Tag Archives: roommates

Mr. Too-Many-Text-Messages-Guy

Miss Swan (Raleigh Roomz…great nickname if I do say so myself) had been text chatting with this dude who does not live in R-town. He was all up on the text messaging. Like numerous times per day, numerous topics, far exceeding the 160 character limit, and not waiting for a response before he sends a billion more messages. It’s super cute. JK. It’s super something, but cute it ain’t. It is an excellent indication that he’s super into her, and also it’s an indication that he never got a text message etiquette lesson. I’m not necessarily saying there’s certain rules that you must abide by at all times, but there are just certain rules you must abide by at all times. This is more of a common issue than perhaps you might guess, so we will discuss it.

Dudes. Ya’ll know that girl who texts you 24/7 and is always responding to your texts within 2 seconds of you sending it. You know that one that doesn’t know when to stop. She is always sending something. It can be anything from “hey baby whatcha doin” to “OMG just ran into a friend from middle school at the grocery store, couldn’t remember her name, FML!” And you’re all like, I don’t care, but how do I say that nicely in a text? You can’t, so you don’t respond. It’s ok. We all do it. That’s the standard. Your phone goes off, you are disappointed to see it’s her again. She’s checking on you. Sharing some deep thoughts while you’re out with your boyz. You’re relaxing having a brew and she’s all waxing poetic about the universe and the Moon Lady. You just talked to her a couple times and now she’s all up on you like woah. And who the heck is the Moon Lady?! So you stop responding only she continues to send message after message. SO annoying.

Ladies. Ya’ll know that man be all blowin your phone up like he get paid top dolla to bother you all day. Trife. And you’re so tired. You don’t really like him like that. He’s SO nice and even kind of cute, but you just either a) don’t check your phone often enough to keep up, b) don’t even have time to respond because he’s sending them so frequently, or c) don’t really want to respond for fear of leading him on, because you just don’t think of him like that. But it’s so weird! He won’t stop texting! I mean like all day long! It is so bad in fact, that you begin to wonder if he even has a job or if he was lying to you about being a financial advice giver. How can anyone advise people all day and still have time to send super long texts uber frequently. I hate the word uber and yet I still used it because it is perfect for this situation. It is trife.

So how do we really know when to stop texting? How many is too many? What if some of them didn’t get through and you’re just making sure some of them get through by sending so many?? You just want to share everything with him. You just want her to know you’re thinking about her. Just so much to say. Plus you don’t get to talk on the phone because of your schedules, so what else are you supposed to do?! Here’s a thought: be rational. Technology is pretty advanced these days. Texts “go through.” They work now, pretty consistently. Fine, there’s the occasional delay or failed message. But it’s rare. 99% of the time (not a real statistic but it’s close to accurate I’m sure unless you live in the boonies), that ish gets to the other phone perfectly. Well he must be busy or something. She might be at the gym or washing her hair. OR…$20 to whoever guesses what I’m going to say next. He’s just not that into you! And need I remind us all again that it applies to both genders, so it’s perfectly possible that she’s just not that into you! Not sure if you are the guy who sends too many text messages? Here’s a good test: Scroll through your phone convo and see what the proportion of your texts to hers is. Is she super responsive and sending you long, informative, and cutesy texts? Fine and dandy. Are you seeing way more of your sent messages than her responses? Do you even remember when the last time she responded was? Time to stop and say no to drugs. Miss Swan’s little man needed to perform this test on himself so he could save himself from heartbreak and/or awkwardness when he realizes that he’s been having a text convo with himself.

Seriously, texting is super fun. It has changed the way we communicate with each other, and it has changed the dating game beyond recognition. Plans can be made without the two parties involved even speaking to each other (although MSP does not endorse this practice, despite using it most all the time). One can be in constant contact with numerous other people at one time, including one’s mother. And there’s certainly no rule that says you must take turns sending messages to maintain a 1:1 ratio all the time. But when your ratio is more like 20:1, you should rethink your strategy. Maybe it’s time to actually make a phone call, take her out, let her know you’re not just some lazy bum who can’t muster any more effort than text messages. Or maybe it’s time to re-evaluate the situation. She’s probably not answering you for a reason. And what is that reason? That’s right. She’s just not that into you. So how about you two open the lines of communication, figure out what you feel for each other, and please adjust your text message frequency accordingly. And if you insist that you’re just being friendly and you don’t even like like her, then you’re a) in denial or b) just really weird for sending so many unanswered messages. Seriously, get a hold of yourself and get a hobby and some new friends.

Holy Liberals, Batman! It’s California!

Ohmahgah! So I know it’s been a gagillion years since there’s been fresh juice from this orange, but a quick glance at my reader odometer tells me readership is not down that much. Thanks ya’ll. So what the heck has been happening? Tons and lots and mucho. Once again my social calendar is jam packed to the brim, men all up on my cell phone, ladies all jealous of my fab new haircut and shoe collection. And again just joking. Quick run-down: I moved out of my fab ex-roommates’ house (miss you girls) in Raleigh and came back to live at Casa di Momma Sassy and Poppa Pants for 4 weeks whilst enduring the torture that is 3 weeks of IT training put upon me by my gainful employer. I saw everyone possible, had a fun girls weekend, planned an awesome reunion trip to DC that I unfortunately had to bail on because hey! I moved to California!

There are so many stories I could tell/will tell eventually I’m sure, but for now I want to reflect on things that I have noticed initially that are SO different here on the left coast. Things that I have tabulated in my head over the last 7 days include but are not limited to the following items. There is no sweet tea here. Just “iced tea.” There are LOTS of Prius’s. Like LOTS. And people who drive them are more annoying than usual, with stickers on the back bragging that they passed some emissions test that every vehicle has to pass anyway in this state. Big freaking deal, you’re compliant with the law. There is no good college football, and no one really cares that there isn’t any good college football except for me apparently. I miss Chick-fil-a and Bojangles breakfast buiscuits and potatoes. Children are just as annoying here as they are anywhere else. Weed is about to be legalized here for realz, despite the fact that everyone knows it would get the hold-up from the Feds. I say it’s a good idea because then maybe California wouldn’t be about to declare bankruptcy every day. No one knows how to merge here, so that is something that reminds me of pretty much any place in the world I’ve been where merging is necessary. They love their organic yogurt here. Like in a weird obsessive way. They love organic anything here. The public transportation rocks. No one says “ya’ll” but me. Shampoo costs $20 instead of $6. Gas costs $90/gallon instead of just $2.50. Apartment hunting is just as difficult here as anywhere, but more expensive. A/C is not standard anywhere. Everyone has those weird looking shoe/sandal hybrids that I think are Fugly. The fog over San Francisco is gorgeous. It is not warm here like I thought it would be. And lastly, anyone who doesn’t have a Prius has a Mini just like me. It’s cool but also makes me feel unoriginal, BUT I bet they’ll all give me the peace sign back when I wave UNLIKE everyone in VA/NC who I waved to in a Mini. Jerks.

So that’s my quickie update! I have dubbed my new roomz Big D for lack of a creative genius moment/I’m tired of using Roomz and it’s confusing for all my previous roommates. He’s a nice guy and apparently likes to cook, which I see benefiting me in the future since we all know I enjoy bowls of cereal in liu of real meals on the reg. He doesn’t want to be talked about on this here jank so I will try to respect his wishes, but he must know (if he is reading) that if he keeps requesting to not be mentioned that the chances of me mentioning him increase. Anywho, we are getting along fine and both getting tired of being confused for a married couple. Buying mattresses together gives people that impression apparently, even when you are buying 2 queens instead of just one.

If anyone is coming to visit please do leave a note and we’ll plan some fun times! Alternatively, if you have any recommendations on places I should visit while I am here let me know! I have about 20 weekends until I move away, and I can’t wait to fill them all.

PS! New functions thanks to WordPress/whoever designed my theme! Rate enties, “Like” entries, subscribe to MSP! Subscribers get extra benefits, like being notified ASAP when I post something, and possibly future giveaways. I just came up with that but seriously it could happen. So DO IT.

East Coast Girls Are Hip, Southern Girls Knock You Out

Yes, I botched the lyrics, but it was on purpose for the sake of the title. And the reason that I am semi-quoting the Beach Boys’ famous song about California girls is because I’m about to become one! I don’t actually think I will “become” a California girl as I am not even sure what that entails, but I am at the very least moving there for my next rotation, and will pose as a California girl and/or a disastrously misplaced east coast girl living on the west coast for the next 6 months. Exciting! So I have embarked yet again into the wilderness that is Craigslist to try to find someone equally as awesome as my current landlord. I am highly skeptical since she is, like, super awesome, but I am of course maintaining a positive attitude.

Unlike the Raleigh area, Pleasant Hill is one of mucho cities in the San Francisco Bay area. There are a billion choices of little neighborhoods, town-ish places, etc. to choose from. Should I live 2 seconds from work again like I did here? Benefits: I am always late, a lesser commute seems to be helpful. Non-benefit: lack of social scene, lack of urban coolness. Should I live in San Fran and try my hand at super cool west coast urban living? Benefits: being a super cool west coast urbanite. Non-benefit: 30 or 40 minute commute, circa my first rotation in the ‘Mond going to and from Goochland, only longer and with more traffic. Hm. Other options include Berkeley, which looks pretty cute and is very conveniently located halfway between work and the super cool urbanism of SanFran (new word: urbanism). Benefits: awesome location, cute Victorian homes. Non-benefits/potential downsides: I am not a vegetarian by any stretch and did not vote for Obama…two things I fear will disqualify me from living in this region. But again, open minds, one and all. I’m not worried, truly, since I will be oozing southern charm and class from every pore. JP ya’ll.

I am also contemplating roommate choices. There are infinitely more dudes looking for roommates than there are ladies. While we could suppose why this is all day, we can skip that and move right on to the real question: can I or can I not live with a boy that I don’t know? There are so many benefits to living with dudes in my opinion, and should the occasion ever arise that I could live with any of my loving dude friends I would jump at the chance (with few exceptions), especially given that most of them are cleaner than me. Bonus. [Whether they would jump at the chance to live with me…whole other story.] But boys I don’t know are completely different. Benefits include the following: 1) Body guarding. Nothing like a big strong live-in dude to defend me from bad guys. 2) Reaching things in high up places. I have mentioned this before, and I know not all dudes are tall but I also know all dudes are taller than me. 3) Other dude friends. I love dudes, and not just because I may or may not simply love men, I’m one of those girls who refers to herself as a “guys’ gal.” Whatever that means. I’ve always had more dude friends than girls, so whatever. 4) Less drama! Admittedly, my current situation is a drama-free zone (which I love love love. Roomz, you rock) but we all know girls living together increases the drama possibilities by 64,789 times. Dudes are just simpler creatures, and I really enjoy this.

Non-benefits of living with a guy include the following: 1) Extreme skepticism from Momma Sassy and Poppa Pants. You may say it shouldn’t matter what they think but ya’ll they know how to play the co-ed living tsk-tsk card, and will play it until I am married and probably even then. Threats include everything from death to impregnation to “pig-sty bathrooms,” all of which are undesirable, and it’s extremely exhausting to defend all of this 24/7. 2) Some men are gross – see previous comment about pig-sties. Admit it dudes. You are, as a gender in general, just not delicate. It could be dangerous to my health. 3) He could be a skeeze. It’s always possible, and then I could end up…impregnated. Ahem. Anywho. Things to consider. I will obviously report back later.

Moving to CA means that this is my last week in R-town and I must admit I am close to devastated. I have come to love this place and will miss it and my new pals dearly. Also, side note, I’ll be back in Richmond for the rest of the month of July so give me a holler on my cellular device if you’re around! Miss Sassy wants to see you and your beautiful faces.

PS! If anyone knows anyone close to San Fran or has any tips for me please holler! Comments welcome. Visits encouraged. Sass present at all times.

How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences

Last night Roomz and I ventured out into the wild that is dt Rals. Tuesdays are ON FIRE let me tell you. Just playing. But seriously we did go out, and I’m proud of us because we stayed out until 1am! A record for me of late, as I am fast turning into an old lady who goes to bed no later than 10:30pm. Feisty. Anywho, we met some friends (yes, friends! I found some!) at this cool bar called the Flying Saucer, where they were having weekly Trivia night. Super fun, totally unrelated to the story. So we’re chatting it up and one of my pals brought up Miss Sassy Pants! This here blog loves to be mentioned in everyday convo because it means more readers and typically fuels the fire for some good sassy stories to share (spread the good Sassy news people). Which is exactly what happened here. I was saying that I am sort of boring lately and haven’t had any good stories or triflin messes to share…and my sweet little Roomz reminded me that I haven’t shared the gay waiter story! Oh yes. Now you’re hooked. So now Miss Sassy will commence to explaining How To Pick Up a Guy with Questionable Sexual Preferences. You know, for all those times you just aren’t sure.

Let’s rewind to the first weekend after I moved to the Rals. So picture it: Just met Roomz, know nothing about Raleigh, tired from the first week of work, stressed a bit from all the projects I was assigned, probably feeling a bit overwhelmed, not on my game. So Roomz’ friend GBFF, who we can all infer from his nickname is gay, comes to visit this weekend. We all go out to dinner to PFChangs, and while waiting for our table at the bar, all take notice of a particularly good looking waiter. I mean really good looking. Tall, dark, and handsome, mysterious, cute smile, total package. And he’s not a 50-yarder, which is a plus. So GBFF points him out first, saying that he’s hot stuff, to which Roomz and I instantly agree. BUT is he gay? GBFF thinks yes, I said no, Roomz couldn’t decide. Eventually we’re seated, unfortunately not in his section despite trying our hardest. Throughout dinner we all get our stare on, discreetly of course, and may or may not have drawn attention to ourselves while simultaneously eye-flirting with him throughout our meal. Honestly I don’t remember, but it’s entirely possible and probable. Then the end of dinner roles around and GBFF is stuck on this guy. I mean rage-at-the-machine in love with him because he is so ridiculously good looking. But what to do? It’s not a typical pick-up scene. He’s busy waitering, we’re busy with our teriyaki, would probably be rude to interrupt him taking orders at his table and ask him what sign he is and does he live nearby. Not to mention the fact that we still can’t decide if he’s gay or not. Conflicting gay-dar readings do not a concensus make. So Roomz comes up with a brilliant plan, grabs a cocktail napkin and pen from my mom-bag and writes the following:

Are you gay? If yes: GBFF, 919-555-0000. If no: Roomz, 919-555-0001.

Except she used their real phone numbers, duh. Then, when we had all paid our checks and were ready to leave, she bravely walked up to Mr. Hunky Waiter and presented him with the little note. Ballsy little gal! We walked out of there giggling like fools, vowing to never return to that particular PFChangs if neither of them got a phone call. Which they didn’t. What makes the story even better is that GBFF’s parents visited the next day and wanted to go to PFChangs for lunch. Clearly that didn’t happen.

The moral of this story is that sassiness comes in all shapes and sizes. While Miss Sassy does not personally give out her phone number to strangers or even good looking men in bars or restaurants anymore (unless it says “Mr. Perfect-for-Miss-Sassy” on his forehead), it is sassy to act if you like what you see. Because you never know where the next adventure will start. No, you probably won’t marry Mr. Hunky Waiter, but he might be a nature enthusiast just like you! And maybe he’ll take you out a couple times and you might get some fun flirting in. Why not? Do it while you’re young people because eventually you’ll be a creepy old guy or a wrinkled too-tan cougar. But always always always, as I always say always, maintain the class. Sass – Class = Trash. And trash smells bad, even from 50-yards away.

Where in the World is MSP!?

Here I am! Things here in the Rals have been absolutely crazy. My social calendar has been packed to the brim, boys knocking at my door/texting me constantly, girls want to be me. JUST KIDDING. This is real life, not a reality show. And real life means: I’ve been at work. No time for social anything or boys knocking anywhere. Maybe some girls want to be me in the office because I have the cutest shoes by far on the 4th floor (I mean, just saying), but I can’t speak for everyone. Anywho. Work consumes my every moment. When I am not there, I’m on the way there, getting donuts for my team, sleeping, eating, or weighing myself wondering how fat I will get before I have time to go to the gym. Not only do I have to be at work all the time, but I am busy at work on the reg. Which unfortunately means zero/minimal time to holler on the interwebs whilst at work about my sassiness and other trifeness in my life. But not to worry, I am remedying the situation. Points to me for using “whilst” in a sentence.

So work. My new assignment for my job is actually pretty great so far. I like going there, I like my cubicle (I know it’s weird but seriously – good location, window, and it’s not gray), I like my boss and my team, and the building is less than a mile from my house! Multiple perks. I haven’t met too many young people just yet so for now I’m chillin with the 40+ crowd. Yes, it’s super fun, especially when I don’t buy any of my own drinks ever because they all make “16 times” what I’m making. That’s a direct quote. Works for me. However I am in search of people my age so we don’t have to talk about wives, kids, or knee surgery – three things I know nothing about.

Next up, living situation. As I mentioned previously, my craigslist roomie is super nice. We have now been coexisting in her home for 4 weeks now, and it’s going very well so far. The main perk is that we watch all the same tv shows so there’s no issue with competing for dvr recording time. Very important. Also apparently there are some dude neighbors on our circle who we have yet to meet, but according to Roomz they are young and attractive. I haven’t had any legit sightings yet (shocking) however I did have this gem: last week I came home from work, put on my leggings, oversized sweatshirt, fuzzy socks and slippers (Roomz keeps it sort of cold in the house so I bundle up). I then decided to get the mail, which is located at the center of the circle in one of those bulk mailboxes. So get the picture: leggings, huge sweatshirt, super fuzzy pink socks and my slippers, hair up, glasses. Very glam. Of course one of these supposedly good looking dudes chooses this moment to walk out his front door. He waved and said hi. I gave him the best southwest VA “hay” and the least self-conscious and ironic smile I could muster. It was a classic moment, and after he drove away I laughed out loud. Anywhoooz, happy to be here is the bottom line on this jank.

Gym. Tuesday I went to the nearest awesomest Gold’s Gym in Raleigh. I heard through the grapevine that it is the newest and the nicest gym in the area, and as a major perk, has the highest number of young people in attendance. And let me tell ya’ll. It is SO true. I walked in there today to have my appointment with Rick (this picture is almost a true likeness) and was immediately flabbergasted by the wide array of attractiveness within. I mean it was shocking and I had to actively close my mouth more than a couple times. Remember when I waxed poetic about all the yummy goodness that was at the Richmond gym? Well this is like times 10. Luckily I am not on the prowl OR boy crazy, so it’s really all the same to me. But back to Rick. We met and discussed my body fat percent, body mass index, my fitness goals, and made a fitness plan for me. Tonight I have my first of possibly weekly appointments with a personal trainer who is going to whip my tush into shape. I am super stoked because my place of employment actually reimburses me partially not only for my gym membership but also for personal training sessions provided by my gym. Awesome perks, people. I’m pretty excited to actually have a plan when I go to the gym, instead of just hanging out on the treadmill hoping to burn a couple hundred calories. It’s going to be super sassy when I’m jacked and can kick some ass. Watch out!

Old Roomz, New Roomz, Yellow Curtains

Recently Mr. Smarty Pants aka new nickname Roomz (Roomz III truly, since two of my previous roommates have had this nickname) has moved into la Casa degli Pantaloni Sfacciati (House of the Sassy Pants, in Italian. Fun to say: “sfah-chee-ah-tee”) for a few months while he is job searching! All my life I have wished for a big brother. I wanted him to be older (check – one month), have a driver’s license (check) and a car (check) so he could drive me to McDonald’s to get french fries and a McFlurry (haven’t convinced him to do this yet). I’m not making this up, I really did want this. A little girls dream, no? It is painfully obvious I am an only child. What big brother would ever drive his annoying little sister to McDonald’s?? I was delusional. But luckily for my new Roomz, I no longer eat fast food (except on special occasions like today when I went to 5 guys…heart attack for one please), and also I have my very own driver’s license and vehicle! Anyway, having a roommate/brother is really pretty awesome. The benefits include but are not limited to the following: Poppa Pants is happier having another male in the house (score).  Roomz is way tall and can get things out of tall cabinets/high shelves so my dear mother and I don’t risk our lives teetering on a stool or ladder.  Roomz gives excellent outfit advice and is not afraid to tell me when I look trife, which is fairly often.  He is a morning person which means I have yet another being in my house to make me feel guilty for being late to work. Every day. Whatevs. Point is, it’s super fun and I am slightly saddened that come this Saturday I will be vacating my parents house (!!!!!!) and leaving Roomz III to be alone with my parents.  Really they’re not so bad, I pretty much love them.  Also I’m fairly certain I’ve been replaced as most beloved child. Apparently he cooks breakfast and makes coffee every morning, walks the dogs and gets the mail. Hello? Miss Sassy Who?

Other updates: As I just stated, I’m moving next Saturday! My adventure to Raleigh was a success and I met this really nice chica who I found on craigslist (recall I mentioned my skepticism) and she was totally not weird! Totally nice and normal in fact, and owner of a completely adorable home which is super close to my new office building. Woohoo, low gas costs! So I will be moving into her third furnished bedroom and beginning a new life with Roomz IV (and Roomz V since she also has another roommate). I must admit I’m super excited and also a little anxious. Less anxious because I picked out some super cute curtains (and look how precious these are!) and have a color scheme and cute DIY decorating ideas to implement ASAP when I move. Yes that’s right, implement. Perhaps I will update with pictures once I decorate the new stanza (room) degli Pantaloni Sfacciati. Minor italian lesson for everyone today, enjoy.  And yes, I am deviating from the ever-present pink-ness that is my existence.  I know, completely shocking. My bedrooms for the past  9 years (minimum) has looked something like this. The best part is that I had some pink lamp shades in the room so even the things that weren’t pink (white bedspread) had a pink glow. Yikes. Anywho, if anyone is in the Raleigh neighborhood, the research triangle/octagon, or traveling down 85/95 holler at Miss Sassy! I love visitors.

Side note: This post is in the Trifeness category but it’s really not about trifeness. It’s possible that I need a new category! Ideas? Anyone? Leave me some comment love! It’s like a virtual hug, and I love hugs.

Silly boys, it’s called “Sass” not “Ass,” and I’ve got both!

Hello dear friends, and other people who read this blog! Some of you have been asking where Miss Sassy has gone, and let me tell you she’s been around. She’s on her game, or rather, I’M on my game, and just so busy being sassy that I don’t even have time to tell you about it. JP. But seriously, lack of inspiration, “busyness” at work, PMS (rawr), gyming, laziness, ridiculous laundry, and etc. are the reasons I have not reported since last week. But do not fret, we’re back. We = me and my pants, apparently.

Here’s the topic for today: boys are trife (surprise). Ok fine, most boys are trife, as some of you are actually quite normal and able to communicate effectively and not be triflin skeez balls.  In general I think it’s annoying when boys aren’t straighforward or capable of communicating with me. And if you are a boy who does not like straightforward gals, then move on, because I am not the girl for you.  If you are confused by this statement, here’s an example text convo which might help clarify:
Him: come over [time: 2:47am after a Friday night out…need I say more]
Me: I’m already home, sorry
Him: come play guitar hero with me, you owe me [! I owe nothing.]
Me: Like I said, already home. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want to just play guitar hero, in which case I’m def not coming over.
Him: geez, no need to be so straightforward.

Really? Because I prefer it.  Don’t even get me started on this “you owe me” business. And I really have no interest in playing guitar hero at 3am.  Not a good way to woo me, if that is your intention. Also I’m not a skank, since anyone who was born at least 2 days ago knows that wasn’t really an invite to test my guitar or singing skills. Skeez.  It’s like he’s offended by my straightforwardness. As if we’re in the 15th century when ladies didn’t make eye contact and never spoke to men. Quite a few things have happened to advance woman’s position in society in the last few centuries, in case anyone skipped every history class since Kindergarten. Just saying. If a boy** who’s not even on this continent can be more straightforward with me than a boy living in the same city as me who I see a few times a week, that should tell you something. [**This boy is not a boy really, he’s a man, and maybe that’s the difference.] If you’re ego isn’t big enough to take a hit, tread lightly. Rejection builds character, right? Because yes, I will call you out when I deem necessary, especially if your head is a little swelled and I feel you need a reality check. And yes I’ll tell you if I like you or not to your face.  I might flirt and be mysterious and not give you straight answers all the time, but in the end you’ll get the cold hard truth, or the warm and fuzzy truth. I realize that boldness isn’t for everyone, and if you’re not into it, it’s not my problem and I take zero offense.  We can be friends, really. OR you can grow some cajones and take it like a man. And hey, if you wanted to be straightforward, honest, and up-front with me right from the start, you might even score. My number that is. Because I’m still not a skank, even if you are Mr. Bold and Beautiful.

PS: It’s my last weekend in the ex-capital of the Confederacy, let’s see what kind of trouble we can dig up…full reports next week. Happy hunting, boys and girls!