Disconnected

A.: The fax machine hates me.
Me!: I know. We had a nice, long chat about it.
A.: Stop it! Can you help me fix it?
Me!: What's the problem?
A.: Do I have to plug it into a phone line?

Peace out!

A. and I are on the move. We've decided our new jobs, in a word, suckass. Since we came together, we're leaving together. Actually, I've already put in my notice, but A. suspects she'll be gonzo upon the morn.

I was worried about leaving A. If for nothing else, what would become of this blog? I just paid $8 for the URL. I need to recoup my investment, and given the Internet's prowess for ROI, that could take years. Plus, who else is going to kick me in Kohl's? (I said, "Oh, my God! You just kicked me." A. said, "You're damn right I did.")

So, this blog will now chronicle our transition from big shots back to little shots. I'm so good with the change, it makes me pee a little. And knowing A. is coming with me, well, makes me a pee a lot.