So I’m not graduating. I’m not as old as Mike, Natalie, Phong or Poops yet. But I am writing a goodbye because my Sundays will no longer be taken up by production and for the first time since my freshman year I’ll have a two-day weekend and a Friday afternoon free of writing last-minute stories. Yes, many of my stories were last-minute if you couldn’t already tell.
When I started writing, I came across the memory of how I came to be part of the New University. One night last year, Mike called my dorm room and asked me to be an editor. You certainly are persistent Mike, I’ll give you that. You convinced a girl that wasn’t even a staff writer yet to come on board to a newspaper that’s given everyone some unforgettable memories. And while we’ll always remember the fact that we couldn’t convince you to get a cell phone, Nizzle and I will never (and I really mean never) forget walking into a hotel room in Las Vegas and seeing you in nothing but a towel.
Anyway, that’s enough about seeing your boss in a towel. Stealing some words from Nizzle, the New U. has been my boyfriend for the past year. In addition to an actual boyfriend I had at one point, I had the New U. So I guess you can say it was my man on the side. It didn’t keep me warm at night, comfort me in my times of need or whisper sweet nothings in my ear. But it did take up way too much of my time, keep me up all night, give me headaches and pay me for my services. OK, so a boyfriend doesn’t normally pay you, but hey, I won’t judge.
It’s been one hell of a year kiddos. And I will certainly miss the ups and downs of the cubicle-filled life and hey, I’ll go out on a limb here and say I’ll even miss beating up my pink iMac. I’ll miss the sweet sound of silence at editorial board, our broken elevator, the stapler that’s always missing and those chocolate truffles Joleen likes to make us fight over.
I can no longer spoon with Tracy and Nizzle, complain to Christine about my layout incompetence, be told to ‘tap that ass,’ play psychology games that define me as small, cute and furry, and someone can try and prove me wrong but no one can match how often I insulted Max. I wouldn’t bite you if you paid me you devil’s advocate. And Max, you don’t know this but we all agreed you resembled one of our cartoon strips and early in the year Emily and I wanted to start a change jar so everyone can chip in and buy you a new brain so you wouldn’t be so confused at ed-board. I’m giving you a hard time by the way and if it makes you feel any better you’re still a good salsa dancer and almost make the best sinigang I’ve ever had.
I can now tell the Botello sisters apart. I finally know the names of all the layout staff
Filed Under: Opinion