WHY A WOMAN MAY WANT A PENIS – PART 3
(The Last of the "Angry Chick" Entries)
The absence of a dangling fleshy growth between my legs continued to haunt me, even in my professional life.
… One of my reasons for leaving PLDT’s Provincial Operations Divison and the company altogether was my boss’ straightforward advice that, inspite my capabilities, I can never be a regional branch manager because “the staff in the provinces will never respect a woman manager.”
… In my days in cellular network sales, one slime ball client asked me to get him a blonde, blue-eyed prostitute, while we were on a foreign trip – chargeable as a marketing expense, of course. Apparently, my male colleague did him a similar favor once before. I could have if I wanted to, but vehemently refused. There was mutual hate between us after that – and I soon lost slime ball’s US$100M contract. My boss figured he should not have let a woman handle the account and is convinced to this day that men are better salespersons for the reason that they don’t get nauseated in strip joints.
… In my current company, I am the first woman to sit on the Management Team. Our President used to start each Mancom meeting with “Gentlemen…” He made me feel I didn’t belong there. After calling his attention (it didn’t come naturally), he now starts off with “Friends …”
Yes, kiddies, Auntie Mona has seen a lot of ugly prejudices against women in her life. And in retrospect, I wish I fought harder or hacked at a couple of “fleshy growths” along the way. I figured if I did, female high school seniors today wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.
The biases (gender, sexual preference, religion, lifestyle…whatever) and the ignorance that fuels it is a big deal. Please raise hell if you see it. Saying it’s okay for qualified incoming female freshmen to be rejected for UA&P’s BSEM program because they have “frequent brain synapses” is like saying intelligent dedicated women can’t be doctors, lawyers or firefighters because we have monthly fallopian tube activity.
And just for the record, would I want to have been born a man? Let me answer by paraphrasing my goddess M (James Bond’s boss): I am glad I don’t have a penis because -- unlike UA&P’s board and administrators -- I am not predisposed to thinking with it.
<< ”Did I hear you right? You say I cannot go through those doors? **cocks her H&K Super P8 ** I didn’t think so."
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6.28.2002
WHY A WOMAN MAY WANT A PENIS – PART 2
Aside from being a regular at the Starbucks along Pearl Drive in Pasig City, I share something with UA&P kids -- I studied there too. Yep, MA Applied Business Economics, Batch 1992. The challenging learning environment and esteemed faculty was much-talked about, so I schemed to get my dad to pay for the tuition (60K a year, back in 1990). But nothing could have prepared me for the many issues in the periphery that negated the institution’s good points.
First, the “mysterious” segregation and exclusion.
Example: Imagine me, ten years ago at the oratory (that’s means “chapel” for the uninitiated) right before an exam I didn’t study for.
Me: **in prayer** Dear Lord, please let it be an essay exam. If not, please let the proctor be blind …
Guy: **tap tap tap my shoulder ** Excuse me. I’m sorry, but you can’t use the oratory now.
Me: Why? Is there some ceremony going on?
Guy: No. It’s our time for personal prayer. But only men are allowed to pray at this time. You can come back in an hour.
Me: Eh? God won’t listen to me now because I don’t have a penis? When did the Pope come up with that?
Guy: …
Second, the modesty, rooted in religious constipation, that leaks stinky self-righteous flatulence in class.
Example: My marketing teacher (who I once thought was cute) called me and two other girls to stand in front of the class. He then proceeded to draw lines across our knees in permanent marker and declared that we should come to his class the following day in skirts long enough to cover the lines – or be kicked out.
I stood there in disbelief. It was the 1990s! I was in a masters’ program, not grade school! And our skirts were far from being obscenely short! I stormed out of his class and the following day, presented him a receipt for a replacement for the very expensive stockings he ruined. After that, I refused to make it easy for him to teach the class. Vindication came when I got to all-too-loudly call his and the class’ attention to his open fly – in the middle of his lecture. Oh, and I kept wearing that skirt over and over and over ...
Men, by the way, were never the subjects of these “modesty audits.” (Are you wearing jock straps under those silky pants? **feel grope snap**)
Lessons I learned:
… From the school’s practices that highlighted how people are different, I learned to ignore people’s differences … sometimes, be more tolerant of them … often, celebrate them.
… From the regimen of force-feeding doctrines of a “religion,” I began to treat it separate from my “faith”.
… From the culture of righteousness, I recognized that elitists are often the most clueless of us all.
I didn’t need a dick to realize that.
<< Different subject of prejudice. Same ignorance.
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6.26.2002
WHY A WOMAN MAY WANT A PENIS – PART 1
I got my June issue of Entrepreneur Philippines today. I was enjoying browsing through it when one line from an article on entrepreneurship degrees set my boilers humming. Page 50. University of Asia and the Pacific’s BS Entrepreneurial Management Program. “The program is open to males only.”
UA&P is co-ed. That can’t be right, I thought. This must be a typo. I was ready to write Entrepreneur about how the typo can ruin the university’s reputation, but I figured I should check UA&P’s program site first. I was paralyzed at the ugly truth and the lamely worded attempt at masking the flagrant institutionalized underestimation of women's capabilities.
Q. Why is the Program offered only to males?
A. The Program is directed toward the development of whole-brained entrepreneurs. Neuropsychological studies have proven that females have a significantly faster rate of left-brain and right-brain synapses than males. To maintain an environment conducive to optimal learning and the development of whole-brained entrepreneurs, an all-male class composed of individuals possessing the qualities mentioned earlier is seen as a more effective configuration over a mixed gender class.
last updated: Monday, June 3, 2002 2:06 PM
This little gem of a FAQ answer that spiraled out of someone’s tight Opus Dei ass implies that:
… women are scatter-brains. Apparently, ideas aimlessly ricochet inside our brains. And men, being the better-engineered creatures that they are – never suffer from that.
… women disrupt optimal learning environs. The University assumes that all males are pervs and can do nothing but look down women’s chests and imagine how to gain closer access to them. Solution: no women.
… only men can be whole-brained entrepreneurs. Prominent successful female entrepreneurs like Mrs. Field, Helena Rubenstein and Josie Natori are freaks of nature.
... women aren't acceptable for the "elite" course. The University endorses other courses to female applicants -- Nursing, Liberal Arts, Education -- but not Entrepreneurship. They won't have time to take care of a business anyway -- they should stay home, watch the kids and iron their husbands' boxers.
This would only have made sense to me if the explanation went something like …
… This is also an elite rehab program for 17-year old boys with a history of grave sexual misconduct against women.
… The applicant must be able to produce semen – as this is the only currency accepted as tuition payment. The University prides itself in its partnership with the premiere international sperm bank, "Cum of the Earth."
… For Project Financing 101, the students are required to intern as exotic dancers at "Papa Ketcharap-charap Gay Bar", another esteemed University partner, for one semester. Earnings and tips shall be used as start-up capital for entrepreneurial ventures to be established in their senior year.
I’m pissed as a hydrant because this strikes very close to home. Will share more soon…
<< Women are good enough to be presidents of the Philippines; but not BS Entrepreneurial Management students at UA&P. Or so they say ...
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6.25.2002
READY? COVET. GO!
Derick: Check out my new photos from the Communicasia trip …
Me: Sh**. You took these with a digital? Great details. I can see all the poknat on this guy’s face.
Derick: Yep, got me a Nikon D1x. It shoots 5.5 mega-pixels and [insert long technical monologue on photographic equipment here]. I got it from a friend who got several units at dealer price -- about US$5,000 a pop.
Me: You’re just a hobbyist. How do you can you sleep at night knowing you blew your quarter of a million pesos on a camera?
Derick: That’s just the body. I spent another US$5,000 on lenses.
Me: I hate you.
<< The current object of my gadget lust.
Remember my genie entry where I wished for the wisdom to know that what I have is enough? To hell with that.
I’m not in show business -- my showing up for office meetings doesn't command an appearance fee. I don’t make artwork that strangers actually want to pay for. And I am burdened with having to pay for stuff I don’t really need – mortgage, food, clothing, children’s education, insurance, among many. So, the way I figured it, these are the ways I can raise extra disposable for cash to blow on a professional-quality digital camera:
* Single-handedly eliminate the Abu Sayyaf and collect the bounty.
* Offer carnal services to men of verifiable liquidity … or to the dealer Derick got his hardware from.
* Kidnap Derick and collect ransom in cash … or kind.
* Sell my children husband ... but that'll keep me a couple of hundred thousands short. (kidding, dear!)
* Scheme, bitch, slack ... in other words, hang around the office and work.
Nothing can jolt me back to being the territorial spawn-protecting mama that I am than having my two-year old son attacked by a rabid she-wolf. Well, not exactly. My little Diego thought it was a good idea to practice his Cassanova skills on an un-immunized puppy – and gave it a slobbering tongue-flapping French kiss.
But as rabies is an equal-opportunity virus, my son gets exactly the same number and kind of shots as if he WERE bitten by a rabid she-wolf. Nice.
Here are snippets of wisdom I can share from this enriching experience:
* The HRIG vaccine (the first shot my son needed) is probably the most elusive vial of medicine I’ve ever had to look for -- not even Makati Medical Center had it. We had to go to the Research Institute for Tropical Medicine in Muntinlupa. With the southbound traffic building up, I estimate we could have gotten home faster if we flew to Hong Kong for the shots. It didn’t help my mood any that one itty-bitty vial set me back P6,000. That’s US$120. @#$%^&!
* Rabid dogs like biting Pinoys, it seems. We got to this government research institute and had to wait in line for FIVE @#$%^& HOURS because of the sheer volume of dog bite patients. I guess it’s a consequence of being in a country where dog meat is considered a regional delicacy (ugh), inspite the law banning it. The dogs are starting to fight back: Ya wanna have a piece of me?! I want a piece of you first! **bite** .
* If your rabid dog dies, you are “required” to bring its brain to the research institute for documentation. They won’t accept it if you bring Fluffy’s entire carcass there – they just want the brain. What the … how? Swiss army knife? @#$%^&!
This week has been such a blast – in a nuclear explosion sorta way.
Sidebar: One down -- four more shots to go. If Willow is right and things that hurt really do instruct, then I guess won’t be seeing Diego near strange dogs any time soon.
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6.19.2002
MESSAGE SENT
Office phone rings. First phone call of the day.
Me: Good morning.
Tang E. Na: **dramatic silence** It’s me.
Me: **shudders and drops receiver**
Phone rings again.
Me: Good morning.
Tang E. Na: I think our line was …
Me: **drops receiver -- hard**
Phone rings again. I stand up and close my office door.
Me: Good morning.
Tang E. Na: Look, I just want to say …
Me: **bangs receiver on my desk over and over until my fingers go numb and slam dunks it into the cradle**
No, I don’t want to have this conversation. In fact, I don’t want to talk to you ever again. Good-bye.
WHAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN SAID:
I loved you like you could never comprehend. A lifetime ago, our whispered conversations would translate to 50-page entries on my old purple diary with the lock and key. I memorized your eyes and the way they crinkled when you grinned. I could trace from memory where the skin on your face plunged into your dimples. I loved the scent of Irish Spring – because it reminded me of how adorable you looked whenever you came to class late, as if you just stepped out of the shower. You were among the handful who could make me blush. And you alone could torment me.
You became a juvenile ideal against which all other men were measured. So the loves that came after you were TOO MUCH like you – they seemed larger than life yet hollow where the marrow was supposed to be. And just when I was convinced that my life would just be a series of near misses, your unembellished opposite came in the guise of a friend. And we were right on target.
Now, eons after it mattered, you say you want to be with me. Looking at photos of my children stings your eyes because you envy their father. I can still light up a room, you say. Only I can calm your heart, you claim. I am your soul mate, you realize. I searched the recesses of my soul for the right words -- and the answer that was true to what I really felt eluded me until now.
ARE YOU **bleep**ING CRAZY, YOU STUPID @SSWIPE? I called you a year ago because the nausea from the disaster-that-was-our-relationship just wore off (10 years later) and I was curious (as in car-accident curious) about what you’ve become. How the hell did you get the idea that I wanted an affair! Cripes! Even if your inference to “Same Time, Next Year” amused me, I am shaking my head at how I overestimated your depth.
Please take this down, so there is no misunderstanding this time:
* If you think coffee and conversation constitutes an invitation for coitus, consult your manual again.
* If you think you are so irresistible to me, you were thinking of the “me” who didn’t know what the national dick length average was.
* If you just want kids, I know at least two unmarried women who want the same thing. You can give them your magna cum laude sperm and split the litter.
* If my likeness now haunts you, cherish it as that’s the only way you’re ever going to see me again.
* If not being with me will kill your spirit, tough!
* If you blame me for coming back into your life, well hell, I didn’t know you’re a whining loser now.
* And no, I’m not flattered.
That **pokes both eyes** is for the years of torture. That **karate chops his Adam’s apple** is for once insulting me with a replacement girl who had a mustache. And that **kicks his very small balls** is for thinking I am soul-less enough to trade my wonderful husband and beautiful kids for the likes of you.
IF our last conversation was NOT your I-need-to-get-laid-bad dialogue and IF indeed, you are in authentic emotional torment (in a sick Glen-Close-in-Fatal-Attraction way), then GOOD.
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6.16.2002
POST-INDEPENDENCE MUSINGS
Days after the 104th celebration of Philippine independence from 300 years of colonization (that just the Spanish – excludes the American and Japanese occupations), I am at a loss for what “being free” really means to the contemporary Filipino. If freedom means …
... I can watch a 4-year old boy get shot on primetime TV over and over because the press said it was their right to cover it …
- Protestors can block the South Superhighway and cause innocent motorists a 5-hour delay because they need to get their point across …
- Those disillusioned in the government can take up arms and start kidnapping tourists in resorts so they can get some attention …
- Senators can, out-of-schedule, close the entire legislative for more than a month, while they scheme to grab power / stay in power …
- Some large corporations, like SM Incorporated, can continue bad business and labor practices, institutionalizing the short-changing of merchants and employees, because they’re big and they can pull it off …
… then, maybe we need to rethink what we are celebrating. After gaining the right to self-determination, we owe it to those who actually shed blood to give us our freedoms that we – as a country -- start earning self-respect. Next year, I propose we make June 12 National Self-Respect Day.
I’ve been too cerebral lately. I need more shallowness in my life...
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6.14.2002
INNOCENT NO LONGER
Carlo, my eldest, is becoming a man.
* At nine, he finally figured out school can be real work. For the first time, he doesn’t want to go anymore.
* He is of the understanding that he can get what he wants from a girl (his teacher, his lola, his aunts, me ...) if the comes bearing gifts.
* He wants me to buy hair gel for him at my next grocery store visit – because he “wants to be desired.”
* He hangs out with a boy in school who just told me as-a-matter-of-factly that I had big boobs.
* He stalks pretty long-haired girls in tight pants in playgrounds.
* He googled into a porn site and looked terribly intrigued.
* He curses when he thinks we couldn't hear him.
Not really leap-out-of-my-bra alarming, but difficult to observe from the point of view of a mother who can still vividly remember her son in diapers. **sentimental sigh** The hubby and I will be drawing straws soon for “the birds and the bees” talk. There is NO **bleep**ING WAY Jenny Jones will beat us to it!
Sidebar: Parenthood becomes REALLY scary the moment we realize that with the loss of child-like innocence, our kids are now capable of causing the kind of pain we so gleefully inflicted on our parents. I can almost hear my mom and dad sing: "It's payback time!"
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6.11.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 008: MEETING MANUAL
I survived a five-hour meeting today.
Many of us still in the employ of gigantic corporations are united in the opinion that the workplace, especially conference rooms, can be the ultimate playground for time wastage. So, today, I am submitting for your comments and review my proposed addendum to office manuals everywhere – focusing on the conduct of meetings.
1. All employees shall synchronize their watches with the hall clock. For every minute one is late for a scheduled meeting, he loses a month’s salary.
2. Every meeting shall take one hour or less. For every hour extension, the organizer loses one cartilage-bearing body part.
3. Each conference room chair shall be tapped into the electrical system. Every time the following buzz terms are used out of context or uttered to sound MBA-ish, the speaker shall be zapped briefly with 2,000 volts:
SWOT
The 4 Ps
The 5 Ms
Digital divide
Process tollgate
Matrix organization
Mobile internet revolution
Information super highway
Third-generation technologies
(Appendix still in development.)
4. If 20 or more terms from the abovementioned appendix are used within a 15-minute period, the speaker shall be zapped until dead.
I am confident that the more prudent conduct of meetings with give employees like me the time to act on more pressing issues like updating my blog page over the company’s broadband net connection.
<< Figure 1. Proposed sign for all conference rooms.
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6.09.2002
SAP
I am a sap for love stories.
I am fascinated with the concept of soul mates and serendipity … of falling in love with your best friend -- or your best friend's boyfriend… of realizing you’re in love with the one person you hate the most … of ending up with your high school/college sweetheart, decades after graduation … of seeing exploding stars when you kiss the One … of flagrant romantic gestures … of marriage proposals taken to outrageous heights. I am one neurotically die-hard sorry-ass romantic.
Here are some movie romantic scenes I still whimper over (thanks to modern disk storage technology). Yep, self-incriminating admissions right here. I can hear my bitch points plummeting.
* “I came to save you…” from “Ever After”
* "You’re the one that I want …” from “Grease”
* “Die!” “As you wish…” from “The Princess Bride”
* “What happened? I’m not beautiful…” from “Shrek”
* "I want you ..." "You want me..." from "French Kiss"
* "Nice boys don’t kiss like that…” from “Bridget Jones’ Diary”
* "I want to grow old with you…” from the “The Wedding Singer.”
* "You forgot your keys…” from “There’s Something About Mary”
* Foot wash after walking on grapes scene from “A Walk in the Clouds"
* "I love you even if you break my heart over and over again…” from “Reality Bites”
* "I am in love with your son. No, your other son..." from "While You Were Sleeping"
You've got some too, I'm sure...
Sidebar: Ain’t it precious how Cupid – the mischievous little bugger who symbolizes romantic love – has a rather cruel, sick, ala-tele-novela love story of his own?
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6.07.2002
COMEDY CLUB COUNTRY
Jaemark spelled out what I had been all too pissed/tired/in-denial to write about.
The true joke about all this madness is the balance of power in the country's legislative can be tipped at this point by, not the allegiance of the two-faced balato-boy, but the vote of the absent Nardong Putik -- the biggest comedian of the lot!
When Senator Revilla comes back from that back operation in the US, his newly-acquired spine better be a working one this time.
Sidebar: Here's the Administration’s likely interim solution: Throw Ping’s sorry baby-faced ass in jail, where many inmates could, as a patriotic gesture, make him their cell bitch. Count: 11-11. Ha!
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6.05.2002
ANIMAL KILLER
I just realized today that I have yet another obsessive-compulsive idiosyncrasy. Before I get into the car in the morning, I double-check under it for animals. All because:
* Back in grade school, my favorite kitten crawled into the warm car engine on a rainy night. As we were backing out of the garage the morning after, splat went my kitty.
* My husband ran over the smartest dog we ever had, as he was pulling out of the driveway. Helgie wasn’t so intelligent after all.
* My older sister told me and my younger sister that chickens could never get run over by a moving car– something to do with their reflexes, she claimed. After driving too fast through some side streets in Valenzuela City, we realized she was dead wrong. Baby sis and I found a paralyzed chicken stuck to the bumper when we got home -- that chicken never crossed the road again.
I hope I never get zapped into that alternative universe where what you did to animals (accidentally or otherwise), they would do to you. I would die a painful death there.
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6.04.2002
OF MORONS ...
My husband listens to an a.m. station in the morning. I hate a.m. because radio news programs give me time ponder about the current state of Philippine politics all though out my ride to work -- and I get bloody, spasmic ulcers. The half-baked attempt at power-grabbing in the Senate made all of our senators look more stupid than any of their previous blunders. I didn’t think that was possible. **spasm** **pain** Ouch!
... AND MORONIC LAPSES (CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 007)
I worked through noon today, so at about 3pm, I sent our trusted office boy to buy my lunch – spicy fried chicken and Starbucks coffee. As usual, to hide the food smell, I lit an incense stick and commenced feeding my fuel-starved machinery. I must have been deliriously hungry because I forgot to kill the incense stick after the first two minutes. The "smoke" (it's called "cool waters" actually) smell must have leaked out through the central air conditioning. The over-zealous floor fire marshal and his entourage stormed into my office, ready to fight a raging inferno and startling the living bejeezes out of me.
Good news: The office-folk on this floor are alert and do take their fire brigade responsibility very seriously. Very comforting in case there IS a fire.
Bad news: Nothing diminishes one’s feeling of omnipotence like being discovered by the masses with a greasy mouthful of dead poultry.
In the tradition of the classic Filipino miron, I wait with bated breath at the outcome of JG Summit’s bid to buy into ailing PLDT. Remember my obsession with this guy? The entire bruhaha is the corporate version of a playground squabble over teks:
BIG JOHNNY: Manny Peewee, I got the cards **brings out his teks deck**, let’s play.
MANNY PEEWEE: **brings out his deck – which is thinner because of recent losses** But you’re a cheat! And you got those cards because you refuse to give them up when you lose. I don’t want to play with you, you bully!
BIG JOHNNY: **sings** Manny is a weenie! Manny is a weenie!
MANNY PEEWEE: **calls on his posse: Tonybaby, Alfie, and Masanobu, who put all their teks cards in one big pile** Game!
I feel like the sly kid who takes bets while the big boys fight: “Enough with the talk -- let’s rumble! Blood! I want to see blood!”
You don’t give a rat’s ass, right? Most normal people don’t. There’s just something about power-wielding men in suits and hostile corporate take-over bids that leave me all hot and sweaty. I’m special that way. **sigh**
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6.02.2002
DUH?
Today, I wondered:
* How much Diet Coke can I drink before it stops being “diet”?
* If we have multi-million dollar crusades on saving rhinos, eagles and dolphins, why aren’t there campaigns to rescue grocery variety pigs, chickens and tilapias?
* In a recent Britney Spears video where she was shown on a mountaintop wearing the lowest hipsters on earth, how does she manage to sit without her butt cheeks popping out of her pants?
* How will the work week ahead of me change my life?
Sidebar: My son’s nanny is back from her two-week vacation -- thus ending mine. Time flew by SO fast! It’s back to the salt mines tomorrow. :(
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His 72-year old mom who brought 10 children into this world can still walk 2 kilometers and not go to into cardiac arrest. They have clear taut skin, do not have a tendency to be overweight and look younger than they are. They like talking healthy – their vitamin supplements, their non-consumption of oil, salt and preservatives and their successful weight maintenance diets. They bring all sorts of salads and green, leafy crap at family potluck dinners, poke around the preservative-laden goodies in my fridge, and invite me to their outrageous detox sessions. Oh, the pressure!
They are effortlessly gorgoeus people with a radiant healthy glow about them. My genes, on the other hand, descend from a long line of contemptibly intelligent, over-achieving, meat-loving, soda-guzzling folk, whose idea of exercise is brisk-walking to the corner store for some deep-fried banana turon. My husband and Carlo have that eternally boyish look that makes it difficult to place their ages. It’s still too early to tell for Diego; but it sure looks like he’s part of that club too.
No matter how cute and desirable I am now, decades hence when my husband and I are in our seventies -- when I’ve grown a mustache and sprout bat-like wings under my arms -- Mel will probably look like my nephew. Sh*t!
Will timeless charm and enviable wit be enough? Haha! Not likely! So for ladies thinking of getting hitched anytime soon, you should do an age morph on your fiance, along with blood tests, criminal background checks and credit evaluations. You don't want a husband who is potentially prettier than you. We all do not want to be Jennifer Aniston, do we?
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