Cost analysis of psychoanalysis

I’m going to my scheduled therapy session tonight, but only because if I bail last-minute I still have to pay them. But my brain is being super bitchy about it, presenting a compelling argument that it’s currently preoccupied with “too-busy-at-work stress” feelings, and we don’t talk about those, we eat and drink them, and frankly don’t even care to hear your stupid “healthier coping mechanisms.” Yoga won’t help, blow me.

For the money I’m ’bout to hand this broad, I could consume my weight in froofy martinis and fried food. I’m just saying, from a cost:benefit standpoint, we better fucking solve some big shit this session. I better leave with, like, NO abandonment issues.

Bring it, lady.

Mask of the Cramp-tasm

Here lies Smug Singleton: She died of cramps, which is totally a thing that can happen.

Don’t send flowers, flowers are bullshit. You spend that money on fried cheese and whiskey. That’s what she would’ve wanted. (YES, fried cheese and whiskey at 10 a.m. Christ almighty, do you want to honor her or not?)

Rest in petty, Smug.

James and the Giant Breach

Disclaimer: I am aware that everything I’m about to say makes me a complete asshole.

Still with me? Excellent.

First OkCupid message:

“Hello Smug! I think I love you(r) amazing sense of humor, sarcasm, and snarkiness.”

*hyperventilating* Oh, OK. Apparently even a JOKE about love gives me a tiny anxiety attack.

“Can we please go people watch together, because you just might be my match. Like when you’re holding hands and your fingers fill the spaces in the others persons hand. I bet we’d have fun in Wal Mart!”

…Wait, what?

“My name is James. Let’s just start with the basics… Favorite color, beverage, food (Just kidding, let’s do this over a drink! )”

I don’t even know my favorite color because I am neither 8 years old nor Buddy the Elf. My favorite foods/drinks are in my profile because OKC asks for them. The profile also says I’m not meeting anyone immediately because I’m not becoming a Lifetime movie when you axe murder me.

“P.S. did I mention that I LOVE your sense of humor? The smile isn’t all that bad either…”

Jesus Christ on drums, James — stop saying “love.”