>You know what happens when I spend 11 days in Chicago, mostly hanging out? I get behind. Very behind. I am behind in:

1. My consulting job, although I began that at the end of April and those fuckers have yet to pay me (my last invoice-y thing was rejected for "not having enough verbs") and I am getting to the point where I am not going to do things for them until I see a fucking check;

2. My book, which I have no excuse for since I had lots of notes to turn into melodious paragraphs and I (unsuccessfully) shopped for bathing suits and new underwear and ran around cemeteries with my mom instead, as that was more fun;

3. My ridiculous online travel writing class, whose start date I misunderstood and tuned in for the first online chat last Wednesday, only to find that the first chat is tomorrow and I can't "attend" because I am supposed to go to this Police concert with Husband, Steph, and Stupid McFuck (Husband's high school friend who votes Republican against his own economic interests) and Dr. P is also arriving for one night only (although that has nothing to do with my ability to log into class); and

4. A freelance article I hoped to finish about the complex but loving relationship that exists between me, Husband, and my long-time companion, Theo Roosevelt Reisman (my teddy bear), but I didn't write the last paragraph because I spent the afternoon with my friends Rachel and Jenny and their adorable genius 2 year old daughter.

Seriously, I'm not stressing out or anything and freaking instead of watching the Mets game with Husband, who I have not seen in 9 days, or petting Tycho Bunnae, who I last pet 11 days ago. Not at all. (Maniacal laughter.)