So I showed up. Tuesday at 6:45.

She was all “I have you for tomorrow at 6:30 PM. Can you do it then?” My first thought was “no, because I was supposed to come Tuesday at 6:45!” But then I said no, but I could come later. So we agreed at 8 PM on Wednesday night.

Earlier in the day on Tuesday I was emailing with my mom and I was all “I think I’m done with therapy. I really don’t want to go. It feels like such a chore. It shouldn’t feel like such a chore.” And as my mom always tells me, do what you need to do. Which, awesome non-advice mom! I’ll remember that the next time you fall down the stairs at Wrigley. (Kidding! Hi mom! Love you!)

As I left my non-appointment on Tuesday night, I realized that I had to quit my therapist. She’s a nice enough lady and I think she’s good at what she does. But really, it shouldn’t be a chore to go every week. I shouldn’t be excited for the weeks I can’t go.

Now granted, therapy isn’t like going to a bar and knocking back a few cocktails. Now that is fun! But from my last experience, I also know I didn’t ever dread it. Sometimes I worried I would have nothing to talk about (HA!), but I never had that overwhelming sense of dread of going.

So I decided on my walk back to the train from my non-appointment that I would cancel this week’s appointment. I made up some excuse about dinner reservations and that I couldn’t make it.

But I do have an appointment next Thursday. And that’s when I’m going to tell her that her services are no longer needed. But because I’m too nice and she knows my damn weaknesses, I’m going to say that I don’t have any free evenings at ALL the rest of August and that I have no insurance come September 1. So we’ll have to sever our relationship for the time being. And I’ll make promises to call her once I find a job and start back up with her. Which will all be a BIG, FAT LIE.

It’s really not her. I’m just not really focused and motivated enough to be delving into this again. (Any armchair therapists are welcome to psychoanalyze this.) If I’m going to be paying for this service, I should be invested in it. And now, I just don’t have the time. I’ve got too much shit going on. And also? Her calling me sweetie all the time is really starting to irritate the fuck out of me.

So when I get a new job (hopefully one with benefits) I’ll look into starting my therapist search again. I really think you have to be in a place where you WANT to go to therapy, not just go and pay a $20 co-pay for the Jolly Ranchers on the table.

But boy oh boy am I going to miss the FREE Jolly Ranchers.

Or, why I love using bullets!

• Is anyone watching Big Brother? Am I the only one who hates Jessie and wants him to be exiled to the island that Tupac is on? Let Tupac take care of business and pop a cap in that irritating, immature douchebag’s ass.
• My interview today was lame. I was only doing it help my half-sister out, which she owes me big time for, by the way. One, because the directions on how to get in the building were not clear so I spent 15 minutes trying to find the front of the building. Did I mention it was humid and about 90 degrees and I was in a suit?
• It is an insurance company and I didn’t realize there were still really stuffy companies out there. Every one was in a suit (except my sister). I knew the minute I saw that, it was not going to be a place I wanted to work.
• My suit pants don’t even fit. I had to fasten them close with a safety pin.
• The woman I met with was recruiting for sales. I didn’t know this until after I said “yuck, sales. I could never be in sales. Sales people are pushy.”
• I clearly have awesome interview skills.
• Thankfully by this time I didn’t care because hello! Stuffy suits!
• And then I went to work. I got there at noon.
• Only because it was 173 degrees in my house and there is air conditioning at work.
• That is telling you how hot it was in my house. Because a normal person would have worked from home.
• Walking through ankle-deep puddles in flip flops will make your feet and shoes wet. And then you will get a blister on the ball of your foot because plastic flip flop + water + humidity + a lot of walking = FAIL WHALE.
• Don’t eat Fiber One bars when you have to go to work. Trust me on this. It’s a weekend thing. A weekend where you plan on not going anywhere.
• Or a night time thing. If your bedmate prefers dutch ovens.
• I was up with my kiddies kitties until like 2 AM because OMG! Lightening! Must jump 20 feet in the air every time it thunders!
• And I also might have been a little afraid of hearing sirens again.
• I am finally working my way through my Google Reader.
• Looking for a JOB is really cramping my blog reading lifestyle. The comment spreadsheet is feeling a little neglected.
• I clearly read too many blogs.

I got none of that. And every time I was in the back of the room applying for jobs, typing away on my laptop, I got glared at. Because apparently I was supposed to sit in the back of the room and stare into space and fall asleep in my chair.

But then I really didn’t want to write a post about that. Because you guys are all “SHUT UP WOMAN! WE GET IT!” And yet when I go to talk about something different, I can talk of NOTHING ELSE.

Well, until tonight. I now will be talking about how I ALMOST DIED IN A TORNADO. Because OMG! I ALMOST DIED IN A TORNADO TONIGHT!

Well, not really.

But, as I was sitting here booting up Wordpress, the lightening and thunder started to get really bad. Not really raining too hard, but I was convinced if I got too close to the window, I would be electrocuted. So I put the cats by the window to see how bad it was. (They are like my portable weather vane.) Simba’s hair is still standing on end.

In the meantime, I figured I should probably stop watching basic cable and maybe turn on a local station. And then on twitter, Jules is all “TORNADO. GOING TO MY BATH TUB.” And I was all “that Jules, she’s such a kidder. You shouldn’t take a bath when there is a bad storm and/or a tornado.”

And then the lovely gentleman on CBS 2 interrupted and told me “OMG! THERE IS A TORNADO HEADING TOWARD THE CITY! WE NEVER SEE TORNADOES GO THIS FAR EAST!” And then I laughed and checked out Fox online and their Live Power Doppler because I’m obsessed with it. They have a running chat on the right side of the page and there are some crazy people in the Chicagoland area, let me tell you. And somehow they all have wireless access.

As soon as I booted up Fox’s website the tornado sirens went off. Let me say that again, THEMOTHERFUCKINGTORNADOSIRENSWENTOFFHOLYSHITBALLS!

I have lived in the greater Chicago area almost my whole life, 21 of my almost-31 years. So I know bad storms. And I can honestly say that besides the sirens going off at 10 AM the first Tuesday of every month (that’s when they test them. And yes, if you live here you know that. And no, I don’t know what will happen if there is ever a tornado at 10 AM on the first Tuesday of some month. I think the world will implode) in that time I have maybe only heard them go off a few times in my life, like once or twice. In fact, I always wondered if they would be loud enough to hear. Oh, shit yeah, they are loud enough to hear.

So the tornado sirens go off. And what do I do? I CALL MY MOM. Because, I have no fucking clue where I’m supposed to go. I literally was running around like a chicken with its head cut off because I was all “should I close the windows? Should I turn off the lights? What about the cats? Should I shut down MY COMPUTER? Should I PUT ON PANTS?”

My mom calmed me down and said “go to your laundry room!” And so I did. And I left the windows wide open, put my laptop in hibernate mode and wished the cats the best of luck. Because they were about to go on one wild ride.

Down in the laundry room, I met a handful of my neighbors. Including the pot smokers. And let me tell you, they are impressed with me. I showed up in too-short shorts (it’s HOT in my house people), with cottage cheese legs as far as the eye could see, and a wife beater and generally just a hot sweaty mess because I decided to cook in 90 degree weather. But hey, at least I had pants on.

My neighbors are very nice. The good pet owners packed up their kitties and brought them down with them. Apparently they think CLEARLY in natural disasters. I DO NOT.

We chatted and decided we should throw a party for all of us some time in the near future. One that DOES NOT INVOLVE FUNNEL CLOUDS. Funnel cakes are OK, though.

We were down there for about 30 minutes until the storm passed. I got back up to my apartment to find the cats THROWING A PARTY! No, they were hiding under the bed. And the windows I left wide open? Created a Lake Titicaca in my living room, all over my chair, a blanket and the cat’s scratching post.

So thankfully nothing was damaged, I still have a roof over my head, two cats and MY LAPTOP. Whew. AND! I got a blog post out of it!

And now I have to go to bed. Because I have a fake interview tomorrow. Well, not completely fake. I’m going to meet some recruiter at my half-sister’s office because if she got six people to come in, she got $500. I figured I would go because maybe it will turn into a job. Because that would be the easiest job search ever. Plus at the very least, she’s totally buying me dinner.

(Previous section can be found here.)

“Aww, fuck,” Aaron yelped as his ass hit the ground when Zombie Beej dropped him. He saw the back of Zombie Beej’s head as he ran down the street just like a kid who just heard the tinkling of the ice cream truck down the block.

Zombie Beej took off in the direction of the noise, almost immediately re-thinking his decision not to eat Aaron’s brains. He ran over to the side of the house on the corner of the block where he saw a tall model-like woman messing around in her back yard with an axe. Upon closer review, Zombie Beej noticed that this beautiful woman was chopping down her tree into small sticks.

As if on cue, the woman looked up and saw Zombie Beej staring at her, drool and blood dripping from his mouth. She yelped out and then immediately picked up two of the sticks she had just chopped and started clacking them together.

CLICK CLACK CLICK CLACK

“Stay away from me,” she yelled at Zombie Beej. In between her yelling and screaming, she clicked and clacked those sticks together frantically, as if something magical was supposed to happen.

CLICK CLACK CLICK CLACK

“Why are you clacking those sticks together?” Zombie Beej asked her, amused by her quirkiness.

“It’s well-known lore that clacking these sticks together will keep the zombies away,” she stated, proud of her zombie knowledge, and for her use of lore in a sentence.

“Did two little twin girls give you that information?” Zombie Beej asked. “Because I’m pretty sure that is straight out of The Parent Trap right there. Someone played you, honey.” And then he laughed until so much drool came out of his mouth it soaked his worn Boston Red Sox shirt.

“Well, then smartypants,” the woman said, ”why don’t you tell me how I am supposed to kill a zombie.”

“Mawfwahuhuhwahfuhnn,” Beej answered.

“Oh my God! Was that just zombie speak for how you’re going to kill me?” the woman asked in a panic.

“No, sorry, I tried talking with peanut butter in my mouth,” he said. “What I was trying to say is that it is common knowledge that you could have easily killed all these zombies with one swift blow to the neck with your axe there.”

Right then Zombie Beej heard the screeching of the tires of a car heading in his direction. As he turned to look to see where the car was coming from, he noticed that Aaron had hobbled over after being dropped on his ass and was reaching for the axe - the axe that Zombie Beej had just said was easiest way to kill zombies. “Brilliant,” Beej thought to himself. “I am so SMRT.”

Aaron snatched the axe off the ground and immediately lunged at Zombie Beej, trying to aim as close to his neck as he could, so he could decapitate his zombie ass.

But just as the axe was about to make contact with Zombie Beej’s neck, Beej picked up one of the sticks of wood on the ground and held it out in front of the axe that was cutting through the air, getting rather close to his skin. He got the stick up just in time to have the axe glance off the wood and just miss cutting Beej’s carotid artery and ending his lonely, zombie life.

Feeling victorious with his quick thinking, Beej started thinking about the beautiful woman who originally was chopping wood. Beej realized he didn’t even know her name. As he turned around to ask the beautiful, lanky blonde what her name was, he saw Shelley come out of nowhere, jumping out of the Popemobile wielding an axe. Before he could even take in a breath, the axe sliced its way through the skin around Beej’s neck and he was instantly dead in a bloody heap on the ground.

Shelley, proud of her job well done, looked over in the corner of the yard to see Aaron cowering like a baby in the fetal position covered in drops of Zombie Beej’s blood.

“Shit never gets done right unless a woman does it,” Shelley said as she grabbed Aaron and the woman as they hightailed it out of town in the Popemobile. “But thank God I have a good story for my blog post.”

El Fin

I generally can only manage being away from my own home for a maximum of 4 days. It is why BlogHer was perfect for me. It was just enough time away from home, but not too long where I was scratching out the eyeballs of complete strangers on the street because “I can has goes home now? Plz? PLEASE, MOTHER FUCKER! TAKE ME HOME NOW!”

That is why these sales conferences are hard for me. I am lucky enough to stay at the hotel. (Yes, it is lucky since I live seven miles away so really, not all that necessary for me to stay here.) I enjoy staying in hotels, especially for free. I love the king-sized bed. I love that I don’t have to make my bed everyday. And when it is the end of July in Chicago and 100-mother-fucking-degrees, I LOVE THE AIR CONDITIONING.

(I only have a window unit in my bedroom. Which I try not to run, except for when I’m sleeping because that bitch costs a lot to run because it doesn’t shut off. So my TV watching is usually done on the couch with two fans blowing on me with sweat coming out of places I really don’t wish to mention on here.)

So it is a nice break to stay here. No cats stepping on my face, waking me up at all hours of the night. There are fresh towels everyday. I can leave a mess all over the sink in the bathroom and it will be cleaned up by the time I get back to the room. And also, have I mentioned the air conditioning? And the thermostat that is permanently set at 64 degrees? BECAUSE IT IS.

But I’m ready to go home. I normally get like this the week of a sales conference. It is a lot of consecutive late nights and long days and a lot of logistical stuff. On top of it, this conference is horrible because I don’t want to be helping anyone because have I mentioned I am NOT GOING TO WORK HERE? And I have to sit in the back of the room and listen to the product training for the umpteenth time and this time I don’t even have to feign interest because I don’t even have to learn this information.

Tonight I went home and dropped in on my kitties. I did this for a few reasons: 1) I didn’t want to go to dinner with my co-worker, 2) it gave me a good excuse NOT to go out and party and be horribly hung over tomorrow and 3) it has been hotter than blazes here and I was sure my cats were dead in a corner of the apartment.

I ended up staying there for a few hours. I just watched some TV, ate my dinner, fed the cats and gave them more water. And as relaxing (and HOT!) as it was (which, I know, who finds their own home more relaxing than a HOTEL) it made me sad to have to come back here. Because I just wanted to sleep in my own bed and go into work at my normal time and not butt-ass early and not have to worry whether lunch and breakfast were going to be delivered tomorrow.

But then I remembered that the air conditioning is free here. So I trudged my ass back to the hotel. I know, woe is me.

:::

Just a heads up, tomorrow is the second edition of NPW’sChoose Your Own Blogventure. I’m participating this time around, so Friday at 10 AM EST, check out NPW’s site to start the adventure off. And then choose away and hopefully end up here at some point.

So I want to tell you all about how famous I am. Because I’m not sure you are aware of my famous status and my all-around fabulousness. And because I am famous, I will tell you all about my being famous. Because my being grouped into a bunch of famous people is only because I gave Amalah my business card. (The nerve of some people!)

Over the weekend, some jaded mommyblogger (I hate that term because we are ALL personal bloggers) (but I don’t like her, so there you go) decided to send a mass email out to like every popular blogger in the world asking them to go to her site and comment on a post she had written. She wanted to know how all of us famous bloggers kept our writing real, even though we were all making a living off our ads on our blogs. Because how could you possibly keep writing the same inane details when you were making a LIVING off of it?

At first, drunkenly on Friday night, I laughed at this idiot who apparently emailed the entire blogging universe. And she not only emailed us once, she emailed us TWICE because she FORGOT THE LINK in the first email.

On Saturday, I saw that a lot of people commented, so I figured I would add my two cents. Seeing how I was living the dream and all. You know, living the dream of working at a job that has eliminated my position and spending my working hours looking for a job so I can pay the bills. Yeah, honey, being famous is exhausting work.

And I told her, “hey, maybe do your homework. I don’t EVEN HAVE ADS on my site. And also, BlogHer is for everyone. And really, if you want to see how famous all these bloggers are in the real world, come to my office. My office where no one has even heard of blogs.”

Let’s be honest here people, for all the BlogHer haters - we are all women with websites. That’s it. If you are afraid to talk to someone or any of that high school bullshit, it is because you have built that person up to be something THEY ARE NOT. We have fucking websites, for the love of God.

And on top of it, we aren’t going to like everyone. That’s what makes us human and not robots. We’re going to get along better with some people. For instance, you might might get lucky and get along with the most awesomest roommates who will be all Judgey McJudgeypants with you. And really mesh well with your Full Of Snark self.

To top it all off, the only reason I got lumped into this group was because I gave my card to Amalah and she linked to me on her site. Because I gave her my card. That makes me so unfamous I can’t even tell you.

And to the person starting this drama, please don’t lump me into your crazy anymore. And tell me I’m a bad blogger because I don’t read your blog or respond to your comments when you have NEVER commented on my site. I’m a good, nice blogger. So there! *sticks tongue out*

But to piggyback off all my new-found famousness and life in the fast lane, I did indeed live the fabulous life for a few hours on Sunday. As soon as my new-found famous status was confirmed by the Committe of Famous People (CFP), I immediately hopped on a private jet and flew a grand total of seven miles and then back again. BECAUSE I COULD!

After my flight, I tried to live like a commoner and take the CTA to the Cubs game. But I grew impatient. And sweaty. So I hoofed my famous ass two miles from my house to Wrigley, where I met my famous friend Jen Lancaster. (Because what do you do when you find out you are famous overnight? You call your famous friend.) We were going to a rooftop by Wrigley to watch the Cubs game.

I also met another famous new friend, Gina, who writes for the Red Eye. She confirmed my status as a famous person by talking to me. Repeatedly.

After getting along famously, we then served our purpose at the Cubs game, which was to be on the Travel Channel with Samantha Brown. Don’t be jealous. You’re all not famous enough to live my life. (But watch Samantha’s show because she’s just the nicest person you will ever meet.)

And then I lost my fabulous, famous status by showing the world my white skin that MATCHES MY WHITE TANK TOP.

So I celebrated my record rise and fall from famous status like any normal schlub would do, I ate Taco Bell and took a nap on the couch.

It’s OK to touch me the next time you see me. I hear the fabulous famousness rubs off.

And also, let me tell you that married men take a shine to you. And they will hit on you all night. Which is weird until you find out they are YOUNGER THAN YOU. And married people should not be younger than you FYI.

I want to tell you about how I am famous and got myself involved in my first blogging drama for NO REASON AT ALL. And how my fabulousness led to me being so exhausted that I had to nap on the couch.

Or that the day after my famous fabulousness was revealed, I went to the Cubs game with some fabulous people nad I MIGHT BE ON TV. LIKE FOR REALS. Travel Channel, bitches! WOO!

Also, I should let you know (shhhhh it is a secret, get in really close, I AM DRUNK RIGHT NOW. THAT IS THE SECRET0. OK. Yeah. THat’s all. Carry on.

But I can’t let you know all of this because I’ve been drinking and it is time for bed.

OK. Time fore bed. Where’s my wine glass that helps me sleep?

Him: Is the conference still on?

Me: Yes. Did you not get your email confirmation?

Him: No. I DID NOT.

Me: No need to shout, I will re-send it.

Him: No shouting here.

Me: When you type in all caps, it is SHOUTING on email.

Him: Not in Kentucky.

The sad thing is he’s probably right.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

And now! DEATH IS NOT AN OPTION! AND YES! I AM SHOUTING! FROM THE EXCITEMENT!

So here’s the deal, for those of you who may be new and have not ever played this game at parties or at a bar: I will give you two choices and the object of the game is to pick one of the two people that you would have sex with, with death NOT being an option. As revolting as some may be, you have to pick one of the two.

I swear, it is fun!

To see old versions, click here. (And on a weird note, I have NO idea where Week 4 went, which was the political edition and the most vomit inducing. It disappeared when I imported my old posts from my old site and I can’t get it back. DAMN YOU GEORGE W! STAY OUT OF MY BLAWG!)

And on with the show…

Round 10 - The Culinary Edition

The Chef Enemy Edition

Rocco Douchebag DiSpirito vs. Anthony Bourdain

The Annoying TV Chef Edition

Emeril vs. Gordon Ramsay

The Food Network Edition

Bobby Flay vs. Alton Brown

The Rachel Ray Should NOT Be Your Answer Edition

Rachel Ray vs. Julia Child

The Highest Gross-Out Factor Edition

Mario Batali vs. Wolfgang Puck

The I Needed An Excuse To Look At Tom Colicchio Photos Edition

James Beard vs. Tom Colicchio

And also, this is a warning for all you, DO NOT EVER do a search for Rachel Ray on Google Images. Your eyes will be burning for the rest of your life.

OK, leave your choices in the comments!

You can read all about it here and here. But what I want to talk about is how after the word came down that I was indeed losing my job because Slalom Consulting is a stupid name and I blogged about it, I had to work at my job for almost a month more, knowing full well that I was just biding my time until they kicked me out. I knew I wasn’t getting a severance and that the time I spent there biding my time, was time they were paying me to find a job. I got really lucky and only spent about a month on unemployment before I got my current job.

You would think that going in to work every damn day to a job that was firing you for something so silly would be hard. It wasn’t easy, but I put my big girl panties on every day and went to work. I liked the people. And I knew that my bosses in Chicago had nothing to do with the decision. I went in every day, worked and made an effort to teach people things so that I didn’t leave them hanging when I left.

Fast forward to now. I’m in a similar situation. I’ve been notified that I will no longer have a job after a period of time. I have to come in every day and go through the motions because I need the money. Just ask Stara, she saw my bank balance. (Hello embarrassing!) I have to bust my ass, take orders from people and work as if nothing had changed.

This time? I’m having a fucking difficult time with it. Like I wish I could call in sick every day, I am procrastinating like I’ve never procrastinated before, difficult.

Sixty days is a long time. I’m like halfway through it and I can’t take it anymore. People there expect me to go on like nothing is changed. And guess what? I cannot. I can’t do it anymore.

Wednesday afternoon we had an off-site meeting. I get invited because I think my boss wants to keep me involved and wants to keep things normal and PRETEND LIKE I’M STILL GOING TO WORK THERE. The other meetings I’ve been in I have spent my time formulating posts in my head, doodling and sleeping with my eyes open. They haven’t been a big deal.

This meeting on Wednesday was different. This was a meeting about moving forward. It was a meeting about the status of the department after I am gone. I had to sit for two hours and hear about all the work they are going to have without me, how they are going to do great things and how they are just going to easily move on without me like I was just a blip on the radar.

I almost cried. Seriously, I almost came to tears in that meeting because it was like I wasn’t even sitting there. I had no purpose in the meeting. The stuff they are meeting about will take place either right before I leave or right after I leave. It was fucking heartbreaking that I just didn’t matter any more.

It wasn’t intentional. I know this. I was in their position for the last three months. You just don’t understand what it is like for those people who have gotten their notice. You don’t know how hard it is until you are actually in their shoes.

Now that I am in their shoes, it is hard. And I hope that I didn’t make any of the other people who have left the department feel as insignificant as I feel every damn day when I go in to work. Because this fucking blows.

Somehow later in the conversation, she asked if I thought I spent too much time on the internet. And I was all “pshaw, woman! There is no such thing!”

She thinks I should make sure I am not avoiding real life by spending all my time inside my little computer box. To which I said “Real life is a fucking FAIL WHALE.”

I told her I don’t think I avoid doing things to spend time on the internet. I am an inherently lazy person, so it isn’t like I’d be taking long walks on the beach if I wasn’t on the internet. I would be sitting my ass on the couch watching TV or reading. The Lazies, I has them.

And then she tried to tell me that there is something wrong with watching TV and then I was all “if you only KNEW the crap I watch lady” and then I stabbed her with her pen. Because TV is GOOD. I’m not paying you a $20 co-pay each week to TELL ME DIFFERENTLY.

Then on Tuesday, I drove into work (I didn’t go in Monday. My ceiling was destroyed, which means I got to sleep in and catch up on my feed reader! Yay for leaky roofs!) and as soon as I pulled into the parking lot, I saw someone that I work with and was like “hey, you’re not wearing you’re BlogHer badge. This isn’t BlogHer. Where are my internet peeps? WAH.”

When I got into the office, people were all excited to ask me about my trip. The trip I took to San Francisco to visit friends, which really isn’t that much of a lie. Here’s a sample conversation:

Dude I work with: How was your trip?

Me: FUCKING AWESOME!

DIWW: Yeah? That’s cool. What did you do?

Me: Oh. Um, I like, hung out and stuff.

DIWW: Cool. Where did you go to eat?

Me: Macy’s, I mean we went to some Italian place.

DIWW: Macy’s?

Me: Oh, I thought you asked where I got the shoes that are on my feet.

DIWW: *blink blink* Did you go to Napa?

Me: No. It was fun. And I HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO KTHXBAI.

Whew. I cannot lie to people. I almost slipped several times like talking about parties and bloggers and drink tickets, oh my! But they would not understand. I don’t think they even know what a blog is. And they definitely don’t know what a fail whale is.

And then on my way home, I taked to her on the phone. And we talked about the weekend and bitched about certain things and emails and talked about our sadness that we were not still in SF and that we had to be at work and we were not given 2 free drink tickets or free Cheetos at work. We had sadness times four. A Sadness Quad, if you will.

And while we talked on the phone, we talked about emails and blog posts and bloggers and then we got off the phone and we emailed and emailed some more. And then I was like “hmmm, maybe I do spend too much time on the internet.”

So then I took a break and hooked up my new DVR (FUCKING FANTASTIC NEWS!) and watched some TV and went about setting all my timers for all my trashy reality shows that I have missed in the last week. Which I then Twittered about.

Well, OK, she does have a point. I spend a lot of time online. Probably too much. But I’m fine with it. Because of my time on the internet, I’ve found that I have a passion for writing, I’ve written some stuff over here, I’ve read a lot of blogs by amazing writers and most of all, because of my time on the interweb, I met a ton of amazing people this last weekend.

To which Bacon says maybe my therapist should Liven Up A Salad and shut her internet-hating meat face.

(She’s so going to find this one day and fire me as a client.)