TKO

I still feel like someone has punched me in the stomach, walked away, and then came back, smiled, and socked me one more time.

If I was bulimic this wouldn't be a problem - I could stick my tiny little chubby finger down my throat and spew like a  seven-year old on the Spinning Teacups.  But, alas, I don't have much of a gag reflex and I kinda like having what teeth I do have not eaten away by upchucking stomach acid so I will sit here, coddle my 20oz of Sprite and pout at my reluctance to become an "Ana" (rexic).

And you'd think that with all that being said - the last thing I'd want to do is attend a "Firm Luncheon", huh?  And yes, the rest of the staff was (surprise!) actually invited.  My guess is that they've finally decided to can my ass for being less than a model employee.  It would take me YEARS to clean off the computer here of any last iota of my genius (ahem!) and to remove the various Garfield and Dilbert strips that adorn my horseshoe of a desk area. 

But I still have to go.  And eat. And be merry. 

Or something.