It’s almost midnight. My hair is a mess and I’m analyzing about how much of a pussy I’ve been for the past few months. As I sit, contemplating about where my life has taken me, I chug a bottle of Boone’s Farm Strawberry Daiquiri I bought for two dollars at CVS. This will be my dinner tonight.
The problem is that I don’t know whether I’m celebrating or commiserating. I’ve had an odd job for the past few months and I either quit the job after I was fired or I was fired after I quit.
That was the ambiguity of working for Susan Ellen (Don’t google her. I’ve changed her name because her father, even in death, is still a controversial mogul. And, no, her last name isn’t Plainview and not because Daniel Plainview is fictional, but because such eloquence of a Daniel Plainview cannot be present in Susan Ellen’s genes.)
I don’t really know how I feel about my sudden separation from Susan Ellen. I spent so much of my time bending over backward and then explaining to her what the phrase “bend over backward” actually means and I can’t believe it’s all over.
Needless to say, here’s the blog about my crazy part-time yet life-consuming odd job in LA, with a little backstory here and there.