Tuesday, February 1

True to my word

The Old Hag starts her review of Home Land like this: "Few activities are as likely to bring on a fit of depressive jealousy as leafing through the back pages of one's alumni magazine."

Damn if I don't know that. I have to edit that shit, bitch. I don't leaf. I read it a minimum of three times before it's even published, and by the end of an issue, my self-esteem is usually lower than Tara Reid's before the boob job. To wit, we signed off on an issue yesterday, and I went home to be greeted by a phone call from a long-lost college friend. (Okay, not that long-lost, like a year and a half. Bygones.) Aforementioned friend asked what I'd been up to during these lost years. "Nothing," I said. Apparently, she didn't believe me because she went on to ask me: Did I still live with Jen? Yes. In JP? Yes. Did I still work at Swelles? Yes. Was I dating anyone new? No.

When I say "nothing," I mean it.

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