I ran an entire 3.1 miles. The ironic part was I just didn't run the particular 3.1 miles that the race dictated.
Back in the spring of 2007, I was living in Dallas, dating a boy, and about to graduate law school. I was also in what was close to the best shape of my life and physically able to run almost 3.1 miles. I don't know what kept me going, but every couple of days I would go run on the Katy Trail, a paved trail through urban Dallas that followed the old rail line. At the time, there were only 3.5ish miles of the trail that had been completed, so generally I'd run 1.5, turn around and run the same distance home. If you see where I'm going with this, the Katy Trail is not a loop, it is a straight ass line that has a beginning and an end.
When I saw that there was going to be a Katy Trail 5k, I was excited because I knew I could do that mileage and that specific track, so I signed up. I was by no means a race expert, having run probably one 5k before this one, and I didn't pay as close attention as I should have to the instructions. I just looked up where the start was and got ready.
Since my boyfriend was going to be at work during the race and couldn't pick me up, I asked him to do me a favor. I would go park my car at the end of the Katy Trail, he'd follow me, then drop me off at the starting line. I'd have my key in my hand so I could get into my car where all my stuff was and be able to drive myself home. It was a grand plan.
On race day, we did just as planned. I left my phone (since this was pre-music phones, I probably had a Moto Razr or something) and my house keys in my glove box, taking only my car key. My boyfriend dropped me off at the start, I put on my race number and timing chip, and we took off.
The first thing that sparked some alarm was that while the race was next to the Katy Trail, it was not actually ON it. I guessed this was because of the number of runners, and they needed a street-width path to contain everyone. So I start running through the streets of Uptown with my fellow runners, and everything seemed A-ok. Then, about a mile in, we turned right. Um...we're going to turn back north, right? I mean the trail is north/south, so this east/west thing we've got going on is temporary, right?
I was semi right. As we ran east, we went under a bridge that was the actual Katy trail, and just as I noticed that up ahead we did in fact turn back north, I saw some people running on the bridge above me, going the opposite way. Wearing numbers. I was still a few bricks short of actually understanding my situation, but I'd run right into that wall in about a half mile.
It was as we ran north on a parallel street that I became completely aware of what was going on - at some point in the near future, the race path turned around and we ran back to the START on the actual Katy Trail. I tried to deny it until I saw way too many people running the opposite way on the trail a few hundred yards away. When I reached this point in the story, a friend of mine stopped me - "Don't you know that races ALWAYS go in a circle? I mean there'd be huge logistical problems otherwise." No, no I was not aware that races always went in circles. The first race I ran started and ended in different places, although we did make a near circle and finish close to the start. This NEVER OCCURRED TO ME.
I realized I had about two minutes before I had to make a huge decision - do I run the race on the prescribed track, ending up 3.1 miles away from my car with nothing but a car key, or do I just keep running straight until I get to my car? I had no way of getting ahold of anyone, no money for a cab, no house keys to walk home - I decided that in this state of emergency, I would just run to my car. It was a 6pm race, and I didn't need to be walking 3 miles in the dark alone, especially after running an entire 5k. I wasn't up for running a 10k.
So as I saw the turnaround approaching, I made the executive decision - nonchalantly take off my race number, continue going straight through the barricade, and pretend I was just "out running" and in no way a part of a race as I continued to run to my car. A Dallas police officer was standing at the barricade making sure no cars came through, and with my number now folded in my hand, I ignored all the other runners and ran straight past the cop onto the sidewalk of a busy street.
"Ma'am! You're going the wrong way! Ma'am!!" the cop screamed after me. I pretended like I didn't hear him and continued through the neighborhood as though I were just out for a leisurely evening run and not involved in whatever running activity may have been going on south of me. Of course I was completely alone this time, because all the people who DO take leisurely runs were running the race. So I stuck out a little bit. At least I'd had the sense to take off my race number.
When I finally reached my car, having run the whole way with only short stops for stoplights, I felt semi-accomplished. I did, in fact, run a 5k that evening, it just wasn't the 5k that the planners of the race specifically outlined. I got in the car and drove home, glad I decided to take this choice versus walking for probably another 45 minutes to get back to my car.
I timed myself at a rough 33 minutes, but I'll never know my actual time. I bet the race organizers are somewhat confused as to why it's taking someone over 7 years to complete a 5k. According to official records, I will be forever running the Katy Trail 5k.
With all of the running talk of recent weeks, I had forgotten one of my most memorable 5ks. It was, in fact, the only 5k that I ran an entire 3.1 miles. The ironic part was I just didn't run the particular 3.1 miles that the race dictated.
Back in the spring of 2007, I was living in Dallas, dating a boy, and about to graduate law school. I was also in what was close to the best shape of my life and physically able to run almost 3.1 miles. I don't know what kept me going, but every couple of days I would go run on the Katy Trail, a paved trail through urban Dallas that followed the old rail line. At the time, there were only 3.5ish miles of the trail that had been completed, so generally I'd run 1.5, turn around and run the same distance home. If you see where I'm going with this, the Katy Trail is not a loop, it is a straight ass line that has a beginning and an end.
When I saw that there was going to be a Katy Trail 5k, I was excited because I knew I could do that mileage and that specific track, so I signed up. I was by no means a race expert, having run probably one 5k before this one, and I didn't pay as close attention as I should have to the instructions. I just looked up where the start was and got ready.
Since my boyfriend was going to be at work during the race and couldn't pick me up, I asked him to do me a favor. I would go park my car at the end of the Katy Trail, he'd follow me, then drop me off at the starting line. I'd have my key in my hand so I could get into my car where all my stuff was and be able to drive myself home. It was a grand plan.
On race day, we did just as planned. I left my phone (since this was pre-music phones, I probably had a Moto Razr or something) and my house keys in my glove box, taking only my car key. My boyfriend dropped me off at the start, I put on my race number and timing chip, and we took off.
The first thing that sparked some alarm was that while the race was next to the Katy Trail, it was not actually ON it. I guessed this was because of the number of runners, and they needed a street-width path to contain everyone. So I start running through the streets of Uptown with my fellow runners, and everything seemed A-ok. Then, about a mile in, we turned right. Um...we're going to turn back north, right? I mean the trail is north/south, so this east/west thing we've got going on is temporary, right?
I was semi right. As we ran east, we went under a bridge that was the actual Katy trail, and just as I noticed that up ahead we did in fact turn back north, I saw some people running on the bridge above me, going the opposite way. Wearing numbers. I was still a few bricks short of actually understanding my situation, but I'd run right into that wall in about a half mile.
It was as we ran north on a parallel street that I became completely aware of what was going on - at some point in the near future, the race path turned around and we ran back to the START on the actual Katy Trail. I tried to deny it until I saw way too many people running the opposite way on the trail a few hundred yards away. When I reached this point in the story, a friend of mine stopped me - "Don't you know that races ALWAYS go in a circle? I mean there'd be huge logistical problems otherwise." No, no I was not aware that races always went in circles. The first race I ran started and ended in different places, although we did make a near circle and finish close to the start. This NEVER OCCURRED TO ME.
I realized I had about two minutes before I had to make a huge decision - do I run the race on the prescribed track, ending up 3.1 miles away from my car with nothing but a car key, or do I just keep running straight until I get to my car? I had no way of getting ahold of anyone, no money for a cab, no house keys to walk home - I decided that in this state of emergency, I would just run to my car. It was a 6pm race, and I didn't need to be walking 3 miles in the dark alone, especially after running an entire 5k. I wasn't up for running a 10k.
So as I saw the turnaround approaching, I made the executive decision - nonchalantly take off my race number, continue going straight through the barricade, and pretend I was just "out running" and in no way a part of a race as I continued to run to my car. A Dallas police officer was standing at the barricade making sure no cars came through, and with my number now folded in my hand, I ignored all the other runners and ran straight past the cop onto the sidewalk of a busy street.
"Ma'am! You're going the wrong way! Ma'am!!" the cop screamed after me. I pretended like I didn't hear him and continued through the neighborhood as though I were just out for a leisurely evening run and not involved in whatever running activity may have been going on south of me. Of course I was completely alone this time, because all the people who DO take leisurely runs were running the race. So I stuck out a little bit. At least I'd had the sense to take off my race number.
When I finally reached my car, having run the whole way with only short stops for stoplights, I felt semi-accomplished. I did, in fact, run a 5k that evening, it just wasn't the 5k that the planners of the race specifically outlined. I got in the car and drove home, glad I decided to take this choice versus walking for probably another 45 minutes to get back to my car.
I timed myself at a rough 33 minutes, but I'll never know my actual time. I bet the race organizers are somewhat confused as to why it's taking someone over 7 years to complete a 5k. According to official records, I will be forever running the Katy Trail 5k.
Monday, June 30, 2014
10 THINGS NOT TO SAY TO YOUR UNEMPLOYED FRIEND
There are two things worse than being unemployed: being diagnosed with a terminal disease and losing a close friend or family member. I'm lucky to say that myself and those around me are healthy, at least physically. Mentally I could use a little help...
I'm somewhat of an expert in being unemployed. There was that whole time when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life so I was more looking for temporary jobs than real ones (mostly because no one would offer me a real one with an out-of-date advertising degree and a law license in another state), then there's now - the "post-graduate-school-job-search" unemployment. My daily life is spent on the computer, filling out form after form of shit that is on the resume I uploaded but the company wants me to take the time to fill it out AGAIN. It is not a good life. It is a shitty, shitty life where you have to ask other people for money (my parents) and generally feel terrible about how much of a complete failure you have become.
So to make my life a tiny bit less shitty, let's agree that we should not ask the following questions:
"So, how's the job search going?" - Um, fucking terrible, thank you for asking. I literally have nothing in my life but searching for jobs, asking for jobs, or talking about jobs I'm applying for, so if I don't bring it up, it's probably NOT GOING TOO WELL. People like to share good news. I am one of those people. When I get an interview, since it's such a rare occasion, I blast that news all over social media and hire a plane to fly a banner. So if I don't bring up some lovely tidbit about how I got a lead on a job or had an interview or someone called me, ASSUME IT'S NOT GOING WELL.
"Have you heard from Company X?" Once again, do you think I'd keep it from you if I'd just been hired? NO. I would probably incite a riot with glitter and unicorns and trombones so that the entire city of LA would know I was newly employed with Company X. OH, I FORGOT TO MENTION, I GOT A JOB, SINCE I'VE BEEN SO BUSY NOT HAVING ONE FOR SO LONG. If I haven't said anything, the answer is NO, I haven't heard, or worse, they rejected me. Thanks for bringing that up.
"Have you tried, like, Starbucks?" Have you tried sticking your thumb up your ass? I'm sorry, but I just spent a fuckton of money to change careers so I think I'm going to stick to that area, thanks. And for the record, before I went back to school I DID apply to Starbucks, and they wanted nothing to do with me. I just added more education and backed myself into a seriously overqualified corner, I don't think this new degree is what I was missing when they didn't hire me the first time.
"You should go use your career services office. It's part of what you paid for." You are correct on the second part, I DID pay for it, and it's fucking worthless. I might as well go throw my resumes off a building and hope one lands on a CEO's head. The career services office may or may not have told me to "lower my expectations" and "take what I can get" when it came to internships, so I'd hate to see what they say about jobs. I had 2 unpaid internships, I really can't lower my expectations any more than that, since slavery is illegal. Whatever happened to "What are you interested in doing? We have connections in that industry, here are some contacts"? Also I have very little trust in you when you a) look 10 years younger than me and went straight into "career services" without having A CAREER and b) when you post "administrative assistant" jobs on the daily email to STUDENTS AND ALUMNI. Hi, we went to school so we wouldn't HAVE to be administrative assistants, thanks.
"Why are you moving to THE VALLEY?" Oh, I don't know, BECAUSE I'M FUCKING POOR?? Sure, the valley isn't on my list of "places I must live at one point in my life" but it's cheap, it's safe and it's surprisingly closer to my friends than Silverlake. And when your landlord sells your building you don't have time to wait til you get a job to go apartment hunting in better neighborhoods, you just find what you can afford where you won't get shot and you take it.
"Let me tell you about my recent vacation to Europe/the Caribbean/somewhere else you can't afford!" NOPE. Stop right there. That's fantastic that mommy and daddy paid to send you on a nice vacation after graduation and you don't have any stress about finding a job because you can either live with them or they'll support you, but I'm fucking 32 and that shit doesn't happen anymore. If you're my age and employed and taking a vacation, good for you, you deserve it. You worked hard, saved money and vacation days and I'd be doing the same thing. You're not who I'm talking to. And if you just happen to have boatloads of money for whatever reason and go on vacations weekly and continuously post about it on facebook, I might just have to unfollow you. And yes, I did go on a "bar trip" after law school, but it was entirely financed by my airline points and a gift of my parents hotel points. That's right, COMPLETELY FREE (minus food/drink/entertainment), unless you count the $100 copay from the ambulance ride and emergency room visit. So you can't call me out about being hypocritical on this one.
"Have you considered being a stripper?" Actually, yes, yes I have. There are a few things that get in the way of that career path, however - my profound hatred for being nude and inability to conceal my disgust of gross humans. That and I've been told that when I'm trying to be sexy, I look decidedly NOT sexy. While I consider myself in somewhat better shape than Chris Farley, my being a stripper would be very similar to that SNL sketch with him and Patrick Swayze being Chippendales - and people aren't paying to laugh when they come to a strip club.
"Isn't it nice to have some time off?" Look, I enjoy the fact that I get to choose my wakeup time every morning, but when "time off" is your default and it's not PAID time off, then NO, IT'S NOT NICE. It's not nice to spend every day on the computer searching for jobs, bothering your friends about potential openings at their company or paying for your gas in quarters. No, I don't particularly like the free time I spend on the phone with this or that company asking why my car/insurance/cable payment is late. And there's only so much time you can spend reading at Starbucks before you start to hate both reading and Starbucks. And life.
"You should move home (with your parents)" a) where my parents live is not "home" - I have never lived there nor do I know a soul. My home is here, and it is unfortunate that my parents don't live here, but they don't. b) if I did move "home," what the hell would I do? There are WAY fewer jobs in Columbia, Missouri, population 50-100k, than there are here in the greater Los Angeles area. If I moved "home" I'd have to work at Applebees with a side gig at the Flying J truck stop down the road, or I could pretend the last four years of my life didn't exist and go be an attorney again in a place where I have no friends. That worked out well the first 2 times.
"Don't you have money saved up? Weren't you a lawyer?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH go fuck yourself.
I'm somewhat of an expert in being unemployed. There was that whole time when I was trying to figure out what I wanted to do with my life so I was more looking for temporary jobs than real ones (mostly because no one would offer me a real one with an out-of-date advertising degree and a law license in another state), then there's now - the "post-graduate-school-job-search" unemployment. My daily life is spent on the computer, filling out form after form of shit that is on the resume I uploaded but the company wants me to take the time to fill it out AGAIN. It is not a good life. It is a shitty, shitty life where you have to ask other people for money (my parents) and generally feel terrible about how much of a complete failure you have become.
So to make my life a tiny bit less shitty, let's agree that we should not ask the following questions:
"So, how's the job search going?" - Um, fucking terrible, thank you for asking. I literally have nothing in my life but searching for jobs, asking for jobs, or talking about jobs I'm applying for, so if I don't bring it up, it's probably NOT GOING TOO WELL. People like to share good news. I am one of those people. When I get an interview, since it's such a rare occasion, I blast that news all over social media and hire a plane to fly a banner. So if I don't bring up some lovely tidbit about how I got a lead on a job or had an interview or someone called me, ASSUME IT'S NOT GOING WELL.
"Have you heard from Company X?" Once again, do you think I'd keep it from you if I'd just been hired? NO. I would probably incite a riot with glitter and unicorns and trombones so that the entire city of LA would know I was newly employed with Company X. OH, I FORGOT TO MENTION, I GOT A JOB, SINCE I'VE BEEN SO BUSY NOT HAVING ONE FOR SO LONG. If I haven't said anything, the answer is NO, I haven't heard, or worse, they rejected me. Thanks for bringing that up.
"Have you tried, like, Starbucks?" Have you tried sticking your thumb up your ass? I'm sorry, but I just spent a fuckton of money to change careers so I think I'm going to stick to that area, thanks. And for the record, before I went back to school I DID apply to Starbucks, and they wanted nothing to do with me. I just added more education and backed myself into a seriously overqualified corner, I don't think this new degree is what I was missing when they didn't hire me the first time.
"You should go use your career services office. It's part of what you paid for." You are correct on the second part, I DID pay for it, and it's fucking worthless. I might as well go throw my resumes off a building and hope one lands on a CEO's head. The career services office may or may not have told me to "lower my expectations" and "take what I can get" when it came to internships, so I'd hate to see what they say about jobs. I had 2 unpaid internships, I really can't lower my expectations any more than that, since slavery is illegal. Whatever happened to "What are you interested in doing? We have connections in that industry, here are some contacts"? Also I have very little trust in you when you a) look 10 years younger than me and went straight into "career services" without having A CAREER and b) when you post "administrative assistant" jobs on the daily email to STUDENTS AND ALUMNI. Hi, we went to school so we wouldn't HAVE to be administrative assistants, thanks.
"Why are you moving to THE VALLEY?" Oh, I don't know, BECAUSE I'M FUCKING POOR?? Sure, the valley isn't on my list of "places I must live at one point in my life" but it's cheap, it's safe and it's surprisingly closer to my friends than Silverlake. And when your landlord sells your building you don't have time to wait til you get a job to go apartment hunting in better neighborhoods, you just find what you can afford where you won't get shot and you take it.
"Let me tell you about my recent vacation to Europe/the Caribbean/somewhere else you can't afford!" NOPE. Stop right there. That's fantastic that mommy and daddy paid to send you on a nice vacation after graduation and you don't have any stress about finding a job because you can either live with them or they'll support you, but I'm fucking 32 and that shit doesn't happen anymore. If you're my age and employed and taking a vacation, good for you, you deserve it. You worked hard, saved money and vacation days and I'd be doing the same thing. You're not who I'm talking to. And if you just happen to have boatloads of money for whatever reason and go on vacations weekly and continuously post about it on facebook, I might just have to unfollow you. And yes, I did go on a "bar trip" after law school, but it was entirely financed by my airline points and a gift of my parents hotel points. That's right, COMPLETELY FREE (minus food/drink/entertainment), unless you count the $100 copay from the ambulance ride and emergency room visit. So you can't call me out about being hypocritical on this one.
"Have you considered being a stripper?" Actually, yes, yes I have. There are a few things that get in the way of that career path, however - my profound hatred for being nude and inability to conceal my disgust of gross humans. That and I've been told that when I'm trying to be sexy, I look decidedly NOT sexy. While I consider myself in somewhat better shape than Chris Farley, my being a stripper would be very similar to that SNL sketch with him and Patrick Swayze being Chippendales - and people aren't paying to laugh when they come to a strip club.
"Isn't it nice to have some time off?" Look, I enjoy the fact that I get to choose my wakeup time every morning, but when "time off" is your default and it's not PAID time off, then NO, IT'S NOT NICE. It's not nice to spend every day on the computer searching for jobs, bothering your friends about potential openings at their company or paying for your gas in quarters. No, I don't particularly like the free time I spend on the phone with this or that company asking why my car/insurance/cable payment is late. And there's only so much time you can spend reading at Starbucks before you start to hate both reading and Starbucks. And life.
"You should move home (with your parents)" a) where my parents live is not "home" - I have never lived there nor do I know a soul. My home is here, and it is unfortunate that my parents don't live here, but they don't. b) if I did move "home," what the hell would I do? There are WAY fewer jobs in Columbia, Missouri, population 50-100k, than there are here in the greater Los Angeles area. If I moved "home" I'd have to work at Applebees with a side gig at the Flying J truck stop down the road, or I could pretend the last four years of my life didn't exist and go be an attorney again in a place where I have no friends. That worked out well the first 2 times.
"Don't you have money saved up? Weren't you a lawyer?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH go fuck yourself.
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
26 REASONS NOT TO RUN A MARATHON
A few days ago Huffington Post ran an article entitled "26 Reasons Not to Run a Marathon". Although I haven't been as vocal about my extreme distaste for running in past blogs, I'm going to say it right now: I really fucking hate running. And while I didn't necessarily need 26 reasons not to run a marathon because I wasn't wrestling with that decision in my mind (nor have I ever), I still read it, and it inspired me to put together my own list of why you should never run a marathon.
I've run races in the past - some 5ks, a 10k and a 12k - and when I say "run" I mean "walked up the hills and ran down them really fast to make up for walking." My participation in said races was sometimes voluntary, sometimes not - in fact my first 5k I was told about when I arrived at the airport to visit my friend for the weekend and found I had unknowingly been signed up for competitive running, an activity in which I did not partake, competitively or not, at any point in my life.
Running is not fun. Granted, this is coming from someone with asthma and the lung capacity of a squirrel, but seriously. Other parts of my body don't like it either and they work just fine. Yet for whatever reason, I've had a dysfunctional relationship with running where I try it, remember it sucks, stop, forget how much it sucks, decide "maybe it'll be easier this time," sign up for another (short) race, begin training for said race, remember "oh god, this is fucking torture," reluctantly run/walk the race and have momentary happiness at the end when I get a free tshirt and a medal as though I was a winner of some sort. And I get really pissed if they don't have finishers medals for everyone, because what the hell did I get out of this if not some trophy that will jingle with all the others on my closet doorhandle for the rest of my young life?
I've heard people say after a race "I feel so great, I want to run a half marathon next!" What? I did a 10k and at the end I thought "I have no interest in ever running this far again, pretty sure I'll just stop here."
Running sucks. Running 26 miles sucks SO MUCH that I can barely express how dumb it is, especially since we're not hunting buffalo within a 50-mile perimeter for survival anymore. So below you will find my insightful and true facts about why you shouldn't run a marathon:
1) I really shouldn't have to say this, but do you people know about the first "marathon?" A guy had to run 26.2 miles from somewhere I should probably Wikipedia in Greece to a town called Marathon to deliver an important message, like a war was coming or the king died or there was an invasion of locusts, I don't fucking remember. Anyway, when the guy reaches Marathon with his message, completing his journey, HE DIES. He runs 26.2 miles and INSTANTLY DIES, because human beings are not meant to just fucking run and run and run and run.
So someone thought, "Hey, let's commemorate this historic moment by doing this thing that killed this guy." Because we also have competitions commemorating the Titanic by intentionally sinking a ship and seeing who can get to the lifeboats and survive every year, so why not try this other thing that has NOT BEEN ACCOMPLISHED WITHOUT DEATH.
2) It hurts. Running hurts me after about 45 seconds, but running will hurt ANYONE who does it for 3-5 hours straight. Your legs wish they were amputated, your lungs wish you would just take up smoking and your heart is just screaming "FUCK YOUUUUU" the entire time. The HuffPost article even talks about how marathons INJURE YOUR HEART, which is probably what happened to the poor guy that is rolling in his grave because other idiots are doing what he gave his life for FOR FUN.
"Don't eat too much fat! Don't eat too much salt! Don't smoke! It's bad for your heart!" We haven't turned these things into competitions (ok, maybe the eating thing but everyone acknowledges that's a terrible idea), but let's go run so far we break our most important organ!
3) YOU WILL NEVER WIN. Ever. No matter how many marathons you run, how fast you get, how much you train, you're not Kenyan (unless you are, in fact, Kenyan). There is nothing you can do to become physically Kenyan even if you go take a citizenship test (which has not been proven to make you faster), so ladies and gentlemen, you will never win a marathon. Everyone knows only Kenyans win marathons, and I'm pretty sure their flag has a dude running on it (I have no fucking clue what the flag looks like). So just give up.
4) Any event where it is not only possible but acceptable to shit and piss in your pants has no place in mainstream civilization. I have obviously not done it, but I've seen some YouTube videos that I can't unsee. Oh, gotta go to the bathroom at some point during the running of 26 miles? I can't bear to lose the precious minutes it might take to use a port-o-potty or at least a piece of foliage, so I'll just do it in my pants. Voluntary pants-shitting is just not something I'm comfortable becoming a part of America - I've shit my pants and it was most DEFINITELY not voluntary, nor did it earn me anything other than an ambulance ride and a really embarrassing walk of shame through a nice hotel. If people have to clean up feces off the street after an event it sure as hell better be a parade and the poo from horses, because people shitting in the street needs to stay in the movies with Maya Rudolph. Just...no.
Ok, so I'm pretty sure I don't need 26 reasons not to run a marathon. The first one should be pretty solid, and if you're not convinced, the second one should convince you. And if someone tells you about something good about marathon running, ask them "When that happened was any part of your body in pain?" They'll be lying if they say no. Even a child has the wisdom to know that "that hurts" means "maybe I should stop doing that." Apparently we lose that wisdom over time.
I've run races in the past - some 5ks, a 10k and a 12k - and when I say "run" I mean "walked up the hills and ran down them really fast to make up for walking." My participation in said races was sometimes voluntary, sometimes not - in fact my first 5k I was told about when I arrived at the airport to visit my friend for the weekend and found I had unknowingly been signed up for competitive running, an activity in which I did not partake, competitively or not, at any point in my life.
Running is not fun. Granted, this is coming from someone with asthma and the lung capacity of a squirrel, but seriously. Other parts of my body don't like it either and they work just fine. Yet for whatever reason, I've had a dysfunctional relationship with running where I try it, remember it sucks, stop, forget how much it sucks, decide "maybe it'll be easier this time," sign up for another (short) race, begin training for said race, remember "oh god, this is fucking torture," reluctantly run/walk the race and have momentary happiness at the end when I get a free tshirt and a medal as though I was a winner of some sort. And I get really pissed if they don't have finishers medals for everyone, because what the hell did I get out of this if not some trophy that will jingle with all the others on my closet doorhandle for the rest of my young life?
I've heard people say after a race "I feel so great, I want to run a half marathon next!" What? I did a 10k and at the end I thought "I have no interest in ever running this far again, pretty sure I'll just stop here."
Running sucks. Running 26 miles sucks SO MUCH that I can barely express how dumb it is, especially since we're not hunting buffalo within a 50-mile perimeter for survival anymore. So below you will find my insightful and true facts about why you shouldn't run a marathon:
1) I really shouldn't have to say this, but do you people know about the first "marathon?" A guy had to run 26.2 miles from somewhere I should probably Wikipedia in Greece to a town called Marathon to deliver an important message, like a war was coming or the king died or there was an invasion of locusts, I don't fucking remember. Anyway, when the guy reaches Marathon with his message, completing his journey, HE DIES. He runs 26.2 miles and INSTANTLY DIES, because human beings are not meant to just fucking run and run and run and run.
So someone thought, "Hey, let's commemorate this historic moment by doing this thing that killed this guy." Because we also have competitions commemorating the Titanic by intentionally sinking a ship and seeing who can get to the lifeboats and survive every year, so why not try this other thing that has NOT BEEN ACCOMPLISHED WITHOUT DEATH.
2) It hurts. Running hurts me after about 45 seconds, but running will hurt ANYONE who does it for 3-5 hours straight. Your legs wish they were amputated, your lungs wish you would just take up smoking and your heart is just screaming "FUCK YOUUUUU" the entire time. The HuffPost article even talks about how marathons INJURE YOUR HEART, which is probably what happened to the poor guy that is rolling in his grave because other idiots are doing what he gave his life for FOR FUN.
"Don't eat too much fat! Don't eat too much salt! Don't smoke! It's bad for your heart!" We haven't turned these things into competitions (ok, maybe the eating thing but everyone acknowledges that's a terrible idea), but let's go run so far we break our most important organ!
3) YOU WILL NEVER WIN. Ever. No matter how many marathons you run, how fast you get, how much you train, you're not Kenyan (unless you are, in fact, Kenyan). There is nothing you can do to become physically Kenyan even if you go take a citizenship test (which has not been proven to make you faster), so ladies and gentlemen, you will never win a marathon. Everyone knows only Kenyans win marathons, and I'm pretty sure their flag has a dude running on it (I have no fucking clue what the flag looks like). So just give up.
4) Any event where it is not only possible but acceptable to shit and piss in your pants has no place in mainstream civilization. I have obviously not done it, but I've seen some YouTube videos that I can't unsee. Oh, gotta go to the bathroom at some point during the running of 26 miles? I can't bear to lose the precious minutes it might take to use a port-o-potty or at least a piece of foliage, so I'll just do it in my pants. Voluntary pants-shitting is just not something I'm comfortable becoming a part of America - I've shit my pants and it was most DEFINITELY not voluntary, nor did it earn me anything other than an ambulance ride and a really embarrassing walk of shame through a nice hotel. If people have to clean up feces off the street after an event it sure as hell better be a parade and the poo from horses, because people shitting in the street needs to stay in the movies with Maya Rudolph. Just...no.
Ok, so I'm pretty sure I don't need 26 reasons not to run a marathon. The first one should be pretty solid, and if you're not convinced, the second one should convince you. And if someone tells you about something good about marathon running, ask them "When that happened was any part of your body in pain?" They'll be lying if they say no. Even a child has the wisdom to know that "that hurts" means "maybe I should stop doing that." Apparently we lose that wisdom over time.
Saturday, May 24, 2014
I WANT TO LIVE IN AN OLD FOLKS HOME
No, stupid, not like a nursing home - I suppose they're called "retirement communities," basically apartments that don't allow anyone under 65 to live there. I passed one walking to the grocery store and looked at how nice all plants on the balconies were, how well it was kept up, and I began to think - this is the perfect place for me!
Somewhere not too deep in my soul lives a crotchety old lady who wants to yell at kids to get off her lawn and play bingo on Wednesday nights. Let's face it, I'm not fun anymore. I don't want to go out after 10pm, my body pretty much rejects alcohol, I can't handle loud noises or crowds and I really don't want to see anyone except my smallish group of friends. How is that NOT like an old person?
Here is a not-quite-exhaustive list of why I really need to live in senior housing:
1) Quiet. - When you live in normal apartments, people are young and do things like "party" and "stomp for no good reason." I doubt I'll have to go ask Clarence upstairs to turn down the bass to his music because I can't sleep at 2am. And you DEFINITELY won't hear your next door neighbors having "intimate relations" (don't you DARE try to convince me that old people have sex, I have enough emotional issues already without that mental picture). Although the loud TVs might get to me, they'll be turned off before bedtime at 8pm so it won't be a problem.
2) I hate people. - You know it's true. I don't want to talk to strangers or have to interact with human beings under circumstances that I myself have not created. My social anxiety makes it hard to even go sit at a pool that's got a group of people hanging around it for fear they might try and talk to me and I won't have anything cool to say. Old people are the best. They're too old to give a shit about being cool, as noted by the gentleman I saw walking around the lake last week wearing a full track suit and cargo shorts OVER his track pants. And they like to bitch. I could complain allllll day with a group of old folks. We hate the same things - kids, noisy dogs, hippies, it not being the perfect temperature at all times.
3) Bingo - I fucking love bingo. Probably because the first time I went I won $400, but still, I enjoy a rousing game of bingo when there is a monetary reward at stake. I don't even know where to play bingo in LA, except drag queen bingo where the prize is likely something I'm highly uninterested in. I don't want to go hang out at a bar, those are loud. They have people. Sometimes a lot of people in a small space. DISLIKE. I'd love to, however, go out on the patio and play bingo after dinner, where no one is expecting me to stay until midnight and I still have time afterwards to watch some Netflix.
As long as the "old person smell" doesn't permeate my apartment unit, I'd be perfectly fine. And maybe those places offer free dinner too...I don't know, I haven't really looked into it, but that'd be a giant plus. Little old ladies like to bake things for people, I bet they'd bring me treats on a regular basis. Wow, this is sounding better and better - and I'm realizing just what a crotchety old fart I actually am. And yes, I probably will watch Law and Order after publishing this, shut up.
Somewhere not too deep in my soul lives a crotchety old lady who wants to yell at kids to get off her lawn and play bingo on Wednesday nights. Let's face it, I'm not fun anymore. I don't want to go out after 10pm, my body pretty much rejects alcohol, I can't handle loud noises or crowds and I really don't want to see anyone except my smallish group of friends. How is that NOT like an old person?
Here is a not-quite-exhaustive list of why I really need to live in senior housing:
1) Quiet. - When you live in normal apartments, people are young and do things like "party" and "stomp for no good reason." I doubt I'll have to go ask Clarence upstairs to turn down the bass to his music because I can't sleep at 2am. And you DEFINITELY won't hear your next door neighbors having "intimate relations" (don't you DARE try to convince me that old people have sex, I have enough emotional issues already without that mental picture). Although the loud TVs might get to me, they'll be turned off before bedtime at 8pm so it won't be a problem.
2) I hate people. - You know it's true. I don't want to talk to strangers or have to interact with human beings under circumstances that I myself have not created. My social anxiety makes it hard to even go sit at a pool that's got a group of people hanging around it for fear they might try and talk to me and I won't have anything cool to say. Old people are the best. They're too old to give a shit about being cool, as noted by the gentleman I saw walking around the lake last week wearing a full track suit and cargo shorts OVER his track pants. And they like to bitch. I could complain allllll day with a group of old folks. We hate the same things - kids, noisy dogs, hippies, it not being the perfect temperature at all times.
3) Bingo - I fucking love bingo. Probably because the first time I went I won $400, but still, I enjoy a rousing game of bingo when there is a monetary reward at stake. I don't even know where to play bingo in LA, except drag queen bingo where the prize is likely something I'm highly uninterested in. I don't want to go hang out at a bar, those are loud. They have people. Sometimes a lot of people in a small space. DISLIKE. I'd love to, however, go out on the patio and play bingo after dinner, where no one is expecting me to stay until midnight and I still have time afterwards to watch some Netflix.
As long as the "old person smell" doesn't permeate my apartment unit, I'd be perfectly fine. And maybe those places offer free dinner too...I don't know, I haven't really looked into it, but that'd be a giant plus. Little old ladies like to bake things for people, I bet they'd bring me treats on a regular basis. Wow, this is sounding better and better - and I'm realizing just what a crotchety old fart I actually am. And yes, I probably will watch Law and Order after publishing this, shut up.
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
WHAT I LEARNED IN HONG KONG
A year ago, if I was searching for a full-time job with decent pay I'd be excited because I could afford a nicer apartment and things like fancy purses or bulk purchases at Forever21. Now, while I obviously need money to feed myself and pay for a place to live, my outlook is completely different. I'm dying to save some money to go on a trip - and not to Hawaii or Cancun, I want to go back to Asia, or Europe, or somewhere in South America where I won't be kidnapped and sold into the slave trade by drug czars (that still happens, right?). So here's how two months living on the other side of the world changed my life:
1) I now know that I can happily live in a prison-cell-sized apartment because I'll only be there for a few hours of awake time a day.
2) Living in LA made me not even think twice about the fact that everyone around me was speaking another language.
3) If I lived somewhere with public transportation I would legitimately never have to exercise.
4) Food in other countries is apparently better for you than food in the US because it's less processed (also helping with #3)
5) Exploring is a perfectly acceptable daytime activity if you're bored.
6) The best place to have alone time is in a place where no one knows you or speaks your language. That way you can't even be bothered with other people's problems, because you don't understand what the hell they're saying.
7) Other cultures are fascinating - from the subway ads to the local stores, everything is new and interesting.
8) I need a better camera.
9) I want to eat all the things. Except the eyeballs and intestines, but everything else.
10) I have adequately trained my stomach to handle street food like a champ.
11) I can walk into a tiny noodle shop alone with no English signs, order food, eat and pay simply by pointing.
12) No one else understands the joy of an ice cold beverage like Americans. Someone needs to invent an ice fanny pack so we can bring our own to restaurants in case of emergency.
13) I want to go ALL THE PLACES and I have some serious catching up to do.
14) Someone please list all the countries that have squat toilets so that I may be adequately prepared and/or avoid them altogether.
1) I now know that I can happily live in a prison-cell-sized apartment because I'll only be there for a few hours of awake time a day.
2) Living in LA made me not even think twice about the fact that everyone around me was speaking another language.
3) If I lived somewhere with public transportation I would legitimately never have to exercise.
4) Food in other countries is apparently better for you than food in the US because it's less processed (also helping with #3)
5) Exploring is a perfectly acceptable daytime activity if you're bored.
6) The best place to have alone time is in a place where no one knows you or speaks your language. That way you can't even be bothered with other people's problems, because you don't understand what the hell they're saying.
7) Other cultures are fascinating - from the subway ads to the local stores, everything is new and interesting.
8) I need a better camera.
9) I want to eat all the things. Except the eyeballs and intestines, but everything else.
10) I have adequately trained my stomach to handle street food like a champ.
11) I can walk into a tiny noodle shop alone with no English signs, order food, eat and pay simply by pointing.
12) No one else understands the joy of an ice cold beverage like Americans. Someone needs to invent an ice fanny pack so we can bring our own to restaurants in case of emergency.
13) I want to go ALL THE PLACES and I have some serious catching up to do.
14) Someone please list all the countries that have squat toilets so that I may be adequately prepared and/or avoid them altogether.
Sunday, April 13, 2014
TRADING IN FOR A NEWER MODEL
I think bodies should have warranties. I'd like to think that my body was made to last until at least 40 without any major overhauls or malfunctioning parts, but unfortunately it doesn't appear to work this way. If it did, I'd march right in to the body office and tell them "Hi, I need a new body, this one is defective."
I make old jokes all the time because I'm over 30. I don't really think I'm old, and I sure as hell don't act like I am. That's just one of those things, once you turn 30 you're officially an "adult" and supposed to do adult things. I know plenty of my friends who look their age, and a decent number who look younger. I fall into the latter category. I've been told 24-25 is what people would assume if I were a stranger and they knew nothing about me. So obviously my face, hair and skin are not defective because I don't even look as old as I am.
I can tell you just about exactly when I started feeling physically old - when I was only 28. Until then I could drink like a pro, exercise without injury, wake up without random body aches and pains, and generally go about my business without something breaking. I wasn't aware that this was something to be cherished and treasured, I just thought I was NORMAL.
Then 28 rolls around. I notice a few problems creeping up - namely my relationship with alcohol. Alcohol and I were relatively good friends, especially during law school when I took it upon myself to make up for 4 years of college with a boyfriend. I rarely had hangovers, almost never vomited, and headaches didn't exist. Up until that time the only headaches I'd ever had were in relation to an illness.
Magically alcohol became my enemy. I don't know if they changed the formula but I'm pretty sure that would've been newsworthy, so I'm guessing it was my body that changed and not the booze. Over the past 4 years I've gone from "no hangover" to "hangover WHILE I'M STILL DRINKING". Yes, my friends, I actually begin my hangover approximately 2 hours after I start drinking. Headache, nausea, bloating (dear god I bloat like a fucking Macy's balloon, so sexy right?) are all happening when I'm STILL AT THE BAR. Wonder why I never meet anyone when I'm out? BECAUSE I'M THINKING ABOUT HOW TO KILL MYSELF.
One beer? Feel like death. One glass of wine? Feel like death. You get the picture. The only reason I haven't given up alcohol completely is because I must be drunk to be around drunk people. Think I don't like people normally? I DESPISE drunk people when I'm sober. So I drink not to hate.
The other thing is that alcohol is the bringer of bad decisions. In your 20s, those bad decisions involve things like random strangers, binge-eating a dozen donuts and waking up on a park bench in a strange city wearing hospital scrubs - and at least they come with a good story. Bad decisions in your 30s also can be fueled by alcohol, they're just a little less exciting and have long-term consequences, such as "I'm going to do the splits without stretching because this random fat guy is going to try and I used to be a dancer 14 YEARS AGO".
My hamstring and I are still not on the best of terms, and that was over a month ago. Hey buddy, why don't you heal yourself up like you would if I were 23 again, I got shit to do. If I'm dancing at a bar or club, I can't do certain moves because I HAVE OLD KNEES. I leave work every day wishing I was dating a masseuse because my neck and shoulders have all but detached from my body. And now I have back problems. WHO HAS BACK PROBLEMS WHEN THEY'RE 32?!?
This is the second time in a year my back has gone all old-lady on me, making moving difficult and hurting even when I'm doing things that require no movement, like SLEEPING. For real? I'm not obese or a smoker or addicted to meth, so I really shouldn't be dealing with this until I'm 50. So now I have to forgo exercise of all types until my back heals up while taking more pills than an AIDS patient.
My right ankle pretty much doesn't have tendons. The damn thing will give out while I'm simply walking, and I've sprained it to the point of incapacitation at least 3 times in 2 years. I had a stress fracture in my right shin from training for a race a few years ago, and sometimes the damn thing still aches. I feel like one of those weird old people who can feel weather changes in their bones, telling you all about it while force-feeding you Werther's Originals. And keep this in mind - I'm not an athlete. These are not sports injuries due to overuse, these are "I tripped over my own feet walking into the bathroom" type injuries.
And let's not mention the two times I had to go to the hospital to get an IV, one of which may or may not have been at a Chinese restaurant where I had to be carried to the car by a gigantic Chinese linebacker who happened to be wandering around the restaurant looking for damsels in distress. It's even worse when you're in the hospital bed while your mother and grandmother (65 and 94 respectively) look on in perfect health with worry in their eyes. REALLY? MY GRANDMA'S BODY FUNCTIONS BETTER THAN MINE? Good god.
The real irony here is the fact that the one part of my body that functions most effectively? MY BRAIN. Yeah. Chew on that for a little while.
I make old jokes all the time because I'm over 30. I don't really think I'm old, and I sure as hell don't act like I am. That's just one of those things, once you turn 30 you're officially an "adult" and supposed to do adult things. I know plenty of my friends who look their age, and a decent number who look younger. I fall into the latter category. I've been told 24-25 is what people would assume if I were a stranger and they knew nothing about me. So obviously my face, hair and skin are not defective because I don't even look as old as I am.
I can tell you just about exactly when I started feeling physically old - when I was only 28. Until then I could drink like a pro, exercise without injury, wake up without random body aches and pains, and generally go about my business without something breaking. I wasn't aware that this was something to be cherished and treasured, I just thought I was NORMAL.
Then 28 rolls around. I notice a few problems creeping up - namely my relationship with alcohol. Alcohol and I were relatively good friends, especially during law school when I took it upon myself to make up for 4 years of college with a boyfriend. I rarely had hangovers, almost never vomited, and headaches didn't exist. Up until that time the only headaches I'd ever had were in relation to an illness.
Magically alcohol became my enemy. I don't know if they changed the formula but I'm pretty sure that would've been newsworthy, so I'm guessing it was my body that changed and not the booze. Over the past 4 years I've gone from "no hangover" to "hangover WHILE I'M STILL DRINKING". Yes, my friends, I actually begin my hangover approximately 2 hours after I start drinking. Headache, nausea, bloating (dear god I bloat like a fucking Macy's balloon, so sexy right?) are all happening when I'm STILL AT THE BAR. Wonder why I never meet anyone when I'm out? BECAUSE I'M THINKING ABOUT HOW TO KILL MYSELF.
One beer? Feel like death. One glass of wine? Feel like death. You get the picture. The only reason I haven't given up alcohol completely is because I must be drunk to be around drunk people. Think I don't like people normally? I DESPISE drunk people when I'm sober. So I drink not to hate.
The other thing is that alcohol is the bringer of bad decisions. In your 20s, those bad decisions involve things like random strangers, binge-eating a dozen donuts and waking up on a park bench in a strange city wearing hospital scrubs - and at least they come with a good story. Bad decisions in your 30s also can be fueled by alcohol, they're just a little less exciting and have long-term consequences, such as "I'm going to do the splits without stretching because this random fat guy is going to try and I used to be a dancer 14 YEARS AGO".
My hamstring and I are still not on the best of terms, and that was over a month ago. Hey buddy, why don't you heal yourself up like you would if I were 23 again, I got shit to do. If I'm dancing at a bar or club, I can't do certain moves because I HAVE OLD KNEES. I leave work every day wishing I was dating a masseuse because my neck and shoulders have all but detached from my body. And now I have back problems. WHO HAS BACK PROBLEMS WHEN THEY'RE 32?!?
This is the second time in a year my back has gone all old-lady on me, making moving difficult and hurting even when I'm doing things that require no movement, like SLEEPING. For real? I'm not obese or a smoker or addicted to meth, so I really shouldn't be dealing with this until I'm 50. So now I have to forgo exercise of all types until my back heals up while taking more pills than an AIDS patient.
My right ankle pretty much doesn't have tendons. The damn thing will give out while I'm simply walking, and I've sprained it to the point of incapacitation at least 3 times in 2 years. I had a stress fracture in my right shin from training for a race a few years ago, and sometimes the damn thing still aches. I feel like one of those weird old people who can feel weather changes in their bones, telling you all about it while force-feeding you Werther's Originals. And keep this in mind - I'm not an athlete. These are not sports injuries due to overuse, these are "I tripped over my own feet walking into the bathroom" type injuries.
And let's not mention the two times I had to go to the hospital to get an IV, one of which may or may not have been at a Chinese restaurant where I had to be carried to the car by a gigantic Chinese linebacker who happened to be wandering around the restaurant looking for damsels in distress. It's even worse when you're in the hospital bed while your mother and grandmother (65 and 94 respectively) look on in perfect health with worry in their eyes. REALLY? MY GRANDMA'S BODY FUNCTIONS BETTER THAN MINE? Good god.
The real irony here is the fact that the one part of my body that functions most effectively? MY BRAIN. Yeah. Chew on that for a little while.
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