Certified barbeque judge

I should tell Dad that there is such a thing as certified barbecue judges. That's his dream job, or at least in his all-time top five.

Current project:
Finished "The Vacation Bed" between history and computer lab this morning, filling the last page and a half while crammed up next to the vending machine in Gambrell's canteen. (Occasionally I'd get distracted by people who put money in the wonky drink one and watch them watch the defective belt whirl to itself for a good ten minutes.) Ended up not putting the abortion stuff in there, because it just didn't fit.
Typed it between lunch and finishing my InDesign project. (My computer lab instructor scared the shit out of me by saying that the project wasn't showing up on my flashdrive because I didn't copy it right, which meant I'd have to do it all over, starting with a journey to the bottom of the j-school to download the template again. Turns out that on a Mac, that, you know, actually has InDesign software, my project was there the whole time. Thanks, dude.) It's now on writing.com, which is my designated dumping ground for backup draft storage and the occasional comment or two.
If you want to go check out the full stories I am and will be talking about, click here.
Won't be putting any work directly on here. But God knows I'll yap at you enough about it.

This is how my own personal writing procedure usually goes down:
First draft's typically handwritten. Skipped this part for my novel because the pace was too slow to get everything done in time and out of habit went straight to the keyboard for the next couple stories, but generally I start with a pen (always a pen; I have a special bias against pencils that, like any good bigot, I can't really explain) and paper (always loose leaf college ruled so I can crumple, mix and match like I want).
Then I type the story into my laptop, Mildred. This has the effect of a second-draft minor re-write, as I fix little grammar mistakes and re-arrange and add or subtract and etc etc. After it feels right, I post it on writing.com and then send it to Jenna as an email attachment and wait for verdicts.
If it's good enough, I'll print it and go through another edit to send off to a magazine. Maybe. If it's a lucky story and drinks all its milk.

Do I, or do I not, want to go to robotics this evening? I know I'm going to feel incredibly redundant if I do.