I'm at that point where my whole life is revolving around work. I wake up and fret about it in the shower. I talk about it on the way to work with my mom. I whine about it on the way home from work with my mom. On the weekends, work rants dominate our conversations. I can't ever seem to get away, so I'm doing what I do best...

I'm running away.

More specifically, I'm flying to Tay-hoss at the end of May. One of my bestest friends, Sexy Beast, is getting commissioned into the Marines on May 23, and he invited me to the ceremony. Hopefully, I'll return with wonderful stories and dreamy sighs and something to say here other than "Please kidnap me." In fact, I have one hawt cuddle session planned, as well as one hawt make-out session, and there have even been rumblings of a threesome.

Now if I could just bring all my friends back with me in my suitcase, then I'd really be a happy girl. Well, and once I get Pats over here to hook me up with Elijah Wood.

P.S. Okay, so I do work at a church, which therefore makes the whole slut thing not at all an option. It is, however, really funny to imagine anyone from my church stumbling across this entry and shrieking "Heathen!" like a banshee.

P.P.S. The very fact that I would be amused by someone else's horror strongly indicates that I really shouldn't ever come back from this vacation. The church is much better off without me.

P.P.P.S. If you ever come across a banshee that screams, "Heathen!" please let me know. That would make for one awesome pet.

I get really angry whenever I walk past our collection of World Book encyclopedias. I distinctly remember when we bought them. The woman who sold them to us was sitting at the kitchen table with my parents, and I was nearby on the floor of the family room. I was eight years old and casually reading through the dictionary, which was a pretty typical evening pastime of mine. I was happy in that innocent little way that only children can be.

Just then, the World Book saleswoman looked over, noticed what I was doing, and told my parents that I was an odd child. She turned to me and said, "You shouldn't be reading the dictionary. You should be doing something fun!"

I scrunched up my face and looked to my parents. I expected them to defend me, to support my love of words and reading and learning. Instead, they let out a traitorous laugh and signed away a large chunk of money for the horrid lady's encyclopedias.

I will never forget.

There are tiny specks of something-or-other on my monitor here at home, and they've been around for a while. They're not that noticeable when I'm reading blogs, but they magically position themselves in ways that aren't exactly flattering when I start looking at pictures on Flickr. On my screen, all you pretty people have unsightly moles and age spots, and sometimes your teeth are even blacked out. At some point, I will have to clean off this mess, but for now it's kinda nice to feel superior for a few seconds a day. My sincere apologies. I'm not laughing at you... Not alone, anyway. Juan Pedro is laughing, too.

It's amazing how many people are concerned about your safety when you have the cord of a mouse wrapped around your neck. "There was this actress whose scarf got caught in the spokes of her car. She drove off, the scarf strangled her, and her head popped off. You shouldn't wrap things around your neck like that." Crazy, but you forgot to tell me that all three hundred times I wore a scarf this winter.

While we're on the subject, who knew they still manufactured ball mice? I expected to get an optical mouse with my new Dell computer at work, but I guess someone knew I'd be too distracted by my new, shiny 22" monitor to notice the whole "Hey, my mouse seems to have ceased working now that I've dragged it over my Pop-Tart crumbs" thing. But here we are, two months later, and I totally noticed. Yeah. Don't underestimate me again, Dell, or I'll have to knit you a pretty little scarf or two.

By day, I work at a church. I do a lot of girly projects, since part of my job is to assist the Director of Women's Ministries. My week is filled with butterfly graphics, swirly Photoshop brushes, feminine fonts, and the notion that all women enjoy cooking and tea parties and the color pink.

By night, I am a wannabe tough girl. I watch action movies and gritty television shows. I hold up my Nerf gun and wonder what it would be like to hold a real gun. I practice my grimace in the mirror, training my eyes to pierce through the very souls of my enemies.

But somehow, in the end, I am only effective in being a bitch when it comes to correcting the spelling and grammar of those who chat with me on AIM. I believe this is what the internet would call an "epic fail."