First of all, there are some serious thingies going on family-wise and I’d be so appreciative if all nine of you who read this (OK, fine, three) would send good thoughts or prayers if you believe in a diety or whatever in the general direction of my loved ones and their families (sorry I can’t be more specific, but this is the Intronet).

Second of all, someone who shan’t be named at some workplace which shan’t be quitted from is being the world’s. Biggest. Douche bag. Powetripping. Son. Of. A. Frickin. Beachball.

The problem with introvisual teleblogging is that if you actually have something semi-worthwhile to say, chances are it’s too private to reveal. Dammit. Well, just visualize: think about crappy personal situations and crappy workplace situations and use your imagination. All right. So.

First of all, right now my boyfriend is visiting an unjustly-convicted innocent man on his own dime, all the way down South. So, he’s away and I am here and my day was bad and whine whine whine. So I called him and he was all busy and I was like, “Whine whine whine WHINE WHINE WHIIIINE!” and he was like, “OK,” and I was like, “But WHINE WHINE WHIIIINE!” Think Will Ferrell after Jack Black punts his dog in Anchorman (second ‘anchorman’ reference in a week! hooray!), and that was me, minus anything as important as a dead dog. So, right.

A few hours later I get this message on my voicemail and the entire world rights itself for just a few seconds:

JACOB: “Uh, hey, it’s me…I just left this Christian supply store and I’m pretty sure I found your birthday present. I didn’t get you the Jesus Juice or the Timothy Tobacco, but I’m still pretty sure you’ll like it.”

Greatest. Person. Ever.

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