You know those times when you’re waiting by the elevator (or some other public location) and your supervisor is talking on his cell, talking about how great his medication is working for him, and only one of you (you) is uncomfortable?

For those of us who do not have a bathroom shelf full of meds, Xanax is a psychoactive drug used for panic, general anxiety, and social anxiety, none of which I would want anyone else in the world to know about me, possibly because it might be discussed in a public blog later on.

In contrast, I am someone who will discretely put their hand over their credit card up until the millisecond before handing it to the cashier.  Why?  In case.  In case what?  In case the Google van happens to drive by the cash register at that exact moment and my credit card number and ugly driver’s license photo end up on YouTube.  You will notice, I never claimed to be the one who was less crazy.

In further news, I never meant to be for this blog to be a monologue, or some king of exercise in self-brown nosing.  If have have something to say, I am open to converse.  I just haven’t made it it a habit to ask open ended questions. var _gaq = _gaq || []; _gaq.push([‘_setAccount’, ‘UA-38185031-1’]); _gaq.push([‘_trackPageview’]); (function() { var ga = document.createElement(‘script’); ga.type = ‘text/javascript’; ga.async = true; ga.src = (‘https:’ == document.location.protocol ? ‘https://ssl’ : ‘http://www’) + ‘.google-analytics.com/ga.js’; var s = document.getElementsByTagName(‘script’)[0]; s.parentNode.insertBefore(ga, s); })();


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