The Scoop.

The library sucks. I have only 17 minutes left of Internet time for the day. You only get two sessions of 25 minutes each. I used my first session to file for unemployment. Then I emailed WritingGal, who gets a shoutout for being helpful.

There were 11 total people let go on Friday, all departments, all levels. The word on the street is "Blame the new business team. They suck." It blindsided everyone and the troops are scared. They miss me. Word from my source is, without ReadBecca there to get it done, "we're screwed." Wooo! I told them so.

Friday night I did the only rational thing you can do at a time like this. I shaved my legs and put on glitter eyeliner and went drinking.

It didn't get as ugly as it could have because I left my wallet at home and had no ID. After happy hour when the doormen show up, I was out in the cold. I know. I look great but I don't look underage for crying out loud. Had to settle for looking through the window at Matt the Miller Man fondling a beer bottle and pointing and laughing at me. I was tired and needed to go home anyway.

I have nine minutes. I feel like Kiefer Sutherland and I don't even watch that show.

Bogda, if I don't call you it's because I can't find your cell number. I don't know if it's still the 214 one. I know I have it on a post-it in one of my get-out-and-stay-out boxes I packed on Friday. They're in the car still.

So if you hear of any editing gigs, let ReadBecca know. She's not busy. She won't even drink on the job.

Mental state: Eerily calm, disillusioned, sober

Five minutes! Time to spell check, publish and get the hell of Station 3 before some other jobless bum kicks my ass for hogging the computer.

Ciao, cheeky monkeys.