Friday, January 29, 2010

Boner of the Day

Oh man, how behind are we on blogging! I have no excuse other than work slays me and I've been sick - so I guess that's actually 2 valid excuses. Anyway, I got a boner for today's boner a few days ago. Gandy im'ed me about having to check out this sushi restaurant that serves live crustaceans, shellfish and octopussies every Tuesday. When we found out the chef was only 23 we both immediately Google searched and low and behold - sushi chef David Bouhadana. SHA-WING. He's worked at Morimoto (that's an Iron Chef!) AND he lived in Japan to study under a sushi master. Insert dirty joke here. I've also included a food boner as well, some omakase shit (look it up) from Bouhadana's restaurant.

Missed Connection

Getting a Missed Connection is something I recently decided to add to my bucket list, since there should probably be things on there other than fried foods I would like to eat. I find missed connections hilarious and I really want one, but if I guess in order to get one you have to check that shit on the regs and I am too lazy and forgetful to do that, so yesterday morning I decided to post my own.

I was on the train going to work when I noticed this dude on my right, reading a book who kept looking up at me. He was reading "The Russian Debutante's Handbook," a good novel that I have read a few times. Around four o'clock, I got bored of doing my real work and started thinking it would be funny to post a missed connection and simultaneously ruin the ending of the book for this dude. I would be all kinds of P.O.'ed if someone did that shit to me! So I went for it.

Then I got excited as a kid on Christmas morning and waited for the responses to start rolling in. And they did. All two of them.

The first:
I'm not the guy, but I enjoyed the re-cap. Do you live in Wburg?


And the second, from "" (I'm not fucking kidding):
hi, got pic?

I don't think "Sam" really grasps the concept of a missed connection and I wanted to send him an email explaining, but there is no way I want either of these nutty fuckers to have my email address, especially since "MaxymumSpyder" is most definitely a murderer and has probably made an appearance or two on "To Catch A Predator."

In the meantime, I will continue to make crazy rape eyes at strangers on the streets and subways, with the assistance of my new glasses that I decided I should be wearing all the time, after giving the sex eye to a cute dude with short black hair the other day who turned out to be a tall lezbo. Or Maybe I should just give up and start checking the women seeking women section. Meh.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Get Over It, Twins

Shanon just told me a story about how she ran into a set of twins (people, not ta-tas, and is that what you call them? a set? or "pair" maybe. I like "couplet," or "duo" perhaps, but I wish they had some kind of made up way you're supposed to classify them, like how you call geese a "gaggle" and lions a "pride." I would nominate the word "diptych" for this job, since I think it's entirely underused, but it feels a tad queersies.) and she accidentally called one by his brother's name and the mistaken-identity twin got their panties all twisted up about it.

To this I say, hey twins, get the fuck over it already. I have been friends with many a twin(s) in my day and it is high time they gave everyone (excluding their Mothers) a break. After a few drinks, I can barely tell my own friends apart and I usually see double of them and one time, I even hit on a dude I had got bizzy with on more than one occasion, thinking it was a completely different person just because the bar was dark, so pardon me if I can't tell the difference and every so often mistake you for the other person in the world who is IDENTICAL TO YOU.

My advice is, look and/or dress completely different from one another, or perhaps a tattoo of your name, or better yet, your TWIN'S name on your wrist. That might just confuse things even more though. Bottom line is, you guys get to feel each other's pain and have a bond the rest of us who keep all our DNA to ourselves will never know about and when you're in elementary school you swap places on April Fool's Day and everyone thinks it's a riot, so get off my clam about it already.

Airing of Grievances

Jenny's beef with lunch interrupters got me thinking about a few things I have been hating on recently. Allow to me to air these grievances.

1. People who ask you what you're eating while you're eating it. This annoys me more so than interruptions while I'm eating. My coworker hates this as well, hence everyone making sure to ask him what he's eating every day. But now I share his grief! "Is that pea soup?" "What have you got there?" "That smells so delicious, what'd you get?" Every single one of you can fuck off.

2. Speakeasies. Holy shit what the hell is up with this trend? Every new restaurant and bar is a fucking speakeasy. The staff all look like prospectors or moonshine makers what with their beards, suspenders and butcher's aprons. All the menus are the same and everyone's all about manhattan's and old fashioneds. I've never heard people talk about rye and bitters more than I have in the last month. The problem is that I actually LOVE all of these things, but if this trend doesn't stop then I will eventually hate them (even the lumberjack bartenders) and then i'll be REALLY pissed.

3. Jenny's love for Lady Gaga. What a bitch.

Thursday, January 21, 2010


Since Shanon is fessing up to liking faggy bands left and right, I may as well come clean about my own closet skellie: I fucking love Lady Gaga.

I tried resisting for so long, but somehow the trannie seed got planted and blossomed into a full grown hot mess and fuck me if I don't love me some Poker Face. I was in denial for so long, until I found myself in a hot tub last Friday night, with some guys and gals and Gandy, when all of a sudden I was all "who is that crazy bitch yelling PLAY LADY GAGA" and I realized it was ME, me who was screaming for the (supposedly) dickless chick's music to be played so I could dance with my gay in the hot tub to it.

I could chalk this up to the vodka I drank at happy hour, or the margaritas at dinner, or the Jameson I enjoyed while in the tub, but what I really think happened is what I will call the "Friends Who Shouldn't Fuck" syndrome. Everyone has experienced this at some point in their lives; you have two friends that you know would be a terrible idea to hook up with each other, so you specifically ask them to please not bone, on your behalf. Of course both parties agree and everything is all gravy boats for awhile until uh oh, everyone caught a case of the drunks! And before you know it, said friends are humping like bunnies on crack and blaming you, for putting the idea (that they never would have thought up on their own) into their innocent heads.

So yeah, I gave Shanosaurus Lez a bunch of shit for liking Lady Gags, but this is all her fault, you see. This in no way means I want to have sex with LG, cause that dude still haunts my dreams.

More "Who Am I"

Been awhile since I updated the Why The Fuck Do People Email Me Weird Things Always file, so here are some more, labeled accordingly by the subject of the email I received them in:

"The man who sexes my Mom"
This one is just funnier without an explanation as to why Andrew sent me this.

"Even the dog diggs the '73"
Chris sent me this one and it makes no sense, but you know when you get a song stuck in your head? This is like that but with a phrase. About ten times a day, I find myself thinking "even the dog digs the 73" and it makes me fucking bananas because then I start laughing and thinking about why it's funny and I never get anywhere. Vicious cycle.

"The Crotch. Boom" Compliments of our friend Alex, I have kept this little beaut in my inbox since August.

"Shave the baby" Blair always knows just what I'm into.

Remember my crazy former employer I mentioned previously? Well this is a picture he attached to his email wishing me happy holidays. I have no explanation for this either.

"Your new tattoo" I expressed my feelings to Andrew about how I hate being talked to whilst eating lunch, who then told me "I drew a picture of you being disturbed while eating a sandwich" and suggested Shanon and I get these as matching tattoos. Shanon is gonna be so down. Also funny he titled it "Don't Fuck With Lunch."

Harry Potter Land

ZOMG Harry Potter Land (aka heaven) is close to completion. Here are the things I am most looking forward to:

1. Butter Beer. FUCK YES.

2. Getting a wand. This is some epic nerdiness, yes, but as Jenny says I wave my Harry Potter flag high and proud. So you're damn right I'm gonna buy myself a wand.

3. Going with Gandy for his birthday. My HP partner in crime is just as tickled pink to go as I am. Believe me, when we get back and post up those photos, you'll all be thanking me.

4. Meeting my future husband. I am very confident that I will meet the man of my dreams at this theme park, be it an employee or visitor. Earlier today I decided that I wanted to marry a funny fat chef but I will also settle for a fellow Gryffindor. And that, my friends, is how I just out-nerded myself.

Lame Bands I Love

3rd Eye Blind. Fuck yes I love this band. "Semi Charmed Life" is the shit. That song is all about meth (an old habit of mine, unfortunately) and that video was all over SF. It's MY semi charmed life, you see. They clearly wrote this song for me. And I will love this band forever.

Vampire Weekend. I am super embarrassed about this one. The whole "ivy league rock" bullshit really grinds my gears. Ooooh they went to Columbia and figured out how to sound exactly like Paul Simon! What a bunch of boner killers. But goddamit "Diplomat's Son" is my jam (it's on your mix, Jenny). Fuck you Vampire Weekend for making me love you.

Yann Tiersen. I feel like a pretentious turd listening to Yann but if there was a list of Shannie's iPod's greatest hits, he'd be at the top. It's a shame that loving him makes me feel like a 60 year old.

Rabies = Terrifying

Last night I was explaining to Cara my newfound discovery of rabies symptoms and making fun of people who are afraid of water, when she informed me that rabies are apparently no joke and super easy to die from. She said that you die within TWO days, which I called bullshit on, since I am clearly a wealth of medical knowledge. Before, I was all foam at the mouth a little, bla bla bla, no biggie and fuck if I don't hate being wrong: "Once the infection reaches the central nervous system and symptoms begin to show, the infection is practically untreatable and usually fatal within days."

"Early-stage symptoms of rabies are malaise, headache and fever, later progressing to more serious ones, including acute pain, violent movements, uncontrolled excitement, depression and inability to swallow water." Great, now instead of just trying to figure out if I am sick-sick or hungover-sick, I will have to think long and hard about if I got bitten by a rabid dog while blacked out too.

Although the article goes on to say that most dogs don't have the rabes anymore, I started thinking about all kinds of other non-Cujos that could be potentially deadly that I never even thought to be scared of, like raccoons and shit. I previously thought raccoons were cute, since they do funny stuff like build forts out of trashcans and look like little burglars, but now I am just freaked the eff out by them. And recently, my friend Andrew was making fun of some irrational fears of mine so I asked what he was afraid of and he said bats. Of course I called him a pussy and would have gladly continued to do so, had I not stumbled across this lil' facto:"the number of recorded deaths from rabies has dropped from one hundred or more annually in the early twentieth century, to 1–2 per year, mostly caused by bat bites, which may go unnoticed by the victim and hence untreated."

Looks like I owe him an apology for the text I sent that said "Whoa. Just saw a flock of bats. You def woulda pooped your pants" because if I run into any bats from here on out, consider my pants pooped.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Island Livin'

Since I've been back I haven't been home for anything other than sleep. Last night I was finally going to rest but then had to have a work-related dinner. I ended up drinking a martini, two sazeracs, a pimm's cup and some other gin drink, all of which inevitably put me on some next-level craziness. I barely remember getting home but I think I called my ex and agreed to go to Buenos Aires with him.

Anyway, I'm so glad Jenny saved me the trouble of explaining anything about my vacation. It was rad! Here are some photos.

The gecko's looking at me!

A natural hot spring. Don't hate!

This is called nature.

The view from my balcony. I imagine this is what Jay-Z looks out onto every day from his yacht.

Fresh fried plantains by candle light.

That church was built in the 1700s. Crazy old yo.

Fresh fish and fried bread fruit. I like food.

The Valley of Desolation, aka Mordor.

Hour 5 of the hike.

Mud face.

Mama is not happy.

Farewell, precious Vans. I had to ditch these at the hotel due to sludge.

Shanon, Meanwhile

And where was Shanniepants (aka Dookie Hands and/or Squirrel Bladder) during all of these birthday hijinks? In Dominica, which I discovered is in fact, not the same place as the Dominican Republic. Live and learn. So she was not around to encourage my bad decisions with shots of Jameson, but she made up for it with this series of emails:

HA! Just got back from our 4th (and last) dive of the trip. It was so beautiful, I think I might go native! Seriously what would you do if I told you I was going to become a dive master and live on Dominica.

We're going whale watching this afternoon then tomorrow it's a 6 hour hike (3 up and 3 down) to the world's only natural boiling lake. Dominica is a volcanic island, you see.

Tonight "Dad" wants to "hit the town" whatever that means. He's already waxed poetic to me about his theories on why white girls love island boys so much but white men and caribbean girls not so much. The captain of our boat is kind of hot.

I responded that this might be the most epic email ever and clearly, I spoke too soon:

The seeker has caught the golden snitch!



And the piece de resistance:

Loved ones,

I have just completed a 14.5 mile hike up and down mountains, through rain forest and hell itself, all to get to Boiling Lake - a naturally boiling lake (195 degrees celsius AT THE EDGE) in the middle of a crater. The hike takes 6 hours there and back under normal circumstances. NORMAL CIRCUMSTANCES.

Today has been a nonstop torrential downpour. And of course it's worse up in the mountains. I now know what the marines in Vietnam felt like.

But before I get into my tale, I'd like to say happy birthday party to my lady. I hope you're all shit faced. IN FACT, I hope you're all shit faced WHILE reading this email. There are certainly parts of the comical in it, and I'd like to hope they are truly appreciated.

But so! Going to Boiling Lake was my idea because I "read about it on the internet." I haven't been on an all-day hike in quite some time so relished the idea of doing so in the tropics. David did as well, and Gideon grumpily agreed to do this, however they both made it crystal clear upon departure that this was my day and my activity choice.

The trip started off fine. It was warm albeit it a bit foggy. We had our local guide with us, a nice man named Elvis, along with one other hiker, a hippie yoga teacher from Chicago that is moving out here to - you guessed it! - teach yoga to tourists. Her name was Charity (um, what?) and she was staying with friends, one of whom used to live in Brooklyn where he (wait for it) used to play guitar while riding a unicycle. FOR A LIVING.

But I digress. So then it started to rain a bit. No big deal, right? Then a bit more. Then we were suddenly in the middle of Mordor and it was dope. Tell Andrew I said that. No wait, I'm adding him to the email. After 2 1/2 hours we made it to Desolation Valley (no comment) which was full of sulfuric streams and boiling pockets of grey mud. Lord of the Rings, bitches! It was rad. There was steam coming out of different vents and it smelled like the Bog of Eternal Stench, but this was some Middle Earth type shit.

And boy was it miserable. Nicky, remember when we did that 8 hour hike in the Marin Headlands? All up and down? Well this was like that. I currently have the jimmy legs times 1,000. Seriously stairs are out of the question at this point.

Anyway we FINALLY got to boiling lake and it was very awe-inspiring, blah blah blah, crap crap crap. I could barely see anything, except that it was HOT and the thought of falling into it made me want to poop my pants. (By the way, ever try to pee in the Rain Forrest when you're sopping wet? Squirrel Bladder held her pee for 5 hours.)

Then we headed back.

Three things:
1. Elvis said that maybe we should've turned back earlier because the rivers had probably risen and the rocks we climbed to get there (seriously this was some major climbing) would be too difficult to get back up. GREAT.
2. Elvis then said that he wishes he could predict the weather because then he would NEVER do this hike in the rain, not for any amount of money. Thanks for telling me that! Also, it's called
3. Finally Elvis changed his tune and said that we'd actually probably see more hikers along the way back. We never saw a single one.

David insisted we stop at the boiling mud pits again on the way back because he wanted to cover his face in it and look like a wild mountain man coming out of the forest. He looked more like the Wicked Witch when she starts to melt (don't worry I have a photo).

Oh! And photos - I have 3. This was supposed to be one of the most beautiful hikes but the Nothing swallowed everything up so we couldn't even see the surrounding mountains. And have you ever gone hiking when you're completely soaked? It felt like I had peed myself.

I'm too fucking tired to find my new friends and smoke weed!

Chris, I saw a fucking parrot.

Miss you guys, I want to die.

I'm sure she will follow this up with pics-a-plenty, but I thought I would go ahead and save her some trubs. And to prove I was having a greater or equal good time in Brooklyn as Shanon was having on vaycay, here is a pic I sent her, simply titled, "You."

Boner of the Day

Sam Worthington, the dude from that one movie. Sha-wing! Every time I see a photo of him I think "Damn he fine, who is dat?" Then I remember, oh right, that crazy awesome 3-D movie. Aaaand end story.

Suck It, 27

I fucking love my birthday. Some people (I hear) like to have a nice dinner with friends on their birthday, some wine, some good conversation, and emerge feeling a little older and wiser.

Now I, on the other hand, prefer to cannonball into the upcoming year of my life. Everyone knows the best birthdays are the ones you only vaguely remember, you're just left with a lingering feeling that you owe someone an apology but you're not sure who and have a third degree burn on your finger from the fireworks you decided to set off in the street on the way to the bar. Seriously, this shit looks like I've been giving handys to the Human Torch.

Other than that, I am feeling great about twenty-eight! Sure, I may be a stop closer to Saggy Titty Town, but Buster Keaton once said, "You're only as old as the women you touch," which, in the case of Shanon and myself, translates to the boys we dub boners of the day, so seventeen is feeling like a pretty good fit. Here's to many more.


The back, lower right side of my head has hurt for some time now. Mostly just when I press it and it's not unbearable or anything, but I know it's there, I don't know why, and it's apparently decided to set up shop for awhile. Naturally, I did what I presume everyone does when something mildly discomforting happens to them; freak out, assume the worst and annoy the fuck out of my friends (Shanon).

She then informed me that apparently when you catch the mens, you can't move your neck, so we ruled that out, but I still decided to pay a visit to the only doctor I can afford, Going on manages to scare the crap out of me and at the same time makes my troubles seem inconsequential because I start reading about all this other stuff that can go wrong, until I eventually forget why I went to the site in the first place. For instance, today when I went to the "Symptom Checker" and clicked on the Head region, all these nutty possible symptoms popped up, so I started checking them off to see what could cause things like a "Fear of water" and oh shit, did you know that means you have rabies? I did not. My favorite though, was a "Craving to eat ice, dirt, or paper," because I picture someone sitting in front of their computer, thinking to themselves, "Man, I could really go for a taco made of paper, stuffed with dirt, perhaps with a side of ice, what the fuck is wrong with me" and so they log onto good old Webmd and discover they didn't catch a case of the cray, they are just Anemic! And lookee that, I am now too busy wondering what it feels like to fear water and crave mud pies to think about how I still feel like I got donkeypunched.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Setting The Record Straight

I am currently in paradise. This island looks just like the one from Jurassic Park and some parts of Pirates of the Caribbean were filmed here. It's like my nerdy wet dream come true. But before I get back to enjoying this vacation, I need to air some grievances.

I was called a dude twice today at the airport! The first time a woman asked can I see your passport, sir. Sir?! The second time a security guard told the dad of the family I babysit for to go with his two sons to that other line. Two sons?!

Ok so yes I texted Jenny twice at 5:45am to inform her of these outrages but I was really peeved.

And in the interest of full disclosure, the dad of the family I babysit for later handed me the NY Times style section and said did you see this article, size 12 girls are really popular right now. Size 12?!


Now back to my fucking beautiful vacation.


I was woken up this morning at 5:30am, by a text from Shanon about how she had been mistaken for a dude by someone at the airport. Twice! She recently got a hair cut and although I have yet to see it in person, our video chat led me to believe it's a little more 'bo then she wanted to go. Normally I would jump at the chance to make fun of her for this, but my reasons for holding back are twofold, 1.I was tired as fuck, Shanon can't seem to get her thoughtsicles around the concept that her being awake doesn't mean that everyone else in her universe is awake also and 2. I totes feel your pain, homegirl! It seems like only yesterday that I myself was roaming the streets of New York, being mistaken for a dude left and right.

When I was 19, I was dating this guy Mike who was extremely attractive and also certifiably crazy. We had been out drinking one night at the bar down the street and made a pit stop at his house when he decided I needed a haircut. Earlier that day, we'd been walking around and passed a chick with a shaved head, which prompted me to comment that I wish I had the hackysacks to shave my head and prompted Mike to start trying to convince me that I should, so in hindsight, I really should have seen this coming. Uh, when he was finished, I looked like I had visited the salon of Edward Scissorhands, if he came down with a case of Parkinson's and then went blind. And thanks to the magic of beer goggles, I was really stoked. All the way up until the next morning.

I should also mention that this was right before Christmas, so I had to go see all my friends and fam with a shaved head and as an added bonus, my boyfriend left a few days later for Italy, for a little over a month, plus it was Wintertime and fucking witch-titty cold out. The look on Shanon's face was indeed priceless though, when I told her to come over cause I had a surprise to show her, then pulled off my ski cap. I think she almost Sinead O' shit her pants.

So what Shannie needs to learn, is how to use this situation to her advantage, as I did. Someone says "Excuse me sir" in a bar? Turn around and then make them feel really bad about it until you score an apology drink or two. Or just go out and try to score in general because you now have access to two previously untapped dating reservoirs: gays and lady-gays and, you know, when in Rome...

Boner of the Day

I'm gonna play surrogate Shanimal today and hold it down with these boner(s) of the day, thrown my way by Gandy. When I asked him where he was finding all of these lady-bonerrific boys, he responded, "Totally found a gang of skaters on facebook. Looking up all the friends." Keep up the good detective work, Nancy Andrew.

Wednesday, January 13, 2010

Smell Ya Later, Frigid Weather

Tomorrow I'm going scuba diving...

...wait for it...

...with the dad of the family I babysit for and one of the kids! Perhaps you remember the hell I went through getting certified. Well now I'm finally cashing in on my two lost Saturdays back in May. I leave for Dominica tomorrow where it is supposedly 80 degrees. Suck it, New York!

This should be an interesting trip as me and the dad like to get drunk and smoke doobs, but as you can see from this delightful Facebook photo I found whilst lurking, the kid (Gideon) is a hilarious pot head.

See you Tuesday! And happy early birthday to my 2nd favorite lady in the whole universe (after Lady Gaga), Jenny!

Boner of the Day

Soup! Holy shit do I love it. I had ramen at Ippudo for dinner last night, then some Tom Kha Gai for lunch. I am such a slut for good soup. This photo makes me weak in the knees.

Oh yeah and here's a picture of Mads Mikkelsen in King Arthur. Me. Ow. I think we can all agree that hot Danish men playing midieval knights is how sexy dreams are born.

Ballin in Nahleans, Shannie's Version

Like my counterpart, I too am having difficulty recalling our trip to New Orleans. By the last night I was in pain because my liver and colon had finally abandoned ship. Aside from the pig cheek, beignets and fried oyster po' boys I consumed there were also numerous slushy drinks with names like Hurricane and Grenade.

On New Years Eve we all ate some mushrooms and it was pretty nutty. There were all sorts of freaks out in the street. As Jenny mentioned, you're encouraged to drink on the streets out there so, for example, you can buy a bottle of champagne at a bar then take it outside to chug. Which we did.

We were all on some next level fucked upedness by the end of the evening so about every few blocks we had to call a "town hall," pull everyone over and discuss just what in the hell we were doing. Jenny declared herself mayor which I'm not sure helped out the situation much.

We finally settled at some tables to smoke weed. I was laughing so hard at this point that I peed myself (just a little) 3 times. Each time it happened I would yell out, "I just peeky-toed myself!"

Anyway, here are some photos:

Self service in the rear.

Town hall #14, very sloppy.

Reason for said sloppiness - drinking whiskey and a daiquiri at the same time.


On mushrooms. I admire Chris' stoic determination. Nicky's got that "I'm on mushrooms, you go girl" face locked down.

Purple cowboy hat.

Brass band. After watching for 2 minutes mushroomed-peaking Nicky demanded we leave immediately.

A rarity - the sober day-shot.

Ballin in Nahleans

The blog nazi has ordered me to write about our time in New Orleans, so let's see what memories I can dredge up that haven't been erased by booze yet.

If I had to describe New Orleans in one sentence, it would probably be "Disneyland for Drunks" because man oh man do they love the sauce down there. You can buy booze anywhere, the Walgreens sell handles of vodka and you can even pick up a flask at the gas station. Drinking in the streets is allowed and maybe even encouraged. Some bars just straight up did not close ever, such as my favorite, pictured below - Igor's.

As much as I heart New York and can't imagine living anywhere else due to my love of laziness and convenience, once in awhile I come across a city with such a good idea that it makes me want to slap NYC like an insolent hooker for not having thought of it first. One of these ideas is having a movie theater that is also a bar, as I hear they have in Texas, and the other is even better; a LAUNDROMAT/BAR.

Doing laundry is the pits. I never feel like waiting around there and I always get bored but am too antsy to sit there the whole time and read or watch whatever Telemundo soap is playing. Instead, I drop my laundry off about once a month (when I run out of underpants and bathing suit bottoms) to the little Asian ladies who admittedly do excellent work, excluding the one time I got my laundry back with a jockstrap right on top, but if there was a fully stocked bar in the laundromat, all that would change! I would have the cleanest clothes in town. Have an early morning meeting and forgot to wash your lucky power suit? Take care of that AND those pre-meeting jitters by knocking back a few mimosas, two-for-one from 5am-7am. You can even MAKE money while getting drunk at this place, if you have the ruples to push a spooky old drunk out the way of one of the slot machines.

I'll leave you for now with this epic work of bathroom art, or "advice" to wrap your mind grapes around, while I try and recall things in this town that excited me as much as this bar did.