It seems like the life on Azeroth moved on just fine without me. The sun still rose, mortgage payments were made, and a new batch of odd-defying American Idol contestants were selected.
I rolled a lvl 1 warlock on Argent Dawn so I can apply to the prestigious hardcore raiding guild Single Abstract Noun
I’m not ready to jump back into the raiding scene. I have to get used to the buttons and stuff. More importantly, I have to restore the killer instinct. I’ve lost that fire, and I’ve turned into this big casual pussy who don’t care about topping recount.
I ordered a custom body-length mirror to conduct the daily self-affirmation and fire restoration therapy:
You are Jong.
You are one handsome magnificent bastard.
You are, in fact, what Willis was talking about.
Yes you are.
And you will dance as if no one is watching.
Yes you will.
I enjoy reading Maureen Dowd’s op-ed. She wields rapier wit and mad opinionating skills:
One little hole a mile down on the ocean floor, so deep it seems like hell spewing up its sulfurous smoke, has turned the thrilling saga of “The One” into the gurgling horror of “The Abyss.” (Thank goodness James Cameron, the director of “The Abyss,” came to Washington Tuesday to help the administration figure out how to cap the BP well. What’s next? Sending down the Transformers and Megan Fox?)
She kinda looks like D, an impressive lady I work with who gets included in all the who’s-who list of the Wall Street. She said I was stupid and need more schooling (she really said that in so many words and hurt my feelings). I think women have the potential to be a lot meaner than men as managers. My theory is that they’re constantly playing Alanis Morissette’s You Oughta Know in their heads, which renders them incapable of feeling any remorse.