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Recently, my therapist nearly nodded off while I was explaining the complexities involved with my various pet peeves. I was indeed peeved with her disinterest and asked in an acid tone, "Would you like some toothpicks to prop your eyes open until the session is over?"

When Facebook debuted in 2004, I was sure it would be a short-lived sensation and decided to opt out. Facebook appealed to true Gen Xers because we could send our thoughts out into the world without actually having to talk to anyone, but the invention of the comment section killed that joy by allowing the world to send back their thoughts on our thoughts.

As the old song goes, I like piña coladas, getting caught in the rain—and am definitely not into yoga.

So, what was I doing in a Saturday afternoon Yogaworks class?

He was coming for me. It was just a matter of time. I listened for his footsteps, but the deafening beat of my heart and the oddly healthy 30-year-old shag carpet stymied my efforts. My time was running out, a fact that fed my anxiety. My movements became more frantic, my sweating more profound. I was drenched from scalp to soles, with no clothing to soak up the stress.

Names matter. For instance, would you rather live on Stinking Creek Road or Whispering Pines Lane? Do you prefer the area of Buzzard's Roost or Eagle View?