Frequently I start and stop on this little thing I'd like to call a book: a collection of essays from the mortifying moments that spatter my life, among them temping, working at a law firm, ordering a Reese's Penis sundae in front of my parents, etc.
And yet, here I am home sick from work, and what have I done today? Watched about 4 hours of Randy Jackson's Dance Crews, or whatever it's called. In my defense, it's an amazing show. That's about it.
So then I was reading gawker -- which I kind of hate but read anyway -- and they had a post on Sloane Crosley, who has written a selection of essays. I am jealous. I guess I should really get back to work! On...organizing my sock drawer.