Who Wants to Meet Me at The Max? Go, Bayside!

For the past 6 months, I've been working day and night on the new YABooksCentral.com redesign. I'm not even going to hint at how much work that entailed. It had a lot to do with database tables and redirect scripts and phpAdmin and mySQL and Joomla and a whole lot of other nonsensical words I pray none of you ever need to know.

The closer we got to posting the new site live (which was today -- eep! Go check it out!), the more my stress level inched ever higher. Last night it careened out of control and broke through the thin veil ceiling that was my sanity, thanks to exploding web host servers. (And sub-par Jimmy John's. But that's another topic for another time.)

Finally, this morning, I realized I'd reached my limit. I was officially stressed to the max.

Of course I realized this only after I'd unfurled myself from the fetal position and crawled out from under the piano about 8 times.

That's when it struck me. Not only do I need a safe place to hunker in these times of extreme stress (under the piano is not ideal, just take my word for it), but I need a place that befits the diagnosis: "stressed to the max."

Then something beautiful happened. My hair suddenly crimped itself. I looked down and my jeans were puff-painted and bedazzled. A crazy saxophone solo ripped through the air, my bedroom swirled and tilted, and then I saw it.

The Max.

This is where I need to be today, folks. This is where I will restore my sanity. I think The Max needs to be a real place, don't you? A place where all those weary travelers in the maximum-stress-boat can come to let it all hang out.

Where we can all sip on grape soda from plastic cups with bendy straws.

Where we can eat pizza served by Kelly Kapowski.

Where we can cheer on the Bayside Tigers. B-buh-B-buh-buh-buh-B-Go-Bayside!

And the best part? My booth is big enough for all of you.

Want to join me? I've got room.

So bring your baggage and stress and deadlines and rejections and sad-faces and whatsits and whosits and leave them at the door. (I know you won't recognize The Max from the outside since none of us have ever seen it, but that's okay. I'll tie balloons to the mailbox.)

Come on inside, feel the soothing rhythm of generic 90's background music, and let yourself unwind. We'll have a dance contest (hosted by Casey Kasem, of course), and Slater just might ask you to slow dance to your favorite song on the jukebox.

So who's with me? Who wants to sit in my booth? Tell me in the comments -- and tell me what you want to do at The Max!

It's, like, totally Maxtastic.