Thursday, December 26, 2013

The Birthday Party From Hell

     Meno Mama is spending the holiday with her crazy family at the nuthouse, so in the meantime I wanted to leave you with a funny guest post I wrote a few months ago for my gal pal Stephanie over at This is a memory from a long time ago…one I'm not too proud of but fortunately am able to laugh at myself for doing the things that I did back then. What can I say? I was young and stupid at the time……


We planned it for months. It was to be the birthday party to end all parties. I bought a beautiful, white silk pantsuit with lace and hand sewn seed pearls on the front for the momentous occasion. The bar, disc jockey and baby sitter had all been reserved, along with a food and decorating committee. On THE BIG DAY, my brother surprised me with a bottle of Dom Perignon ( nectar of the gods) and my husband had a brand, spanking new minivan delivered to our home. It was the perfect day….and I don’t do well with perfection. Because somehow I find a way to screw it up. Two hours before the party started, The Hubs was in the driveway signing the papers with the car salesman. The cold bottle of Dom was calling my name from the refrigerator. I drank the first glass while I finished putting on my makeup. I drank the second (and third) while I was curling my hair. By the time I was pouring my fourth, The Hubs finished the deal and handed me the keys to my new birthday present. I didn’t eat before the party because I’d been dieting so that I wouldn’t look like the Michelin Man in my white pantsuit. I think you know where I’m going with this: champagne + empty stomach = TROUBLE. By the time we arrived at the club, my nerves kicked in at the prospect of hosting a party for 50 people. I quickly marched up to the bar to place my order. My brain started screaming, “NOOO!” the minute my mouth shouted ,”Sex On The Beach!” I NEVER drank that cocktail combination! Someone slipped the bartender a few extra bills to make the drink stronger for the birthday girl. Yeah, like I needed that. I pinched my nose and chugged the drink to calm my nervous excitement. Oh vodka, you fickle bitch, convincing women they can move like a pole dancer on the floor to any pulsating beat from a DJ’s sound system. The siren song of alcohol warped my perception, leading me to believe I was as sexy as Cat Woman in a snug, white pantsuit. I sidled up to every male in the room (including the janitor and a skitterish waiter) like a wolf in heat. The Hubs was busy playing host and didn’t seem to mind that his wife was quickly turning into a party train wreck. That evening, 20 years ago, is still a blur to me. I remember stumbling through some horrid line dances and stepping on many toes. I never got to blow out the candles or taste the birthday cake because I was too busy ralphing up Sex On The Beach in the toilet. My beautiful, white pantsuit turned into a Jackson Pollock painting with red cranberry juice splatters all over the fabric. I DO remember my sister and my best friend holding my hair out of my face so that I wouldn’t wake the next morning with puke-encrusted strands. It took several men to carry me down a flight of stairs to the minivan and believe me, this scene was nothing like Madonna’s “Material Girl” music video where all the male dancers are carrying the sexy, writhing singer down the stairs. Oh, I was writhing all right; writhing in agony because my stomach had not finished giving up the ghost. I learned the next day that everyone happily carried on without me and (thankfully) no lap dances were performed. After I woke from my alcohol induced coma with a headache reminiscent of electro shock therapy, I crawled to the phone to start my long list of apologies to the guests. Moral of the story: tequila might make a woman’s clothes fall off, but Dom makes me dumb and vodka makes me vampy. Next time I’ll wear camo to the party to hide my upchuck imperfections.

***Please check out my pugalicious Christmas card to all of my dear readers today over at In The Powder Room!

Friday, December 20, 2013

Fly On The Wall In A Holiday House

      Welcome to my special Fly On The Wall holiday edition, hosted by Karen of We've made the fly quite dizzy this month with our frenzied holiday  preparations. He might have landed in my spiked eggnog the other day, so don't believe everything he tells you that he overheard in my home. It's probably the rum talking.

"Oh good, it's Christmas! Time to play my favorite holiday board game, 'Gorge, Party And Purge.'"

"Elves are the illegitimate children of Mrs. Claus, who was the original ho. That's why Santa yells, "Ho Ho Ho!'"

"Reindeer poop is magic fertilizer for the garden---kind of like Miracle Grow."
"Does this mean the roses will sprout antlers?"

"You have too many tubs full of holiday stuff here! You belong on Hoarders….the Christmas edition."

"Santa must have been agoraphobic. He only left his house once a year to drop off gifts and pilfer cookies."

"What is the nog in eggnog? The dregs of the egg?"

"Stop feeding the dog so much Christmas ham. Pretty soon she's going to need a pug girdle."

"I think I have a holiday yeast infection."
"Then you're out of luck because I don't think they make Monistat for men."

"He hated having to wear that tux to the party. He was practically foaming at the mouth for a beer… made him look like a rabid penguin."

"Are those moose knuckles in your pants or are you just happy to meet me under the mistletoe?"

"I love your holiday rum cake but it always gives me heartburn. I'll need a barrel o' Tums after eating a slice. An enema might also be in order."

"What does he want for Christmas?"
"An alligator, but it needs to be toothless."
"Why, so it can gum him to death?"

"Are you planning on spending New Year's Eve passed out on the front lawn again?"
"I wouldn't mind it as long as there aren't anymore fire ants on the grass. Last year I woke up looking like I had measles."

"What a nice surprise! A Coconut Bliss pillow from the mattress store for Christmas. It smells like vanilla cake. If I wake up a few pounds heavier tomorrow and the pillow is missing, you'll know why."

"Feeling blue during Christmas? All you need is pug therapy!"

"I  just had a two layer burp---Special K cereal on top of taco salad. I think I'll follow it up with some Christmas fudge."

"I don't need Viagra. I have you."
"Now THAT'S the holiday gift that keeps on giving!"

"Elves are the mischievous cousins of yard gnomes. Forget 'Elf On The Shelf.' We have Elf In The Butt."

"Time to upgrade your radio for Christmas, Mom. You know, they do make ones that aren't as big and heavy as a cinder block."

"I just got my period after two years, just in time for Christmas. WTH, I'm menopausal! Well played, Santa."

"Next year I want to be in the Christmas boat parade."
"Forget it---the pirate rum ships disappeared a long time ago."

"I'm not trying to be a grinch but I'm tired of putting up Christmas yard decorations. The lights always burn out and inevitably the reindeers will end up beheaded. The others have backward antlers. They're dyslexic reindeers."

     Merry Christmas from our crazy home to yours! Now put down that eggnog and go visit the other merry bloggers participating in today's Fly On The Wall!

***Don't forget to check out my weekly post over at In The Powder Room. I've put a new spin on some old Christmas tunes. Check out, "I'm Dreaming Of A Cheap Christmas" here:                                     Baking In A Tornado                                Just a Little Nutty                          Follow me home . . .                              The Sadder But Wiser Girl                                    Menopausal Mother                                       The Momisodes                      Spatulas on Parade                              The Rowdy Baker                       Sorry kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others                             Juicebox Confession
http://                                Writer B is Me                         Dates 2 Diapers                                              Kiss My List                                        Moms Don’t Say That                           Adventure into Domesticland

Wednesday, December 18, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Coach Daddy

     Wednesday seems to be the favorite day for guest blogging all over the blogosphere. I'm chatting about Christmas over at my good friend Starr's site so please stop by if you have a chance to say hello. In the meantime, many of you already know my Wacky Wednesday Writer guest today---Eli from Don't let the title of his blog fool you. It's not just a site for sports fans to follow up on their favorite teams.  Eli writes from a father's perspective on raising daughters, which I find to be a refreshing change from the sea of mom blogs that I read on a daily basis.   His posts vary in topic from sports, to good food, to humorous family stories. He also features a guest blogger on his site every Wednesday and has implemented an idea that he says is based on Hemingway's assertion  that any story can be told in a six-word sentence. He picks a prompt and bloggers are invited to answer the question in six words. He posts the responses on his site and it's truly amazing to see the different perspectives from each writer.
     Eli is a skilled, entertaining writer and I really enjoy reading his blog posts---yes, even the ones where he discusses sports, because it's always with a humorous twist. Please welcome him to Meno Mama's site today and be sure to leave lots of comment love!   

Title: How To Tell if Your Kid's Coach is a Schmuck

It's not always a cinch to spot a schmuck on a sports field.

Well, it's easy in traffic. And the grocery store. And congress.

But when your kid gets a soccer coach, it's not exactly the first thing they tell you as parents.

"Hello, I'm Cornelius, your kid's soccer coach," he'd open with. "And I've earned certification as a third-level schmuck."

No, you have to find out all on your own.

I'm a soccer coach. I'm not a certified schmuck. I speak with authority on this, because I have never, ever said or done anything in my capacity as a soccer coach that I would regret.


I get angry at the Denver Broncos and yell at the TV. I grit my teeth while I watch others coach my kids. Somehow I believe that clenched dentition will keep the curse words from audibility. (They don't). Once, in the heat of battle in a championship match, I accidentally split my clipboard in two.

My teams don't always win.

But we're hell in cleats in tournaments. And the kids love to play. They'll take care of each other, think for themselves, and give their all, all the time. That's all I ask. I'm there to help them get better, love the game, and learn something about things that have nothing to do with soccer.

Back to the schmucks.

Whether you're turning your preschooler over to a skills academy program or your kid plays on the high school team, here are the surefire signs of schmuckdom on your sideline.

1. He makes your kid run – a lot

The three sins of soccer coaching: Lines, lectures and laps. Laps are the worst. Lap running is not soccer running. The games I choose for my teams in practice, the ones that involve kicking a ball – involve lots of running. Soccer running. Sprint, stop, struggle, repeat.

If your kid's team is running – it probably means the coach needs time to get his act together.

2. He rides the refs

I can't officiate. I have enough trouble trying to coach. If your coach is on the refs for every call and non-call, he's modeling badly for his kids, who will gripe and complain, too. Watch how your first date treats your restaurant server; that's how he or she will eventually treat you.

Similarly, watch how your coach treats the officials.

3. He loses patience

Don't confuse this with raising his voice for a little discipline. I love my players. They sometimes talk when I do, and when the silent treatment doesn't work, it's time to yell. (Check out my favorite Vince Lombardi quote.) If you turn up without a pouch of patience, you're doing the kids a disservice.

Kids will remember what you did more than what you said.

4. He punishes losses

This isn't Parris Island. You needn't break a kid down to build him up. There are lessons in losses. I hate to lose. The kids do too. But they get over it. The last thing I want is for my team to think losing is bad, like, stealing cookies bad. Kids flourish when they play with passion, not fear of losing.

Ever notice it's always the kids' fault, never the coach's, when they lose? Which brings me to …

5. He believes the kids are there for him – not the other way around

You've got it backwards, brother. Listen close: We are there for the kids. We're there to teach, guide, encourage, protect. Every brilliant save or deft pass or gnarly shot on goal, that's the kids. I give them the tools, and get to watch them build something great on Saturdays.

It's our job to foster their love for the game, and meet them where they love the game.

If you can do that … you can conquer anything.

Even schmuckdom.

When he isn't answering questions about dust mites, Eli writes a blog about fatherhood, food and futbol called Coach Daddy. Follow him on Twitter.

Friday, December 13, 2013

A Menopausal Mother's Letter To Santa

Dear Santa:

    You might remember me from last year---you know, the crazy lady who wrote a letter begging you to stuff her stocking with Prozac and M&MS? Yeah, that was me. I have a new wish list this time, so put the cookies down and listen up. You owe me that much after replacing the Prozac with a bathroom scale last year. Not funny.
     There are several things a woman needs once she hits menopause. If my husband and kids are smart, they'll attach my list to their letters to you. A happy mother equals a happy home. A raging, hormonal woman stuffing Dunkin Donuts down her throat, not so much. 
     The first thing I need is a body makeover. If you think liposuction, a Brazilian butt lift and Botox are too extravagant, I'll settle for a new girdle. Remember Wonderbras? How about getting those lazy elves of yours off the shelf to invent some WonderSpanx? My body could use the extra lift and tuck.
     Santa, can you do something about my hot flashes? I'm tired of feeling like I swallowed the sun. I'm burning from the inside out like a potato left too long in the microwave. If this keeps up much longer, I'm going to end up looking as brown and wrinkled as an overcooked spud.
     While you're at it, I'd also love a good night's sleep for Christmas. Insomnia and fatigue are sharing the same straw and sucking up all of my energy these days. At first, the insomnia part was fun. I discovered that they sell some pretty amazing stuff on the Shopping Network at 3:00 a.m. Doesn't everybody need a nose hair trimmer that doubles as a toenail clipper? 
     The extra hours of being awake were great until I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror after several days without sleep….and all this time I thought vampires couldn't see their reflection. 
     I've tried to sleep, but I'm a hot mess in bed. And not in a good way. These hot flashes have me waking every hour and sticking to the bedsheets like a rat caught in a glue trap. I'm tired of looking like a nocturnal creature or a cast member from The Walking Dead. 
     The lack of sleep is spoon feeding my mood swings. This Jeckyll and Hyde thing is getting old. Nobody wants to see a menopausal woman with OCD tendencies organizing dust bunnies according to size and weeping over the ones that die at the hands of a Hoover upright. 
     This is why I need your help, Santa. Let's make a deal. You stuff my stocking with Prozac, WonderSpanx and miracle chocolate that makes the extra pounds disappear. In return, I'll bring you my hot flashes and a palm tree to warm the North Pole so you can work on your tan.  I'll even throw in a pair of nose trimmer/toenail clippers as a gift.
     What do you say, Santa?                                                      

****Meno Mama was all over the internet this week! Here are several sites that featured some blog posts from me, including my weekly feature over at In The Powder Room:


Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post by: Elleroy Was Here

    I've been excited for WEEKS to introduce you to today's Wacky Wednesday Writers guest! Not only is she one of the coolest bloggers out there, she also owns and loves pugs as much as I do! Please welcome my dear friend Linda Roy of
    There's always great stuff going on over at Linda's site. She hosts a weekly blog hop, "I Don't Like Mondays", participates every Tuesday in "Twisted Mixtape" (featuring some of her favorite bands), and listen to this---she posts "Cocktail Saturday", where you can find the yummiest drink recipes for your weekend gatherings. This is all in addition to her regular, humorous posts.
     Linda is also one of the BUSIEST, talented writers I know. She's a managing editor at Raised On The Radio, a staff writer for Aiming Low and Lefty Pop, and to top it all off, leads the Indie Americana band Jehova Waitresses. I honestly don't know when this multi-talented lady has time to breathe. Maybe on the weekends over her special cocktail concoctions.
     We've been internet buddies for awhile but I am FINALLY going to meet Linda at the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop this April in Ohio. I just know Dayton will never be the same after we leave our mark there.
     Without further ado, please welcome Linda Roy to Meno Mama's site today and give her lots of pug hugs!
Your Ambush Makeover Needs a Makeover 

I’m going to come clean here. Because I actually clean up pretty nice. 

Sometimes I sit through The Today Show during the Hoda and Kathie hour. I’m careful to clarify that I “sit through” it - I don’t actually watch it. Because if I watched it, I would never stop bitch slapping my flat screen. 

Every now and then one of their henchwomen pulls a couple of bedraggled tourists from the front lines of sends them into the studio for a makeover of epic proportions with style guru Louis Licari (la la la la la). Some are surprised, some lobby hard for it - holding signs - “Please help me! I haven’t cut my hair since the Nixon administration!”, but they’re all just thrilled at the chance to be plucked from obscurity, remade and thrown back into obscurity - all on national television.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d jump at the chance to have a makeover. Hell, I’m going to get my roots touched up tomorrow and I’m more excited than a Kardashian rolling naked on a floor filled with hundred dollar bills. But the thing about makeovers is that the end result is almost always glamorous.  How is that a problem, you ask? Well, it isn’t - except that anybody can look great with a new “do”, a color treatment, full professionally applied makeup and a pricey cocktail dress from Bloomingdales. Big deal. Then what? What happens after the hubby takes you out for a spin around Gotham in your new duds, a few too many glasses of bubbly and a stumble back to the Sheraton later, and you get all waka waka waka on each other and wake up looking like Rocky Raccoon? What then? What happens when you go to the Shop n’ Drop to get milk a week later, back in rural Oswego?  I’ll tell you what happens: nothing. On go the sweat pants, the hair’s all frizzed and you’re all frazzled.  

Because you can buy a gal a fish dinner, can teach her to fish.

Or something like that. 

What about life after the cocktail dress? What about the grocery store, the school pickup line, bowling night? ‘Cause between you and me, the last time I’ve seen the inside of a restaurant other than TGIF-This was too long ago to recall and that’s not just the alcohol talking.  I’m serious here - how’s a girl supposed to get consistent Vidal Sassoon results on a Loreal budget? 

I want to Norma Kamali my way through Target. I want to be stylin’ with my gal pals like the Applebee’s we’re sitting in is in South Hampton. I want my hair to do that slow motion thing Tina Fey’s hair does in the freaking Nutrisse commercial. And I want to be able to style it myself. Every time. In under ten minutes. You gothat, Louis La La La Lacari? I wanna make that guy my bitch.  Next time I walk into the 7-11 I wanna turn heads, not stomachs - got it?

Let’s face it; a makeover is a once in a lifetime thing. And I don’t know about you, but when it finally happens to me, I want to be swept off my feet like the last scene of “Officer and a Gentleman”. That style guru better pick me up and carry me off to Fabulous Land while everybody claps and my best friend manages to shout through her gritted teeth, tears and unmitigated jealousy “Way to go Paula - way to go!” Except my name isn’t Paula. 

Because I’m worth it. 


Linda Roy is a writer, musician, mom and much to her husband's dismay, the female Larry David.  She'll criticize your parallel parking to prove it. She's grateful the word "snark" has been introduced into the vernacular, since she used to be known as "the chick with the bad attitude".  She blogs at elleroy was here, fronts the Indie Americana band Jehova Waitresses, and is an editor/staff writer at Aiming LowRaised On the Radio and Lefty Pop. She writes and records song parodies at Funny Not Slutty and has contributed her writing to Sprocket InkIn the Powder RoomBonbon Break and Earth Hertz Records. You can connect with her on TwitterFacebookGoogle+Pinterest and Bloglovin'.

Friday, December 6, 2013

10 Good Things About Being An Empty Nester

    There was a time when I took pride in the fact that my house was one of the busiest (and noisiest) on the street. I had four children of my own, took care of five others during the after school hours, and maintained a revolving door for all the neighborhood kids to come over whenever they chose.
     On one particular rainy afternoon, I counted seventeen kids (ranging in age from 10-17) in my matchbox-sized home. I'm convinced that this is when my love for margaritas began.
     My house was always LOUD. Music blasting, televisions blaring, giggling, squealing and raucous games of basketball in the driveway---this was the norm. The chaos never bothered me. I loved my role as the entertaining "cool" mom, and was happy to provide enough calorie-ladened snacks to feed an army brigade.
     I was also ten years younger with an endless supply of energy that could rival the stamina of the Energizer bunny.
     Three of my four children have grown and flown the coop. The last one still at home is eighteen and he'd rather have a root canal than spend an evening at home with dear old Mom and Dad. This allows us quite a bit of wiggle room for privacy and a glimpse of what life will be like when the last one packs his bags and heads off to college (hopefully to a school on the other side of the continent). This is why I know I'm going to LOVE being an empty nester:

* A lower grocery bill. My supermarket expenses will finally be lower than my monthly mortgage payment. I will no longer need to buy stock in toilet paper, milk or Axe Body Spray.

* My car insurance rates will drop….but so will my tax deductions. Perhaps the I.R.S. will count fostering male dogs with bathroom handicaps as a tax deduction.

* My house will stay clean. No more hazardous waste piles of laundry or a bathroom requiring a
Hazmat team to scrub it clean.

* We can travel spontaneously anywhere in the world---or maybe just to Walmart---without needing to hire a babysitter.

* No more math homework (Y=mx+b... HUH?), erupting volcanoes in the kitchen (science experiment) or thirty page term papers on the Civil War that create tears of frustration (and several shots of tequila for mom).

* My husband and I can finally have a REAL adult conversation instead of the usual, "Has he pooped today?", Did she eat her greens?", "Make sure he brushes his teeth before bed", "Does she want fries with that?"

* No more detailed school supplies lists from teachers (what do you mean you need a specific brand of environmentally safe markers made in China by three-fingered panda bears?). And no more expensive school uniforms (Honey, you're NOT wearing a plaid mini skirt and heels to school in a reckless  attempt to imitate Jenna Jameson in an adult movie!).

* I don't have to cook for a crowd every night. The Hubs and I will be perfectly content to snarf down a bowl of Cocoa Puffs for dinner while watching an episode of Hoarders.

* No more part time job as a taxi driver chauffeuring kids in a beat-up mini van to choir, gymnastics, karate, dance, soccer, cheerleading or band. It also signifies the end of chaperoning school field trips to the zoo and getting parrot poop on my head.

* Sex 24/7. Every night can be a date night, and every moment is a Cialis moment. The only thing that's missing is matching bathtubs in a wildly inappropriate place, like the tool aisle at Sears.

     As I revel in my thoughts of newfound freedom, my eighteen-year-old son informs me has picked the college he'd like to attend….and it's only ten minutes from our home. Looks like my empty nester plans will have to be put on hold a little bit longer. But I can still dream, can't I?      

***My weekly feature over at In The Powder Room is a funny spin on aging. You can read all about it here:

***Want MORE Meno Mama? I am also featured on Better After 50 this week talking about my colonoscopy with The Hubs. I'm also featured again on the Erma Bombeck Writers Workshop---my holiday from hell story--- if you would like to check that out as well. Here are the links to both sites:  and

Tuesday, December 3, 2013

Wacky Wednesday Writers Guest Post By: Lisa Newlin---Seriously

     I absolutely ADORE my Wacky Wednesday Writer guest today! I met Lisa Newlin of last year through a mutual blogger friend who recommended her site to me. I'm so glad she did, because I have found a kindred blogger spirit in Lisa. We share a similar zany sense of humor and everything she blogs about is not only relatable but laugh-out-loud funny. Whether it's Zumba class, Spanx or her love for Chipotle, Lisa always delivers the giggles. Please welcome her to my site today and share a little comment love with this beautiful, funny friend of mine!


Sandra Bullock is a beloved American leading lady, known for her poise, charm, and arms of steel. However, she's not all just beauty and biceps. (She's abs too.) She's also an iconic actress whose films entertain while teaching us lessons about love, life and bus driving.
Who knew a bus could go two hours through a busy city, traveling over 50 mph, without crashing? Apparently Sandra knew.
I can't go ten minutes on the highway at 70 mph without slamming on the brakes because of random debris, traffic, or squirrels. Yet somehow, in this film, Bullock maneuvers a bus around city streets, pedestrians and cars, all while traveling greater than 50 mph, and all while looking fabulous and charming Keanu Reeves.
The only logical conclusion from this is that Sandra hates squirrels and has horrible taste in men.
From this tale, we learn that with just a little makeup and a wardrobe change, you can completely transform the way you walk, talk, and look. However, you cannot change your love of donuts.
I wish I would have known that makeup and a dress could have a positive impact on my appearance, especially when I was in high school. I already knew nothing could change my love of donuts.
The 90s grunge scene was not a good look, and perhaps abandoning my Doc Martens for Jimmy Choos would have made those teenage years less awkward. Although, it probably would have made those years more painful for my feet.
At least my Doc Martens were comfortable.
What I learned from this film involved a little bit of math; or at least an equation. Bullock taught me here that Sandra Bullock + Keanu Reeves = horrible movie, no matter the decade.
In this film, we learn that love can transcend time, and so can poor acting. The good news is that it's easily learned in the first five minutes of the film.
A valuable lesson came out of this comedy as well. The lesson? No matter how much you despise someone, when you go to a strip club with Betty White, you will magically fall in love with the one person you hate most.
People don't need a love potion or a magic spell to fall in love. They just need Betty White. She's magic.
So there you have it. The lessons I learned from Sandra Bullock. Granted, I still have more to learn from her, the most important of which is how she avoids flabby arms. I'm hoping she will say it's with a strict diet of Skittles and ice cream.
Wait...that's how I got them.


Lisa is a humor blogger who plays an unconvincing lawyer in real life. She shouldn't be allowed around sharp objects, anything breakable, or anything with carbohydrates. She prefers dogs over most people, and food over most everything. Her blog, will make you feel better about your own life and remind you that vodka is the answer to everything. Except if the question is "What should I throw on this fire?" Then the answer is definitely NOT vodka. Lisa writes for and also writes a syndicated humor column, Under Analysis. She's also one of the co-authors of the bestselling humor anthology, "You Have Lipstick on Your Teeth."

She's also been known to eat an entire box of Girl Scout cookies in one sitting.



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