When I used to smoke, I started bumping into this therapist in D.C. outside my building on a busy street downtown. She had actively tried to get on some Bachelor-esque reality show (it may have actually been The Bachelor). Eventually, she told me about the time she pissed in a boss's coffee mug. Or my favorite: the time she did blood magic to prevent rain from ruining her and her friends' beach weekend. She eventually said she needed to stop meeting me for smoke breaks, because she was dating someone, and if we kept it up, "she would take what she wanted." Therapists, man. Definitely very stable.