Okay, the most important part is I redid my Mad Men picture. Go do it.
Also, I'm thinner, and my nose is less bulbous this time. Do you think it means I have higher self-esteem today? Do you think Don will make passes at cartoons who wear glasses?
+ also 2, I know I made my dramatic chipmunk announcement yesterday that I quit my job.
Oh, just go look at the dramatic chipmunk link if you've never seen it. It is literally five seconds long.
Anyway, I feel like I can't say a lot because I am still there until next month and I don't wish for them to HATE hate me. I'm sure they mildly hate me already, for leaving. But here's how every friend and family member reacted when I told them what lead to me quitting.
"Mmm-hmm. Oh! Oh, dear! Oh no. No. You can't stay. No."
So just pretend you've heard the whole story, and trust me, you'd have the above reaction.
Also too, I have already got some freelance work lined up, which will be great when it actually, you know, GETS HERE. Because the scary part about freelance work? Is the iffy part.
Nevertheless, I love love loved freelancing. I did it for years. I'd love to make it work again. Make it work. Am I Tim Gunn?
After I gave my notice, I immediately emailed my favorite coworker Tank, the miracle angel baby. I have done nothing but make you look at links today, haven't I? I am linkin' continental.
That made no sense.
In case you are sick to death of my links, and didn't look at this last one– the missing link, as it were–Tank and I used to carpool together. Also, he weighed like .000004 ounces when he was born or something. You can imagine how many catalogs he had to sit on when it was his turn to drive. BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!
So I emailed Tank that I was leaving our company and he wrote back, "You did what what?" and at this juncture I'd like to point out that Tank is a professional editor. Anyway the point of my story is we had lunch at our favorite restaurant today, the one where you can get chicken fried chicken, and I told him the whole sordid tale while I also ate fried green tomatoes and Coke out of a glass bottle.
God, I love the South.
So sorry I can't be more forthcoming. I hope I don't end up homeless. And without access to chicken fried chicken. And martinis with Don Draper. Have you ever actually had a martini in your life? I mean, not a Cosmo or some other easy-to-drink martini-esque thing, but a straight–not chocolate–martini?
Okay bye. And my ex-boyfriend says his "I dated June" post is being worked on. Okay, I take eight seconds to write these posts. How hard can it be? June was the bomb. No woman will ever compare with June. I comb the streets, knowing I won't find her replacement. The end.