Hell is an office cubical

I quit my job two weeks ago. I was a writer for a wedding magazine, a position I landed while planning my own nuptials. I swear I was never, ever a wedding-girl growing up, but as soon as I became engaged, I drank the cool-aid and became completely enamored with everything wedding (Feel free to visit my old blog to see what I'm talking about: www.brideflu.com. Or don't. It's up to you. I'm cool either way).

My job at the magazine was to instill the fear of God into future brides who fail to select the best font for their wedding invitations. I had my very own cubical and a pretty sweet wireless mouse. I only worked there for a year and two months but it felt like twenty. Because as soon as I said, "I do" and our "Big Day" was over, the spell lifted, and my view of weddings reverted back to what it had been: excuses for girls to behave like bitches and spend an obscene amount of money on flowers. (Of course I did neither of those things, right honey?!?)

Writing for a wedding magazine required alternating between the following adjectives: lovely, stunning, radiant, gorgeous, breathtaking, luminous, beautiful, resplendent, splendid and enchanting. As nice as it was to be earning money as a writer, I knew I couldn't take much more of it. My soul died a little every time I had to decipher whether the flowers in a bride's bouquet were Cattleya orchids, ranunculus blossoms or peonies. I mean, how is this getting anyone any closer to world peace?

So I quit my job. Also, I was accepted to a graduate writing program at USC that will start in the fall. My plan is to take a lot of courses in writing, graduate and be an unemployed writer...but this time with a degree.

Oh yeah, and somewhere along the line, I'm going to try to get pregnant and bring a baby onto this planet.