Tag: women

Mr. No-Good-For-Me

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Scenario: Boy finds girl on Facebook. Boy initiates small talk with girl via online messaging. Boy showers girl in compliments regarding her beauty and flawless sense of humor. Boy offers girl number and suggests that girl texts him. She does. Boy and girl continue flirtatious conversations over text message for a day or two before boy decides to ask girl on date.

Girl accepts boy’s offer. Boy picks girl up, does all the right things, makes all the right moves, and sweeps her off her feet. On this first date, boy kisses girl. A lot.

Boy and girl continue to “get to know one another” through virtually every medium, besides face-to-face interaction. Boy “likes” all of girl’s photos on social networking sites, continually complimenting her on her “foxiness” and playing the part of a gentleman with an infatuation for a lady. Leading her to believe that he has a liking for her. Girl decides that she likes boy, too, and begins to feel genuine fondness toward him. Gradually, the texts from boy decrease and the depth of their conversations shallow to virtually nothing. Weeks pass by before boy decides he’d like to see girl again. She agrees, and they meet up for ice cream. Boy kisses girl again. A lot.

But the interest that boy had in girl is no longer there. It takes some time, but girl finally realizes that again, she has been used and objectified. She realizes that the only motivation boy has in getting to know girl is so that boy can kiss her. Girl is hurt.

Okay, that’s not a scenario. It’s a real-life situation.”Girl” is me. And let me tell you, I am sick and tired of this scenario. I don’t know if this is a personal issue, but all of my latest suitors tend to think that it’s okay to kiss me on the first date. That it’s okay to string me along just long enough for me to think that there’s something there, and then back up until they feel like an M.O. session.

Admittedly, I am a phenomenal kisser. It really is no wonder why boys gravitate to my lips. (Joking, everybody.) But what boy is doing to girl is WRONG and unjustifiable.

Let’s start with the root of the problem: the kiss. And the lack of meaning behind it. I don’t know about you, dear reader, and I may be old-fashioned, but to me, a kiss signifies mutual feelings of affection toward each other. Notice I used the word “affection,” not “attraction.”

Unfortunately, far too often, the kiss is no longer a signifier for anything more than lust. But it still seems to hold its power to reinforce feelings of affection for the kissee to the kisser.

That was a lot of mumbo-jumbo. What i’m trying to get at here, is don’t kiss me until you are confident that you like me for who I am as a person rather than a pretty little thing to lay your eyes on, and are ready to show me that those feelings are there.

So here I am, confused, hurt, and frustrated, at myself, mostly. I am never one to initiate a kiss. But i’m not exactly one to stop one, either. But if he and I are not on the same page as to what  the kiss even means, then I am left to hope that our feelings are the same, and discover later that it was nothing more than a shallow action.

I guess that’s just one method of figuring out if a guy is going to be good for me or not. And now I know why my mom always insisted that I wait until the third date to kiss a boy. You were right, mom. I am now committing the three-date rule to a policy.

Good news is, I now know that boy is no good for me, and will no longer be giving him the authority to be not good for me. Lesson learned.

In summary, people suck. Watch out for the selfish and shallow. Trust only those who have proven worthy. It’s an every-man-for-himself type of world. And keep your walls high.

I apologize for my excessively cynical attitude. But I feel much better now.(:

Over and out.

M.

 

The King of Condescention

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I have met a male that is at least 12 times as “confusing” as the average female. I met this young man in none other than my Women’s Studies class, a class dedicated to stirring up its female-dominated audience against the patriarchy.(AKA my most favorite class I ever did take.)

From the first day of class, I would catch this gent staring at me from across the room multiple times per class period. After a couple of classes, I suppose he finally caught my full name, and found me on Facebook. We engaged in casual cyber-conversation after I’d accepted his friend request, and he attempted to flatter me by telling me how visually appealing I was to him.

The next day in class, the boy avoided any sort of visual or verbal contact with me. Things grew awkward really fast due to his deliberate “ignoring” of my presence. What? Was he embarrassed that he’d validated my suspicion that he thought I was cute? Naturally, I returned the favor, and, in attempt to increase the awkward tension, I avoided that boy right back.

The semester progressed, and so did the platforms in which the boy communicated with me, none of which included face-to-face interaction. One day, he found me on SnapChat. He then sent me a selfie with the caption, and I kid you not, “I want you. All of you.”

So here’s this kid who doesn’t even have the guts to have a face-to-face conversation with me. Telling me he “wants me.” These type of messages continued, and he repeatedly notified me of his desire to cuddle with me, kiss me, and most recently, go hot tubbing with me. It’s amazing how greatly your confidence increases when you’re safely sheltered behind a computer screen or mobile device. Because there is no way in heck this boy would approach me in real life and say ANY of these things in the hallway after class.

Don’t even get me started on the damage social media has done to our social skills.

Continuing on.

The other day, this boy wrote me a message on Facebook, asking a question on one of our assignments. I answered his question, to which he replied, “that’s what I thought.” I responded, “you thought right, champ!” to which he said “generally.” I sarcastically praised his humbleness, and in retaliation, he informed me that I was an arrogant brat.

At this point, I had lost my sh*t. I was infuriated. I went off, my fingers swiftly and forcefully pounding the keyboard. I told him that he had no right to call me that just because I’d damaged his ego in refusing to kiss, cuddle, or whatever else he wanted, with him.

He didn’t message me for a week or two after that little episode. Then, yesterday, I the following status: “GUYS. It is totally hot tub weather. Who’s in?”

Minutes after posting this, I received another message from this boy. He told me he’d “tooootally” go hot tubbing with me. I began listing reasons why I could no longer go hot tubbing. Somewhere within the conversation, he called me “sweetie.”

ATTENTION, EVERYONE: don’t you DARE call me “sweetie” if you wish to keep your larynx functioning properly. That is the most condescending thing you could ever say. “Sweetie.” That stupid pet-name is how mommies and daddies refer to and address their three-year-old offspring. That was an insult to my intelligence, age, and hinted that this boy thought he was either above me, or somehow a significant other who had the right to use gushy pet-names that supposedly indicate affection.

This boy, may I remind you, won’t even have a verbal conversation with me. What right does he have to call me anything other than my name? I am infuriated. And we will most definitely not be going hot tubbing together any time in the near future.

Don’t call me sweetie, or I will show you fifty shades of sour.

And also, if you think I’m cute, come tell me in person. I am the least intimidating person in the history of non-intimidating people.  Typing “ur cute” and hitting the “send” button means absolutely nothing to me.

M.

 

The Harm In Formality

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First dates are so formal. If you think about it, you spend three or four hours engaging in some sort of structured activity with another person, nervously and anxiously trying to impress the dude and try to get to know him at the same time.

My question is, how are you supposed to get to know someone when they are putting on a front just like you are in order to impress you? I know i’m guilty of spending an extra half hour making sure my hair has more bounce and shine than usual and that my eye makeup is just slightly darker in attempt to make my eyes that much more alluring, and sucking on breath mints until he arrives.

Then he comes to the door, wearing a just-more-than-casual button-up shirt that he may or may not have ironed beforehand, and wouldn’t be caught dead in on a typical day. You exchange a stiff “hello” and follow him to his car, where, if he is a “gentleman”, he will open the passenger door and wait for you to self-consciously climb inside before jogging around the automobile to climb in through the driver’s side.

I don’t care how much of a “gentleman” your date is, there is no way that he regularly opens the car door for his passengers. It’s just not natural.

As the time passes, slowly at first, but progressively faster, you anxiously and cautiously engage in a conversation in which all you can think about is the kind of person you’re coming across as and anticipating possible conversation-starters just in case, heaven forbid, the current topic of conversation dies out and you both end up sitting across the table in an awkward stupor of speechlessness, and how you only get one first impression and oh gosh now it’s raining and he’s going to see your hair transform into an untamed, frizzy mess and nobody is into an untamed frizzy mess.

Again, I thought the point of dating was to get to know someone and see if they make the cut for a second date, and eventually, a relationship. But it’s really hard to do that when you’re putting on a faker-than-fake persona that you THINK he will like. Let’s be honest, people. You can only hide your crazy for so long.

So there you are, sitting across the table with someone that you can now call an acquaintance, and the conversation is beginning to flow a little more freely. The tension is gradually being lifted and you feel yourself relax. That is, until it’s time to order, but luckily you’ve premeditated appropriate food options in order to avoid getting food on your attire, face, or worse, in between your teeth. And also, it can’t be a hamburger or else he’ll think you’re a total fatty.

Then there’s the matter of how much you should eat. You can’t possibly finish the entire dish in front of a GUY, even though you skipped out on lunch today and can feel your tummy eating itself it’s that hungry. And you better not eat more than he does. And you better not eat too fast, but you can’t take too long and make him wait for you, either.

What’s the big deal? If a guy is gonna treat me to a 12-dollar dinner at my favorite restaurant, you better believe I’m gonna enjoy it. ALL of it.

The date comes to a close, and let’s say hypothetically he does like this fake-o person you improvised, based on your assumptions of what he likes, and you get a second date with this suitor. How long are you going to play the part of the well-mannered, exceedingly polite, normal girl that you were on your first date? And by the way, he’s doing the same thing. Where does the formality stop, and a couple decides to be themselves instead?

Don’t get me wrong, I love a good, well-planned, structured date. But I HATE the pressure that comes with it. All it is is two people putting on a show for one another while out for a night of public entertainment. Maybe I’m the only one with this problem. I just find it immensely difficult to be myself on a date when there is a mutual expectation to behave as a proper, formal person who is just talkative enough to make herself interesting, but doesn’t give too much away, and is instantly intrigued with everything that comes out of her date’s mouth.

I guess everyone’s different, and some people just need some time to break out of their little shells when they’re around new people. But I just wish there weren’t so much pressure to impress people. On dates. In everyday life. Like I said, you can only hide your crazy for so long, and after spending X amount of time with the same person, they’re bound to meet the REAL you. And the faster you can be the REAL you around someone, the faster you can weed out the ones who aren’t going to stick around when they meet you in your entirety.

Can I get an amen?

M.

 

Porcelain Envy

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I love myself. I do. I love that my my skin is the lightest of ivory white and lightly speckled with orange sun kisses. I love my lack of athletic ability and the way I avoid physical activity like the plague. I like that I purposely try to use the biggest words that I can think of in place of ordinary, everyday words. I love that I don’t have an ounce of muscle on my body. I love that I am relatively short and that I don’t have protruding cheekbones. I love that my eyes are a mixture of both emerald and sapphire and have specks in them where the color is less intense.

Despite all the parts of me that I love, I still turn green with envy on occasion. The occasion where this happens most is SOCCER GAMES.

Let me explain further.

My little sister is 16 years old. Beautiful, tall, with darkened skin and an athletic build. The brat.

She’s been playing soccer since longer than I can remember, and she’s good. She currently plays on my former high school’s team, and on a competition team as well. This past weekend, I had the opportunity to travel to the classy city of Las Vegas, Nevada, to spectate at one of her tournaments.

My pasty complexion is extremely sensitive to the sun, and laying outside on a blanket for three hours a day surely didn’t do my derma any favors. But while I was laying there, letting my flesh turn the color of a ripe tomato, and attempting to follow my sister’s soccer match, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of those stupid soccer chicks.

They ALL had naturally bronzed skin, a lean, slender build, and the ability to run after a stupid ball for hours on end. The direct and exact opposite of myself, in other words.

Like I said, I’m happy with the way that I am. But gosh dang it I wish I were a sporty girl. It doesn’t even matter what sport, really. I just wish that my limbs were capable of enough coordination that I could at least be capable of playing a casual game of catch or pass or whatever soccer players do… (dribble?) without causing myself any physical harm, or kicking the ball into the neighboring soccer field.

I can’t help but wonder, if I would have stuck with the recreational sports my parents signed me up for in my elementary school years, if I would have had the potential to become a sporty girl. The world may never know.

Me wanting to be an athlete is about as ridiculous as Jenna from 13 Going On 30 wanting to be 30.

So I will continue to embrace my clumsy, uncoordinated, and awkward self, and watching my sister’s sporting games from indoors in effort to save my fair skin from acquiring melanoma. And I will stop wishing I were a sporty girl, and love the fact that I’m the dorky, pasty-white girl who can hardly walk in a straight line. Because she is just as good as every last one of those jock chicks. Chick jocks?

I think that’s how you learn to be happy in this world. If you can figure out who you are and then learn to embrace that person, and love her for her faults, flaws, and positive qualities alike, regardless of what the girl next to you has, you’ve got it made.

As I’ve mentioned in previous posts, comparison is the thief of joy.

This post was all over the place. Kind of like me.

M.

The Lad From The Library

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The other day, while I was diligently slaving over an assignment in the school library, I couldn’t help but notice the young fellow sitting across the aisle, slumped in a swivel chair, and looking me up and down repeatedly. Y’know how sometimes you can just feel someone’s eyes on you? Yes. It was one of those instances.

Awkwardness was beginning to satiate the air as his eyes met mine and he realized he’d been caught red-handed. I’d resumed my business and continued typing my essay on the computer in front of me, but moments later, to my surprise, he was standing right next to my desk in an insecure stance.

He introduced himself and we chatted for a moment or two about school and other mindless conversational topics. Our gratuitous chatter began to die down, but before he returned to his seat, he told me that I was “too cute to be this nice.”

That is a direct quotation, ladies and gentlemen.

Hmmm. Let’s let that sink in for a moment, shall we? I was previously unaware that physical attractiveness correlated at all with how kind a person could be.

And what is “too cute?” I didn’t know one could possess excessive cuteness. This brings me to a whole new theme to rant about. I can’t be ugly, because then nobody will like me and my value as a human being will decline. But if i’m too much of a looker, people will think I’m an arrogant and antagonistic brat.

There’s no such thing as too much cute.

Furthermore, I was unaware that degree of cuteness an individual possesses were indicators of how nice said person could be. Last time I checked, looks have absolutely no influence on one’s personality or character traits. I know some dang alluring beings who happen to be the kindest, most friendly people around.

But, according to this bloke, I am TOO cute to be this nice.

Which means that NO ONE is excluded from negative stereotypes. Good-looking people, bad-looking people, doesn’t matter. Which also means that the lad from the library made a generalization that cute people are not nice.

That’s the thing about generalizations, folks. They are NEVER 100% accurate. They are stereotypes.

Who was he to assume that because my physical features were pleasing to his eyes, that I would be unfriendly, standoffish, or conceited?

I know that his intent was to adulate me. It was a good intention, sure. But instead of complimenting me on my appearance, why couldn’t he just tell me he thought I was friendly or easy to talk to and that he’d like to converse with me again sometime in the near future?

I’ll tell you why. It’s because society has turned its people into shallow beings. Had I not been a petite, blonde girl with a youthful face, the chances of this man even starting a conversation with me would be slim. I’m not going to say he wouldn’t have introduced himself if he didn’t think I was cute, because that would be an assumption. And you know what they say about ASSumptions.

So thank you, lad from the library, for verbalizing your admiration for my appearance. It was a confidence-booster, and made my cheeks flush red for a fraction of a second, until you added that second part of your “compliment.” The part about me being “too nice.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go figure out a way to adjust my niceness level so that it matches my degree of pretty-ness.

Yeah, right.

 

Happy Medium

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I don’t know if it’s just my lack of judgment or sheer bad luck when it comes to dating, but I seem to only attract young suitors on the extreme ends of the criteria spectrum. In other words, they’re either “bat-sh*t crazy” or markedly dull. Exceedingly talkative, or completely standoffish. But most importantly, they’re either initially and concernedly head-over-heels in love with me, or show no particular interest in me at all. 

It’s a tricky thing, dating me. I am the type of girl who feels suffocated the instant I get too much attention from a guy. If he texts me twice in a row without my own response in between, I will normally delete his number entirely from my phone, and we will likely not converse again. To me, any guy who wants to talk more often than a couple SMS messages a day is too clingy. What can I say? I like my space. 

But when I am interested in a guy, and want his attention more frequently, he never seems to share that mutual desire for communication. And I know it’s not fair of me, but I absolutely despise initiating a conversation for fear of becoming clingy to someone else. 

And isn’t that the way? The suitor you have no interest in developing any sort of relationship is the one who constantly showers you with attention, compliments, and adoration, while the man you WANT to give you this attention is preoccupied and uninterested. 

It’s not fair, you guys. 

As usual, I have a real-life example to illustrate this thought. 

So, I met this sweet, sweet boy the other day. Let’s call him Joey. Okay, so I met Joey at school, and we began getting to know each other via text message. After a complete day of talking, Joey had mentioned that he had written me a song. Keep in mind, Joey and I had been in each others’ acquaintance for approximately a 24 hour period. 

My initial reaction to his songwriting was to delete his number and forget him, as I had with so many others. But, as aforementioned, Joey is a very sweet, kindhearted young chap, so I decided I’d allow him to play me this song. He did, and it was really flattering, and hinted at his desire to be “more than just friends.” 

We hung out the night he played me that song and talked an awful lot. When I returned home that evening, I received another message from Joey in which he notified me that he had begun authoring his second song about me. While I am flattered by his adoration and his romantic, musical demonstration of said adoration, I feel that it is rather excessive, given the circumstance that he has only known me for a matter of hours. In short, he’s about scared me off. 

On the other end of the spectrum is this boy whom we’ll call Brian. Brian is a very attractive gentleman, about four years my senior, which makes him roughly as mature as I am. Roughly two weeks ago, Brian took me on a date for sushi (my favorite sophisticated Asian cuisine) and then to a movie. We had an absolute blast, or so I had thought.

In the past couple of weeks since our date, we’ve carried on meaningless text conversations, but have not seen each other face-to-face. Naturally, his lack of interest or desire to see me again has only made me like him more. We all want what we can’t have. It’s a complicated world, isn’t it? 

I guess what I’m trying to get at here is that I need a guy who will give me just the right amount of attention when and where I want it. That sounds ridiculous and snobbish, I know. But a girl can dream.

The struggle is real, people. 

And the search continues…

 

 

How To Lose A Girl’s Interest In 4 Seconds

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I recently quit my job of two years at the local trampoline park, which has given me an abundance of this thing called “free time,” which I have been using to expand and strengthen my social circles. 

I began hanging out with some of my old guy friends from high school again. These fellas are a year younger than me, which makes them seniors in high school. (May I just say, the difference in maturity level between a high school student and a fresh graduate is unreal.) These friends have been their own exclusive group for who knows how long, but I have only known them for about four years. 

All was well, and we started hanging out all the time again just like the “good old days.” I had dated the majority of them throughout the course of my high school career. Never seriously, but my prom dates were always members of this clan. What I’m saying is I’ve had history with one or two of these gentlemen. 

With me graduating a year before these boys, we had become more and more distant, and I had assumed that I’d left all this “history” behind me when I obtained my diploma. But apparently, I was wrong. 

One night, we were all hanging out at this one boy’s house. Let’s call him Tom. We spent maybe an hour listening to a couple of us mess around on the piano and guitar. Once we all grew bored of that, we migrated downstairs to the basement to watch a select handful of them play video games. Yes. Video games. 

I was reminded rather quickly why I had allowed myself to “grow apart” from these kids. They play video games. A lot. And when that stupid controller is in their hands, they develop the personality of  a brick wall, and about the same ability to converse. 

So there I was, bored out of my mind and laying hopelessly on the couch, listening to the sound of fake gunshot from the TV, when Tom decided he’d come and “cuddle me.” 

I moved over and gave him a little space to lay next to me. Once he was situated, I laid my head on his chest and continued to stare blankly at that blasted television screen. I didn’t think much of it, and decided that Tom made a great human pillow. Him and I began to chat a little and before I knew it, his face was right up in my grill. And he was doing that thing where a boy stares at your lips while you talk and then you just KNOW you’re about to get kissed. 

Over my dead body. 

I pulled away fast and whipped out my phone and pretended to be deeply engaged in an SMS conversation to avoid his gaze at my mouth. That went on for a while, and eventually, the rest of the group decided they were as bored as I was with those video games, so we decided to drive to Krispie Kreme for a late-night pastry. 

After consuming our donuts, we slowly made our way to our cars. As I was approaching my own, one of the boys drove his car right up to me. Tom was sitting in the passenger seat with the window down.

“Give me a kiss.” He said bluntly.

The kid driving the car smiled and said, “Yeah, you owe him.” 

Um. WHAT. What does he mean I OWE him? And how dare he TELL me to kiss him in front of his bone-headed friend? 

I realize these kids are stupid high school boys with a significantly lower IQ and maturity level than a sophisticated lady like myself, but at moments like these, all I can think is “What the hell?”

He pulled my arm down toward him and put his face really close to mine again and attempted to kiss me, to which I politely refused.

Haven’t talked to the chap since, and we’ve been friends for four years. 

What makes him think that’s okay? If I wanted to kiss him, i’d have done it already.  I was livid. So angry. All I wanted to do was punch him square in the mandible. 

Boys, have some class, and use your brains. Nothing makes a girl lose interest faster than ASKING HER TO KISS YOU IN FRONT OF YOUR STUPID FRIENDS. Furthermore, he had already presented me with the opportunity to mack out earlier that evening, and I had declined. 

I know your ego’s a little damaged now, but rejection happens, psycho. 

Grr. 

Conclusions

MissM5 Comments

Seven days ago, I began my anti-makeup experiment in which I gave up wearing makeup for an entire week in an attempt to observe how much appearance affects the way people treat me. To my disappointment, I did not notice any drastic negative reactions to my not getting as “dolled up” as usual. The most drastic reactions I noticed were the changes in my own brain-the way I thought about myself. This experiment has taught me a number of things in which I have neatly outlined in a numbered list:

1. Wearing Makeup Does Not Necessarily Mean That You Are A Conformer: although the media places immense pressure on women in today’s society to look a certain way, using cosmetics to highlight and play-up our features does not mean that we are submitting to societal views on how to be beautiful.

2. It’s All About How YOU Feel: Personally, I feel like crap if I don’t at least have a little mascara on. Something about that stuff makes me feel more awake, alert, and ready for my day. I noticed how much more sluggish and drowsy I felt without it. And trust me, as a full-time college student with a job, I am already a hopeless victim of energy deficit as it is. So I will resume my ritual of minimal eye makeup application.

3. Makeup Helps Reduce Negative Self-Talk: I’m not just saying this in regard to appearance. I am guilty of excessive insults toward myself, in virtually every aspect of my life. So if I can make myself look a way that is visually satisfying to ME, I will. It helps me be a little nicer to myself at least when I look in the mirror.

4. The Only Person You Need To Impress Is You: Seriously. Who cares if your sister thinks you’re wearing too much makeup? If YOU feel pretty, shut her up and keep doing what you’re doing. You are not here to impress the people around you. Screw ’em. You don’t need that kind of negativity in your life. Surround yourself with people who like you for your entire package-including how you present yourself.

The bottom line is, it’s all about what makes you feel your best. Makeup is not bad, and it’s not a sign of insecurity. But it is also important to remember that your appearance does not define you, and that you are more than just something to look at. So don’t let those commercials featuring the beautiful models with the eyelash extensions and airbrushed skin be the standard in which you compare yourself to. Those models spend hours in hair and makeup where professionals perfect every little flaw and blemish, and even that isn’t good enough, because photo editors still spend hours editing what can’t be fixed with cosmetics. Let’s be honest, we everyday women don’t have time for that! We’ve got lives to live. So live life, be happy with the way you are, and don’t give what anyone else thinks a second thought.

That was loads of fun, but I’m excited to wear mascara again.(:

Have a good day, lovelies, and thanks for reading!

Miss Maddie

I AM MENSTRUATING.

MissM2 Comments

You read that right. I am bleeding out my uterus. It happens every 28 days. It is an unavoidable part of female living, for the average female. Your mom does it. Your sister does it. Your best friend does it. Your aunt does it. So why the Q are we so secretive about it?!

I am fed up with having to hide tampons in my purse and pray that no one sees them while i’m innocently searching through it for my emergency chocolate stash. I am sick of not being able to explain to a male classmate that his mere existence is pissing me off because my emotions are out of wack because my uterus is doing its routine shedding of its own lining. I am sick of having to text my friend in the same class as me to ask her if she has any Midol.

Furthermore, I am sick of being on the brink of tears and having people be extra sensitive to me because I look like I’m gonna lose it any second. All I want is the ability to devour seven donuts without anyone questioning why I suddenly have the appetite of a cave man.

Like, I didn’t choose the menses life. The menses life chose me.

A Change In Direction

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I started Down With The Norm to document my observations during my “Anti-Makeup” experiment, but I have decided to morph this blog into a discussion of the world in which we live, including, but not limited to, my feelings on feminism, patriarchal society, happiness, and the point of living in the first place. Responses and counterarguments are encouraged, as they will force me to reconsider and strengthen my positions, views, and values. Thanks so much to everyone who follows and supports me. Thanks to everyone who has ever had an opinion, as others’ opinions help mold my own.

Stay strong, Monday is almost over.(: