Every single mother effing email that plops itself into my inbox has a "!" noting it is as "Urgent!" and is along the lines of 'Dear Jenny Jerkface, please forward your last shred of dignity to my attention immediately.' Or 'Attached above please find your ass on a platter.' Or one of my favorites: 'This scathing email in which I shred your sense of self-worth to sawdust is just a friendly reminder that you really should have graduated college, you silly little twat.' You know, the typical office emails.
Anyhoo, as I find myself debating the pros and cons of getting hit by a cab just so I can go somewhere, anywhere other than the office, I realize that I am desperately missing something.
Holy shit, I need a Twilight fix, stat. I pull up my desktop and stare at Robward's glowering face for a moment and the feeling fades from an overwhelming cacophony to a dull roar...
But it's not good enough. I want more. I will have more!
This is what Twilight has done to me. I am officially the online version of a crackhead. I was typing this at warp speed (on my lunch break, should someone I work with ever stumble across this site) because I just can't stand being away from Twitarded, you people, or Twilight in general for more than five minutes. And even that's a stretch some days.
But it doesn't end at work. I finally got home and dragged my sorry ass in front of the TV to do my Billy Blanks exercise video. I HATE that man. He kicks my ass EVERY single time. Isn't this shit supposed to get easier? And why can't I EVER balance on one leg? Is it even possible to twist your body and kick like that without falling over? I mean, I haven't even start drinking yet and I can barely stand! The entire time I was flailing around, cursing, sweating, and possibly weeping in my living room, there was this tiny part of my brain that kept whispering, 'fuck this shit. Beer bellies are sexy. Get in that computer room and check your email!! I bet you don't even know what RPattz was wearing today.'
And I didn't.
That settles it: Billy Blanks/punishing exercise first (hey - you never know who you might be naked in front of someday...), then an extended session with Edward & Co. in "the lair" (does hanging posters count as exercise???).
[Note from Snarkier Than You: JJ is away this weekend - I miss her, too!! - and with her blessings, I am having my way with her 99% complete blog post drafts in her absence (mostly because I threatened her and told her she couldn't leave the state for three days without doing something). From what I understand (i.e. her frantic text messages), she's apparently staying at a smaller, more claustrophobic New England version of "The Overlook" hotel from The Shining and Jack Nicholson has run off with her WiFi/internets, but she'll try to chime in when he's distracted by evil twins, snowmobiles, or a stiff drink at the bar.]