The last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before. . .

I'm going to start this entry before I go to Carrie's for dinner, and I'll finish it later, because, according to the little thing at the top of this page, there is a "scheduled outage at 4 p.m. PDT" today. I think that means Pacific time, and if that's the case, that's 7 p.m. Here Time. Which means in 20 minutes.

According to my Dashboard, March 15 was the last time I updated, and I'd mentioned a job interview. That interview went well, and I'm now a writer/ad rep for a homeowner's magazine here in town. Unfortunately, the economy being the way it is, they don't want to hire me full time, just to have to turn around and say, "Yeah, Sarah, we're tanking. We need to renegotiate." So as it stands, I get paid by the article, I get a commission for sales made, and I get paid by the hour for any other work I do there. It's not stable, but it's something, and it's not only in publishing, but in magazines. It's definitely a first step toward. . .something. I also have other little side projects that hopefully pan out for me (MK snagged me a freelancing job writing an article for a magazine, which is awesome. Get my work out of the papers and into the rags. Again, a good start.)

I've also had several long and treacherous interviews with Best Buy, which I won't get into, but it's, at this point, pretty much a 50/50 shot I'll get a job.

For those of you that have heard me complain about this already, I apologize, but since the event is tonight (as we speak, actually), this will be the last you'll hear of it. At least until next year. but maybe by next year, I'll be able to afford to attend on my own accord.

There's this event that's held here yearly that is basically a restaurant competition. All these restaurants get together and compete for prizes, and attendees basically walk around, eating all this incredible food and drinking to their heart's content. I went last year because I was reporting on the story. I didn't actually realize what a big deal the thing was until I ran into Dennis (who was photographing the event) on my way out that night and he said something to the effect of, "You're not wearing that, are you?" So I ran home and got all gussied up. The place it was held last year was yards nicer than the place they're having it this year, and it was one of my favorite nights ever (minus a minor tift I found myself having that night). I've been looking forward to this thing since I left the event last year. I even had a dress for it. It was a dress that I bought, having nowhere to wear it, and when I pointed this fact out to MK, he said, "You can wear it to this year's event!"

This was, of course, before my involuntary termination. And now I still have this gorgeous dress hanging in my closet and I will, most likely, never have anywhere to wear it.

So, literally. Looking forward to it all year. And then, a month and a half before it happens, I'm canned. I've been really, really bitter about it for the last few weeks, and when I walked by the place this afternoon (I was going for a walk because I feel utterly lethargic these days) it smelled so fucking good, and all these people were going in, all dressed up, and I got. . .sad. Not angry, but sad. It was a combination of still being sore about the firing, and having looked forward to it for so long and then having it taken away, but it was also. . .the Chamber of Commerce puts this event on, and it's one of those things all the People You Want To Know attend. When I was working at the paper, I could go to these events, no questions asked, and feel like I was important. Like I belonged around these people. But clearly, I don't. And I'm not too proud to admit how shallow I am in that respect. I like to feel like I belong around important people. I've learned in the last few weeks that I can pretty much have a conversation with anyone, and I think, at least last year, I mingled well with these people. And now? If I turned up at the door of the venue right now, they'd summarily show my the door. Me in my black sweater and jeans and one pink lacey glove. With my black nail polish and my Converse sneakers.

That's what it is, you know? When I was working there, I felt like I belonged in this town. And now I don't. Now I'm, really, no one. I went from, in Vi's words, being a minor celebrity to being. . .that girl in the dirty Converses and tattered jeans. And I really hate myself for caring, but I do. Because I'd gotten used to it.

Back after dinner.

OK, lies. Back the next day. I don't even remember what else I was going to talk about. I've got a meeting today with a guy I'm writing an article for and, hopefully, next week some of these people I'm trying to sell to will get back to me.