33 Before 33: 20

20. I do not believe in forevers, at least for me

Ex-Mr did a number on me, because of him I will always be slightly broken and I have accepted it. It’s ok. I’m like a permanently injured animal you see out in the wild and wonder how they lost a limb or move with some kind of limp. I’m internally scarred.

I can’t tell if I’m a realist or a pessimist when it comes to love and relationships, but my views on monogamy, matrimony and the concept of “forever” are all kinda fucked. I apologize in advance if you find this post depressing.

I had no doubts when I married him, but over time he couldn’t keep his vows or commitments to me and I was destroyed. Our storybook life came to a screeching halt and I woke up to a nightmare.

Maybe I feel this way because no one has come around to try and prove me wrong. Maybe I have these views because I realize how mature you can be with ending relationships and how it’s healthy to accept life as it is and move on. Or maybe I’m just crazy—I’m not sure. It’s probably all of the above.

So I figure I can have 3 great loves in my life: 

1. Ex-Mr
   Despite how dejected I sound I would never change a thing—as tumultuous as the ride was. We fucking loved each other—intensely, and we had a hell of a time together. Chapter closed.
    
2. Future Baby Daddy
   I always joke around that I’m hunting for husband no.2 or baby daddy no.1. At this point in my life it’s clear what my priorities are. This is love so great he’s worth sharing a child (or 2) with, but eventually life kicks in and forever doesn’t exist. But we have a shit ton of sex and laughs (sometimes at the same time) until then so its cool.
    
3. Grow-old-love
   Honestly this one will probably be my favorite, sorry #1 and #2. I imagine this one gets to travel Europe with me cause we’re too old to visit hip and adventurous places, so we do lame city tours and crack jokes about the facts we learn. This is the sweet one I sit on park benches with while we take walks and people watch (i.e. criticize for fun). This is the one whose wrinkles I touch and whose hair I watch grey.

Then again, maybe forever love does exist. I wouldn’t mind being proven wrong.

33 Before 33: 21-22

21. Real is not necessarily rude, it’s just real

At the beginning of July El told me the first thing I probably ever said to him. He reminded me that we met at Golden Gate Tap Room while watching the 2015 NBA Finals.

He said I turned to him while leaving the bar with my order and said:

Sorry. I didn’t get you a drink. I just met you, so I didn’t get you one.

I don’t recall saying those words exactly, but knowing myself—I definitely said it to him. Granted, I was probably handling a level 6 buzz at the time, meaning I am much more comfortable saying things of that nature to strangers.

He told me he was slightly taken aback but also very impressed: “Damn. This girl is hella real.”

He could’ve interpreted my statement as rude, he could’ve written me off and been a dick to me from that point on, but he took my candor as a genuine statement (which it was). It’s not that I don’t have a filter (I am very good at reading social situations), I just always have to vet you. At this point in my friendship with El, I'd buy him a dozen drinks, easily.

There can be a fine line between real and rude, you might misinterpret one from the other, but the older we get you’re probably dealing with the latter, check your feelings at the door. Decipher the two properly.

22. Love is inconvenient

I have decided I want to be inconvenient as fuck for the next man in my life (not on purpose—never on purpose). Cause when you’re in love you don’t realize how much a special person manages to disrupt the time in your day.

You won’t notice it’s happening when it does, because you’re too concerned about the other individual. They start infiltrating your life and all of the sudden—BAM… you’re going out of your way to accomplish nice gestures.

I thought of you.
I wanted to see you.
I thought you’d like this.

Etc. Etc. Etc.

You start entering selfless territory. You cater to bad days, bad weeks, sick moments and emotional needs because their overall happiness and wellness is a priority regardless of how it manages to throw a wrench into your schedule.

I want old-school extra-inefficient chivalry and love.

I want to get walked home when its the opposite direction of where you actually need to go. I want to be met at my apartment at 11:30 PM after I get home from a week-long vacation away. I want you to WFH when I’m sick and the only thing I can stomach are saltine crackers and bananas—btw you will probably have to run out and buy bananas cause I originally forgot to ask you to get them. Or you can remember that when I'm sick the only thing I like to eat are bananas and saltine crackers. I will be annoyingly talkative at times, especially when you need to get shit done. I will come home drunk and loud and try to get in your pants when you’re already fast asleep and need a good nights rest because you have to get up early the next day. I will apologize by drunkenly stripping and throwing my pants in your face, which sounds funny now but you will probably be livid at the time.

I will be inconvenient as fuck, exasperating and sometimes infuriating—but I will be worth it. Trust.

Told you.

33 Before 33: 23

23. Accept the love given to you

Personally I think I’m a huge brat. I also think I’m a narcissist who interjects herself into conversations and the spotlight when I find appropriate holes (Leo tendencies). #selfaware

I still don’t know why anyone reads this. Sometimes I don’t know why you guys like to keep me around as much as you do.

I’m not that cool, guys—I swear.

It’s not that I don’t feel worthy of your love—it’s that your love humbles me when it matters most.

Today I turned 33 years old. 

Yes, I apologize for not finishing this list on time, however I will complete it. I’ve had multiple people comment on how I was writing entries too slow, only because this series was getting a better response than I had originally expected. I had no idea it would be so well-received.

I am crying profusely typing this. Nothing bad… All good.

I’ve never had flowers delivered to me before, ever. In the span of a week I was sent 2 separate packages. I walked into work today to find my desk filled with balloons, 2 bouquets, a bottle of champagne and a card. I’ve been at this company for 3 months. 3 short months—so much love. I had difficulty keeping up with the messages, texts and phone calls all day. My family came all the way to SF to spend the evening with me.

To claim I am blessed is an understatement.

I feel so fucking loved that I can’t deal with the emotion—at all, but I’ll accept it, all of it because love is not a fluke.

33 Before 33: 24-25

24. Savor the highlights

I spent Wednesday evening dancing on the highest platform I could find, yelling Drake lyrics at the top of my lungs, while toasting champagne with my new coworkers (friends). If you have not partied with me personally, this is not uncommon behavior. Don’t worry—I remained professional. DUH. Our company execs bought us bottles and 3 VIP tables at a club in the Gaslamp District of San Diego and the experience left me in complete shock. I had no idea tech start-ups fucked around like that. It wasn’t until our hostesses came around with sparklers and multiple magnum-sized bottles where I had to ask myself:

Uhh. Is this really my life right now?

I had just signed-on and officially converted full-time just hours earlier, so naturally I took the opportunity to celebrate the occasion to max capacity. 

Life is fucking strange—in the best way possible.

I honestly believe I’ve had plenty of moments like that in my life. I’ve been at the right place at the right time and capitalized on random blessings. My party diary has such good entries—real talk, however I’ve learned that highlights aren’t always so fast-paced.

I have a Moleskin notebook that contains a page for each day of the year. I log who I saw that day, everywhere I went and any activities I found note-worthy. Life moves so fucking fast, I learned I had to savor it on a day-to-day basis.

Highlights come in all shapes and forms. Maybe you’re spending a Sunday night with your parents just watching revamped game shows on TV. Maybe it consists of an entire day of doing absolutely nothing with someone you care about. Maybe it’s a simple catch-up coffee with one of your best friends. Just remember to recognize them when they come along, especially as they are happening in real time.

Whatever it is, “we only making the highlights…” *Cues Kanye*

Pro Tip:
Keep a journal or take notes on your calendar, you don't have to write anything extensive, but it helps you keep track of good things in your life (big and small).

25. You’ll be surprised at what excites you as you age

Aging is fucking weird. No one ever tells you about the stuff they personally find exciting, or the things you take time to do during your day to feel extremely accomplished. 

I take 2 shits daily. The first in the morning, the second happens after I get home from work. If I don’t have 2 bowel movements a day I feel off-balance and backed-up. TMI? STFU, you probably have similar regularity patterns you track as well. 2 shits a day = healthy Kate.

I get excited when my apartment is clear of clutter, dishes and laundry are stored away and I have a fridge full of groceries. That is the fucking ultimate sign that I have my shit together that week. ULTIMATE. It’s a rare occurrence, I don’t normally have groceries and laundry is usually always piled up. When I got the trifecta happening tho… I’m fuckin’ killin’ it at adulting. 

I would’ve never thought I’d be heavily interested in discussing healthcare and retirement benefits while signing on full-time, but you know what… those subjects are extremely important. The more your company covers and matches the sexier the subject is. Swear on my life.

Adulting is weird, handling responsibilities is attractive as fuck. Who knew?

You got a high credit score and a great retirement savings plan? Holla.

33 Before 33: 26-27

26. I am either the best or THEEEEE WOOOOORST person to give anyone advice

I got caught off-guard the other day because someone specifically asked me about my marriage/divorce and I wasn’t expecting the subject to ever come up in casual conversation. I almost wanted to physically hand him a container of Morton’s Salt as I shared my experience.

Here, hold this. Have a grain or a spoonful.

It’s not that I don’t want to share my story… DUH, I write this blog. I just fear how people interpret my advice or personal journey. Not many individuals are as objective as myself. My feelings and my decision-making process are as disjointed as I can manage, however—I always trust my gut.

I think life is too short to spend it with someone you’re unhappy with. I don’t understand why anyone sticks around for the sake of convenience, codependence or safety. I can’t fathom why you would just keep wasting each other’s time when you could be happier with someone else or *gasp* even alone. I don’t believe anyone should continue a relationship just because of the pressure to naturally progress through the motions of the process due to time invested in each other.

Then again—not everyone is strong enough to leave, independent enough to survive or brave enough to face the world or repercussions solo.

IT’S TOUGH AS FUCK OUT HERE—but I wouldn’t have changed a thing. I stand by every decision I have made as difficult and painful it was at the time. Humans are resilient creatures, wounds heal and people move on—it just takes a HUGE leap of faith to walk away when the time is presented to you.

Go… Leave.. Stay… Get married… Break up… Get divorced…

Whatever makes you the happiest (eventually, because it won’t be happening overnight)—DO THAT. 

27. Trust in the blessings in disguise

Last summer I was in the process of “buying” an older home in Hayward when at the very last stages of the closing I was denied loan approval due to my “long-term contractor” employment status. Uhh, we could’ve saved everyone so much time and stress had we dealt with that fact in the first place. It was a frustrating experience to say the least.

However, it’s good that house fell through, because we came across a new build within walking distance of the Hayward Bart station in October and the purchasing process was smooth as fuck. We closed on the new house in December. Someday, when I finally have to give up living in the city I’ll probably raise my kids there—I hope.

- - -

I cried when I got laid off, it’s never happened to me before. I cried on my last day of work on my walk home, I knew I would miss the routine I was enjoying for the past year+. I was legitimately scared of not being able to take care of myself financially and of all the unknowns that go hand-in-hand with periods of unemployment.

FF to today…

I REALLY FUCKING LIKE MY NEW GIG (although low-key stressful). My co-workers are intelligent and talented. My boss gets me. We get free lunch everyday. We get random perks I didn’t know I could get. They serve charcuterie, cheese and castelvetrano olives every Friday along with wine and beer. CASTELVETRANO OLIVES THO!!! Out of all olives, they randomly serve my favorite. They’re offering me more money than I knew I could make at this stage in my career. They’re sending us all to San Diego on Monday for our company kick-off—all 200+ of us.

If getting laid-off wasn’t a blessing in disguise, I don’t know what is… 

- - -

The decision to move out of our shared apartment was the first step, next came a discussion on separation, followed by me formally asking him for a divorce. It was difficult decision after difficult decision and a whole lot of pain followed by eventual growth—for both of us.

I can’t tell you how many people I’ve met who have changed my life since divorcing him, or how many places I would’ve never seen had I stuck around or experiences I’d never had. I don’t want to dwell on what could’ve been or what should’ve been… but I’d never trade anything else for what I have now.

33 Before 33: 28-29

28. No matter how old you become, you are always your parent’s child

When I went on vacation to Kauai I did not tell my parents that I was venturing off solo. I didn’t want to deal with the backlash. It would’ve caused me so much grief for what was supposed to be some time to relax and focus on myself. I realize that sounds fucked up, they have a right to know where their (adult) child is most of the time, especially when she’s out of state by herself. But sometimes I’m selfish and I don’t want to deal with any excessive explanations or push back. I don’t want to get to the point where we argue, sure they’re my parents, however I’m a high-functioning and super independent adult. I wouldn’t do anything I can’t handle.

My mom is old school, she strongly believes in gender roles and old wives tales. I was home in Hayward on Sunday and I had to politely ask her to stop lecturing me. I’ve survived life this long—I know how to take laundry back to SF. Years ago we got into a fight because I quoted her on Facebook for telling me I would eventually go blind by simply going to bed with my hair wet. She didn’t appreciate me putting her on blast like that—even though it was a joke. We fought for 2 straight days. On Sunday she told my sister and I that we needed to put on tsinelas (slippers) because we would get varicose veins if we failed to protect our feet from the "cold" floor. I refused, looked her dead in the eye and told her I would Google the cause of varicose veins right then and there. She dropped the subject and gave me a face.

The problem is: I AM A HUGE FUCKING SMART ASS, so is my sister. The older I get the more I resist the frequent lectures on obviously false information.

I’ve realized it’s all love, it’s care—even though pure logic and medical facts are thrown out the window. I’m still perfecting the balance of biting my tongue and trying to get her realize all the shit she was taught decades ago was all fabricated. Who the hell made up all that bullshit anyway and why???

In addition, I’ve learned it doesn’t matter how old you get, they still want to be needed. It could be a ride to the airport, it might be folding 2 freshly washed loads of laundry, you could be 40—but you will always be their child.

29. Take attendance on who fucks with you—fuck with them, heavy (as long as they’re worthy)

I removed my birthday off my Facebook profile years ago. It was a test. I didn’t want 100 greetings from 100 random people. I wanted 5 phone calls from my die-hards and 20 texts from anyone who managed to remember.

Don’t do this if you’re not ready for it, people are going to forget. You can be salty if you want to—or you can be thankful for the people who managed to remember without social media reminding them.

I’ve learned that the strength of friendships are not measured by the number of years shared together, it’s the ability to relate to each other at all different stages in life. When you’re a child all you need is one common factor and you can become the best of friends. When you’re a teen you share silly things like who your crush is and your frustrations regarding your parents. As adults we don’t have time to spare, if you’re on a different wavelength than another person you're going to be more hesitant on investing time. It doesn’t take much to know you never want to hang out with a specific individual ever again.

I red flag people quickly. I’m also very fortunate to run into amazing and genuinely real people all the time. Many of my strongest relationships have formed within the past 4 years, fact.

It might suck that your high school clique has lost touch over the years or that you have difficulty connecting with people you were once close to, but often when you grow up—you grow apart, it’s the nature of the beast.

Take attendance, value those present. 

Also, shout out to the people you may not contact for months but when you get together its like you saw each other yesterday. You guys are the real MVPs.

33 Before 33: 30-31

30. Lie to your friends (+/- family) so they get to reservations and events on time

If I invite you to brunch or any type of group dinner there is a high chance that our actual reservation is 30 minutes to an hour later than the time I gave you, almost 100%.

I don’t believe in Filipino time, my dad engrained in me that shit was never an excuse. He isn’t about perpetuating pointless negative stereotypes, he's about punctuality. To this day he still yells out a 5 minute warning to get your ass inside the car ASAP. If you happen to be the specific cause we're running late for any instance, he'll let you know.

Ohh Dad, you’re the person to thank for giving me a zero tolerance policy on tardiness.

I realize it takes a LOOOONNNGGG time for females to get ready for a special event. We usually take a body shower, paint our faces, curl our hair and REAL TALK—we are gossiping, texting or dancing to music the entire time (if I'm honest, it’s usually all 3). 

When it comes to men, you guys just move sloooooow. You wait for the last second to get ready or leave when you previously had all the time in the world—and then shit happens.

SO LIE TO YOUR FRIENDS!!! Tell them reservations are at 11 when they’re actually at 12. Don’t feel bad if they’re actually on-time and you have to chill before your table is ready. It beats the hostess continually checking on you to determine whether or not your entire party is there to be seated. Right? Agreed.

Pro Tips:
1. Schedule accordingly. Know your squad and how they operate, anticipate their habits and style. If you went out bar-hopping until 2am the previous evening do not expect anyone to arrive on-time for a 9:30 brunch reservation. Be realistic.
2. You might be tempted to give different people different times, based on their natural patterns—don't do this. I've tried. I turns out everyone checks with everyone and multiple times are put into question—resulting in the entire group being extra confused.

P.S. I hope my method will still remain effective now that I’ve openly admitted this fact. Dear friends: reservations are ALWAYS when I say they are. ;-)
 

31. Uber is cheaper than a DUI

I was in Dolores Park on a gloriously beautiful Sunday in February when one of the dudes we were hanging out with stated he Uber’s every-fuckin-where. Then the rest of them chimed in with the same statement:

“Uber is cheaper than a DUI.”

To paint you a fair picture these were men past 30, who live in the East Bay and what I assume make a decent amount of money. I don’t really know any of them, but since hearing their take on drinking/driving or riding it has stuck with me since.

I know 2 men who have gotten DUIs within the past 3 months. I know countless men with DUIs marring their driving records (multiple in some cases) and have caused serious property damage. It’s fortunate that none of them have caused anyone any physical harm. I could go on tangents on how these men are never in the company of nagging women who would’ve probably prohibited them from getting behind a wheel in the first place OR I might argue that I believe men become more responsible when they age and get their money right—but for the interest of time, I won’t go there. 

To completely transparent, I’ve been behind the wheel when I shouldn't have. Guilty. Often times I was the one driving because I was the least buzzed and that's still not an excuse. The point of #31 on the list of things I’ve learned is… don’t drink and drive—AT ALL. Years ago (fuck, I sound old) we didn’t have the conveniences of Uber or Lyft, you would be lucky as hell to catch a cab in SF after the bars spit you out at 2 am. Everything is at our finger tips these days—what a time to be alive.

The first DUI offense in California can cost $390-1000 and most of the time you hire a lawyer to clear your record and get your driving privileges back sooner.

Your Uber might cost $50, max. You probably get to split the cost too.

Pro-tip: 
 Uber (or Lyft) every where. It’s cheaper than a DUI (or any other unfortunate consequences).

33 Before 33: 32-33

32. I am not a consolation prize

By now we can all agree that I am an observant and analytical female, this part of me never turns off. When I go out with my single lady friends for a fun night out (or even with my boys) I am paying attention. When men engage myself and my girlfriends in conversation I am taking notes of who is being hit on by who. Do not for a second think that I didn’t notice when a man is hitting on my best friend in my presence. I have been approached as a secondary option after she has curved them. Surprisingly enough these occurrences are no blow to my ego. I understand why men hit on her (she’s fucking gorgeous), however I am attractive in my own right. Plus, I have plenty to back up my awesomeness. 

Don’t test me, I will call you out. The following dialogue actually happened on Polk St.
Idiot: We should hang out some time. I should get your number.
Me: Nahhhhhhh. Actually… I think you were feelin’ my girl. It’s cool, she’s hot, I know.
Idiot: *Caught off guard* No, but…. Uhh... I think you’re more my speed. I think I’d vibe with you really well.
Me. Nahhhhhhh. I’m good. We probably wouldn’t actually…. You have a good night tho. *big smile and walks away*

Pro Tips:
1. Remain friendly and neutral, unless you really wanna shoot your shot at one of us specifically. If that is your decision—STICK TO YO’ GUNS. The rest of us aren’t gonna be your sloppy seconds. Move along if one of us rejects you.
2. The best option is to wait to see if ANY of us are feelin’ you. If you’re patient enough one of us might just dig you—maybe (but probably not, sorry).

33. I require that men need to know where to take me on a date (hard rule) 

This is non-negotiable. They may not necessarily be an amazing planner or an efficient person as far as scheduling goes but they’re capable of research. The internet is a really helpful tool (extra sarcasm). I accept the help of Yelp, I won’t hate—or better yet.. use SF Eater and I might just fuckin’ swoon. I promise it’s not difficult. I might be super pretentious when it comes to certain bars or restaurants but I give A’s for effort. Swear.

I am a grown ass woman, I appreciate when men are in the driver's seat when appropriate. If they are even the least bit hesitant to choose a place for a simple date I count that as an automatic fail. 

Pro Tips for you men out there:
1. Ask questions about her preferences.
2. Research, doesn't have to be extensive, a quick search is fine.
3. ALWAYS HAVE A BACKUP!!! Nearby options, just in case.

33 Before 33

I know I need to write…

However I’m either binge-watching one of various TV series, extra-focused on playing Pokemon Go! (dead serious) or doing completely nothing on purpose. My new job is low-key stressful (although a nice challenge) and that means I’m lazy AF when I get home.

In attempts to counter my inactivity and to share random Kate life knowledge I will be writing about 33 separate things I’ve learned before I turn 33.

I’ve got less than a month. Let’s go. ;-)

P.S. I’m already high off edibles for the night. I’ll start tomorrow.

Coffee & Pancakes

I always see this "affirmation" on IG. I've screen-shot it and saved it a few times for comforting purposes. HOWEVER, I've never seen it paired with an image until now.

NOW—you're speaking my language. 

A few adjustments though: 11:30 am is wayyyyy too late, even for me, let's go with 9:30. Also, we're adding BAE to the menu (bacon & eggs). 

The half-naked appeal of it all just made it so much more enticing. I'm gonna go with this version, for sure.

Celebrations

I am probably the only woman in the world who will cry about her upcoming birthday, plan it two months in advance and warn her friends that we’re celebrating on a Monday because I will get better turn-out that way due to schedules. *Shrugs* 

The thing is—I believe in celebrating birthdays.

I get offended when the people I love try to downplay them. “It’s just another day, blah, blah, blah…”

No, mother fucker. Your parents had sex, by some God-given miracle you were conceived, we crossed paths and now here we are and you mean something to me. 

I’m glad you’re alive. I will throw confetti in your face while I pour shots.

Everyone I know is experiencing their own battles. We can all agree that adulting sucks. The growing pains are perpetual. It’s a constant struggle, even when you’re a success on paper. Shit is constantly happening and if it isn’t—you’re probably paranoid about when the next storm is about to hit. It’s real. 

I’ve found my that my coping mechanism of being an adult is celebrating. Yep, coping mechanism. I find ways celebrate the positives, the anniversaries and the victories. The reasons range from silly to serious and birthdays are high on the importance scale.

So we’re going to celebrate (or acknowledge it properly), cause life is alway a blessing.

…and my life is pretty freakin’ awesome.

Tick Tock

If I were a man I’d be extremely content right now.

I’m about to negotiate the highest salary I’ve ever received. I live alone and take care of all my bills. I always know where I'm headed next and what plane tickets I need to purchase. I have an active social calendar and I catch a lot of shows/festivals. I could pack all my shit, move away tomorrow and not have to answer to anyone. I have the finances and freedom that certain men can only dream about.

It’s great—and if I had a penis I’d be fuckin’ set.

I wouldn't be watching the clock.

Instead I’m over here wallowing that my 33rd birthday is coming up in less than 2 months. I’ve never had such difficulty accepting a looming birthdate. Every time I get a moment to myself tears fucking run down my face.

Sure, I just described amazing things above—it’s a ton of fun and independence. I worked hard to get here and I count my blessings, but pieces are missing and the clock is ticking. I thought I was ok, I spoke a bit too soon. 

I am so far away from 2 kids, a dog, a husband and a house. (Technically I already have a house, we can scratch that one off the list—just so I can feel slightly better.)

I’m not even dating. I’ve never had a boyfriend since being single. I can’t get past a 4th date.

Once in a while someone says something silly to me like they’re ready for me to relate. They’ll complain about how difficult it is to go to/from their man’s house when they don’t have all the shit they need. 

I don’t know what that feels like.

I don’t know what a weekend day date feels like, the kind that bleeds into a sleep over and breakfast the next day. I don’t know what it feels like to have someone stop me from leaving so I just stick around longer, and longer, and longer. I don’t know what it feels like to go through the awkwardness of asking to have a photo taken together, regardless of whether I plan on posting it on IG or keeping it for my personal archives. I don’t remember what it’s like to hold someone’s hand while he’s driving a car. I forget what it’s like to come home and there’s someone to greet you with a kiss after a long ass day, maybe even with a hot meal waiting.

Stuff like that…

Bullshit like that…

Why don’t I know what any of that is like? Hasn’t it been an adequate amount of time already? It’s almost been 4 years. Haven’t I grown or been patient enough? Don’t I deserve it?

So what the fuck then?

I’m not comparing myself to anyone. I’m comparing my timing to what I always wanted. I’m late. I’m behind on schedule—well, according to me. In result I’m willing to compromise when it comes to my original dreams. I’ll settle… Remember? For Baby Daddy and a single mini-me cute as hell. We can scratch off husband. We can scratch off child no.2. Whatever it takes… I just want a little taste. 

Then again maybe I’ll get everything I want and more. Maybe I’ll laugh about this post in 5 years.

Who knows? Let’s hope I reference this one a few years down the road and die from laughter.