Vino and shrinks

Well, I thought someone might actually bite on my last post as to whether I really ate bull testicles (I did), but no such luck. Seems that eating beef balls isn't nearly as interesting as where the hell I was all day today. For the record, I was working without access to the computer. I was not sleeping in, nor was I hungover, although I had a great time with the girls here last evening. We just went to hang out and catch up on gossip, but apparently there was some kind of networking event going on as well. I'm not sure if it was a singles thing, a professional thing, or a singles professional thing, but there certainly was no shortage of schmoozy, middle-aged women trying to impress and/or bag equally schmoozy but younger men. From all the stick-on nametags I saw, it seemed like a successful event for whatever the purpose. But I really hate stick-on nametags and pretentious, fake assholes. We didn't participate at all other than a brief conversation with a couple of psychiatry residents vaguely known to one of my friends. They sat next to me, and I momentarily considered telling them all kinds of crazy, made-up symptoms and then asking them if they thought I should be under a doctor's care. I'm not right, I know. I probably wouldn't have had to make up all that much, either, come to think of it. Anyhow, they were nice enough, I guess, but during the course of the conversation, I decided that one of the two could likely benefit from some of his own medicine. Nothing like an amateur attorney playing amateur shrink after a flight of wine.