Procrastination is an art

Things I Did This Weekend Instead of Writing My Novel:

1. Dyed my roots.
2. Sorted the recycling.
3. Added a Frappr map to my blog, thanks to The Uffish Princess (and of course, add yourselves immediately...helloooooo...)
4. Finally met some of my favorite bloggers and proceeded to get thoroughly hammered with/near them. (Thanks for showing up, kids! Can't wait until the next one...)
5. Purposely farted on some bigoted snatches who desperately deserved it. (No, really. Call one of my friends a faggot and see what I do to you. Go ahead. They got off easy.)
6. Obsessed about my cat's potentially cancerous tumor (there's an 80% chance that it's malignant. Fak.)
7. Played computer games geared toward third graders, because they're the only ones I'm any good at.
8. Repeatedly checked the NaNoWriMo word count of someone I can't fucking stand, and then obsessed because he's about 40% done with his goddamn book already.

Conclusions, based on the above:

1. Neurotic much, Helen?
2. At least I still got it. The procrastination skillz, dat is.
3. If I still do my best work under pressure, I should be able to sell this novel (which will undoubtedly be written in the last week of the contest) for a bazillion dollars and retire to Mexico with some young tart of a man.

Fuck.Ing.Sweet.

Now, I believe I'll go re-organize my closet. You know, in preparation for all of the brilliant writing I'm going to do this evening.