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So the Dow closed, terribly, under 8,000 for the first time in five years, Time Inc's chopping more heads, and we're still looking for your layoff stories! (Send them to tips@gawker.com.) Oh, and? Remember the sad layoff story we you told you about earlier—it was a "post-9/11 husband-and-wife double-whammy"? There's more woe:
"So, I just got laid off again! Right before the holidays. Nothing really interesting about the layoff though, except that it sucks."
Good luck, comrade. Srsly.
This round of layoff tales are dedicated to those fired from Wired, Time Inc.'s European contingent, and Michigan's autoworker retirees who have just had their promised lifetime healthcare stolen. Has Twittering your after-work activities like museums and park strollers instigated jealousy amongst higher-ups? Are you the only one left in your family with a job—only to be laid-off? Have you quit and tried to get your job back? Read on. (And send your stories to tips@gawker.com.)
Fired for Twittering Enjoyable Life:
It's been almost two months since I went through "the talk." I worked in PR, and several times each week I would work 2 hours extra for no additional compensation; I considered it investing in future raises and perks. One month before I was sacked, I received the promised raise amid a deluge of praise from my boss. Of course that little extra cash went straight to the student loan monster I've been battling for years.
And so when the Friday evening came when I was quietly told (by an embarrassed HR person) to pack up and leave without severance, I was relieved beyond belief. Since that day, I've hit the parks, museum exhibits and cafes, stealing them back bit by bit from the tourists.
So why was I canned? Well, aside from the fact that the company is headed majorly downhill, I came to find out that they decided I'd be a prime candidate to let go because they had been following my Twitter (which I hardly even used) and were jealous of the free time I didn't donate to working even more extra hours. Now all I have is delicious free time far away from them.
"I Was the Last One in My Family With a Job:
Three months ago, I turned down 5 job offers to work for a friend's internet company. I wasn't going to take it, but they kept offering me more money, so I caved to my capitalist side. As recently as two days ago, we had a company meeting assuring us no one would be laid off, and not to worry about job security.
Imagine my surprise when this morning, while taking a nap after I worked an all-nighter to finish a major database cleanup, my boss called me up to let me know they were making cuts, and I was one of them. I'm getting one more paycheck, and the health insurance I'd finally earned YESTERDAY would be cut off immediately. They waited until I had clocked another 85 hour week fixing their database nightmare to do it.
Best part? I was the last one in my family with a job. My 2 sisters, mother, and father are all unemployed after being laid off. Five college graduates, two with master's degrees, and none of us can find steady work.
Actually, the best part is that when I told my best friend that I'd given up other great jobs only to be laid off so soon, he said, "HA! You pulled a Moe. You have to send this to Gawker."
Well, thanks! But sorry about your firing...
Pulling a George Costanza:
I work at a small newspaper in Connecticut, which has recently been hemmorhaging employees. Nearly half a dozen staff writers have left so far, under their own volition, until today. We just laid off two writers and a photographer.
Just earlier this week, one reporter who resigned shortly before this, asked to rescind his resignation. He was told his job doesn't exist anymore.
In honor of the Friday layoffs sweeping through the media today, we bring you even more funny-sad stories of being fired. (Esquire, Wenner, O at Home, this one goes out to you.) As always, send your own anecdotes to tips@gawker.com. Read on for sick-bed and weekend layoffs and a guy who's been laid off so many times, he's a "kiss of death" to any company.
Get Well Soon! Yeah Right:
I had been working for several months for a company that deliberately kept me just under full time to avoid having to offer me benefits. I got sick, and because I didn't have health insurance I didn't go to the doctor (and kept going to work). By the time I was finally dragged to the emergency room by a friend, my illness required a five-night hospital stay.
The day I got home from the hospital, my manager came to my house to 'check on me.' I was surprised at her thoughtfulness until I found out that along with flowers, she had also brought a severance check. I'm still paying off that hospital bill.
Black Saturday:
I was on a nasty project— five days a week on the road, working at home both weekend days. It was awful. The whole effort had broken down to the point where we had 7:30 am and 5 pm status meetings every day. It was an obscene way to live, and it had been going on for months. Meanwhile, everyone around me was dropping like flies. Then, I got that expected phone call for which I was still unprepared. "Can you come into the office tomorrow morning at 10?" I got the call on a Friday. I was brought into the office on a fucking Saturday to be laid off.
Like everyone else, it seems, it was the best thing that happened to me. I got a lucrative freelancing gig that lasted more than a year (and came to an end two days before Christmas with no notice ... yet another gem).
"Don't Cry. No, Really."
I got laid off last Thursday and I must say I've never been so happy in my life. They called me into the office (I work from home) and my boss saw me and burst into tears. She said that these are the "the toughest of times" - I thought "No shit!" What really was amusing to me was that I ended up consoling HER! She started talking about her long, sleepless nights wrestling with this decision, telling me about her kids worrying about he,r and how she was worried about her job and future with the company.
I just smiled, got up and gave her a big hug and reassured her that i would be OK. And that I had already accepted an offer from our chief compeitior and laughed that I had my letter of resignation with me! The tone oddly and quickly changed [after that]...
The King of Layoffs
As the recession started creeping in, I had just quit a touring rock band and went to work for The Man. This particular (very big) bank started having some serious problems that were very well-publicized. I got called into the office, was told to pack my stuff; they were sorry. Then I went to a much smaller, yet very well-known investment bank. Things got bad there and yes, my boss called me into her office and blah, blah, blah - you know the drill.
Six weeks of unemployment later I was at a major corporation. My manager asked to meet with me at the end of the day. Knowingly, I filled a shopping bag with my belongings and —with head held high—walked into the office, plonked the bag of my belongings on her desk. She just looked at it and nodded. I am either king layoff or the kiss of death for any company. Maybe I should apply to the Post next.
Election euphoria hasn't stopped waves of layoffs. "The number of out-of-work Americans continuing to draw unemployment benefits has surged to a 25-year high," reports the AP today. With that in mind, it's another round of layoff... horror stories. Today's tales go out in tribute to the very recently downsized employees at Hearst (Redbook, Good Housekeeping), Time Inc., and the Village Voice. Holla! (Wanna send us your anonymous anecdotes? Write tips@gawker.com.) Today, we hear tales of crying, drinking, and a well-placed "Fuck you."
"Fuck You":
After nearly 3 years as a newspaper reporter, I finally took a week's vacation. On my first day back, my officemate called and said there would be a mandatory meeting of all editorial people in the main office.I walked in, sat down in the crowded room, and noticed a very uncomfortable vibe right away. Then the executive editor said that all the part-time people (which included me) had been let go. After he stopped talking, I said, "I assume, then, that means me, also?"
Without looking me in the eye, he told me they had been unable to reach me at home, unlike all the other part-timers. Fuming, I reported to HR only to be told there was no one there who could delineate what would happen next. I was told to sit in a chair out in the main hallway and wait. Yeah, I was gonna do that.
I threw my security badge on the nearest desk, told them I wasn't waiting for anyone, and stalked out. An HR woman stretched out her hand to me and started saying, "Oh, I'm sorry..." I looked at her and said, "Fuck you." It was juvenile, I admit. It also felt good.
Crying And Drinking:
I was off work for jury duty. When I left the courtroom and checked my messages, there was a voice mail from HR asking me to call right away. I did, and the HR lady laid me off over the phone. She even cried.So I go back to the courthouse and, when they called court back into session, asked for permission to approach the judge. I told him what happened. He and the attorneys were horrified and let me go from the jury. I went to the office and was accompanied by a security guard to my cubicle, where I packed up my personal belongings, while some co-workers sobbed quietly in their cubicles wondering when it would happen to them.
The others who had been axed had been gone for hours already getting hammered at a local bar.
"Best Thing That Ever Happened To Me":
I got laid off early this year after working extremely long hours through the holidays on an extra project that was unnecessary.I was obviously shocked, and then had to sit there for an HOUR AND A HALF while the HR woman went through my severance package in inane detail (including the fact that my medical benefits were over THAT DAY).
Visibly shaken and now feeling tortured, I asked if I could please get my personal belongings (plus, I was a little embarrassed because I had sweaty gym clothes in my locker that I really don't want anyone to touch/look at), the HR goes "What? Do you really want to get your stuff now? After all this?" Um, yes bitch. I do.
Best thing that ever happened to me.
Have you ever been unemployed? Have you had to call the temp agency to tell them to "reactivate my file"? Is your net worth $240... in ones? Let the lyrics of REM to console us: everybody hurts. And everybody, according to the overwhelming amount of you're-fired stories we've been getting (tips@gawker.com), has been fired. But have you been fired by someone telling your kid instead of you? Or by finding a "people to fire" doc on your boss's computer? Did you unwittingly collate on your own "exit package"?
SylviaFired.doc:
My boss didn't know how to save anything into different folders, so it all went into her "Annie's Stuff" folder on the shared drive. I had access, so I spent many merry months reading her Christmas letters, letters to an ex-baby daddy, and the performance reviews of my coworkers. One day I saw a new file with "Sylvia Fired.doc" on it. The dismissal form she'd filled out was full of misspellings and grammatical errors—I spent my last few hours at work copyediting my own dismissal letter. It was the most fulfilling project I took on during my time there.
Tell Your Mom She's Fired:
I worked at a publishing company for a total of 18 years and was laid off last week on a day that I wasn't in the office. Did I get a phone call from my boss? No... he first (in person) told my 19-year-old son (who had been hired in the spring) that he was being let go... then told him about me.
Who called to tell me? My also-laid-off son, who had never known me going to any other job.
Thanks for Collating:
"I have a friend who worked in HR. He was asked to put together the exit packages that are given to people who are laid off. The day after he finished putting them all together, he was handed one."
Finally, to take your mind off the getting-fired stuff, here's a truly inspirational memo passed on to us by a disgruntled former diamond-company employee. It's from her boss, who we are assured was totally incompetent:
I have also noticed an extreme high volume of personal calls lately. If you need to talk to someone for 5 minutes twice a day - I get it, if you can talk to them when you are on your own time and not on my time - I'd prefer it. We are not here to play. I need results and fast! I need each and everyone of you working at your best ability and there is no room for slacking. Not only are we in a difficult economy but we are in a difficult industry with people shutting down all around us...WE WILL PREVAIL and we will RISE ABOVE THE REST. But we will not if you don't help make it happen
Let's make it happen - don't complain about others, don't complain about your workload (guess what - it's no different anywhere else) just MAKE IT HAPPEN and WORRY ABOUT YOURSELF! CHIP AWAY at the projects ONE BY ONE, come up with suggestions on how to improve. If you are sitting idle that's not good - talk to me about it –. Let's come up with a plan on how to MAKE THE BIG PICTURE HAPPEN! If you are complaining...why are you complaining, and can we come up with a solution? I know you are all capable of this. Let's make it happen.
Let's make it happen, everyone.
If there's anything more random and inane than work, it's the very randomness and inanity in which we are laid off and/or fired from our jobs. Today is the third installment of Layoff Horror Stories (send yours, or your tales of unemployment-related ennui and depression, to tips@gawker.com—have you put on pants today?) We're about to hear from someone who was informed of their downsizing by the office building's doorman, a layoff that ended up in "one giant ass-fuck, basically," and listen to a rumor that some Conde Nasties have recently resigned themselves to freelancing... web freelancing.
"no one probably reads either Women's Day Special or Boating"
these both happened 2 weeks and 1 week ago, respectively. first, half of the team that does the Women's Day Special Publications was let go, leaving four sad women behind to do it all. then a few days later, 4 members of the Boating magazine staff were kicked to the curb. rumor has it that both titles are going to be scaled back as far as how often they are published. (this would be a great place to make some "Hachette Filipacchi is a sinking ship" pun, but that might be way too easy for you guys). No one probably mentioned this to Gawker because no one probably reads either Women's Day Special Pub or Boating mag. i work here, and i still don't.
Conde Nasties Resign Themselves to Freelancing
Keith Blanchard, former EIC of Maxim, recently started a site called TheDailyLowdown.com. He's had trouble finding freelancers to work for the slave wages he's paying but said so far this week he's been inundated with requests for work, with many of the people having Conde Nast email addresses.
Fill Out Your Self-Evaluation; Then You're Fired
Last June my boss' boss sent me an email one afternoon asking to meet the following morning for my annual review. I thought it odd that the request came from him rather than from my boss, no one else in the organization was doing reviews, and he hadn't asked me to fill out the typical self-evaluation form. I asked if I should fill out a form and he was dismissive, said I could do it or not.
Red flags were flying, but I got my hands on a copy of the blank form and spent the rest of the afternoon, and the evening at home, completing a thoughtful, thorough self-evaluation, with goals and objectives for the next year. The next morning he came into my boss' office for the meeting, waved his copy of my evaluation form, and said, "We don't really need this. I'm not happy with the way things are going. I think you should look for a new job."
You're Just a Visitor Now
I walked into the employee's entrance of my building and the security guard said: "Visitors must use the main entrance."
So I had to walk around to the front, trade my (deactivated) employee badge for a visitor's badge, and then walk up to my office to clear out my personal effects - for which the cleaning guy had thoughtfully left a couple black plastic trash bags.
Work Nights & Weekends (Until You're Fired)
I moved to Portland, Maine to take a job as the content producer for MaineBusiness.com, which is owned by the Portland Press Herald, which is swiftly going under. I asked the guy who was hiring me, the head of the web products, if I there was going to be any chance that I would get laid off because I didn't want the job if there was. I was assured there was no way — because we were web people! Six weeks later I was canned.
Because they felt so bad for me they told me there was a night position at the paper. I would be cutting and pasting stories that other reporters wrote onto the website from 6:00 pm to 2:00 am, Tuesday through Saturday. Oh and if I didn't take it the company would change my status from "laid off" to "quit" — so there would go my unemployment benefits. I begrudgingly took the job.
After a panic attack that I was losing not only my nights but my weekends as well I started my new job. Six weeks later I was laid off. Again
"One big giant ass fuck, basically"
So, I worked for a company that was contracted by corporations to run their temp worker sourcing, I guess as a way to keep costs lower or something. Anyway, our company and the software we used was bought out by another company in the spring of 2007. The 'new' conglomerate company celebrated by flying everyone to Vegas to stay at the Bellagio for a weekend, including meals, and included a ticket to see Cirque d'Soleil or whatever for good measure. Oh, we also got $50 in chips for the Bellagio to use, which I promptly cashed in to use for food cause fuck that shit is expensive.
Six months later, the rumblings begin. Some people were laid off in another division a few weeks prior, one of my co-workers was forced to work for an Asian branch of a company, making her schedule change from 8am - 6pm EST to 6pm - 4am EST MAGICALLY overnight! Also, our boss stopped showing up to work for the two weeks prior, blaming stuff on her daughter but her daughter accidentally called the office at least twice in this period looking for her. Anyway, we get an email from corporate instructing everyone not to return to work until further notice.
I guess they ran out of money and filed for Chapter 11. Hundreds of temps at the companies we contracted for were never paid, and they weren't even WORKING for my company, just had the misfortune of being paid through them. Oh, I didn't get my final pay until five months later. Apparently, they hadn't been paying insurance premiums either and people who went to the doctor in November or December were being denied their claims because they had no idea they weren't insured any longer. One big giant ass fuck, basically.
[Photo: cover of the awesome Temp Slave! anthology]
Getting laid off is never fun. But complaining about how awful being laid off is, in a perverse and masochistic way. Because misery loves company, we want your layoff stories. (Send them to tips@gawker.com.) Here are two we received so far: one from a man who wasn't even allowed to get his birthday cards, and another about a laid-off employee who the bosses actually forgot to fire...
My husband got laid off unexpectedly—on his birthday, no less. He had been traveling for work for two straight weeks, then they made him sit through a full day of bullshit meetings that were supposed to continue into a company dinner that night. They dropped the ax right before he was set to leave for the restaurant.
Again, on his birthday, after he'd been away for over two weeks. I had sent his birthday cards to his office because I knew that he would get them before he would see me. They wouldn't let him go through his mail to get them. He was allowed to take only the personal photographs from his office and then was forced to sign a form that stated that they did not owe him any money — even though they owed him all his expenses from his two weeks on the road. It took three months and we finally just got that check.
There were a few other layoffs earlier this year, and those people got more in their severance packages. However the company must have realized that they were losing money at an alarming pace so they cut the severance packages drastically... To top it off, he was unable to sell his stock in the company because the timing of his layoff was during a "blackout period." He probably would have only made like a dollar a share. Now, the company's stock is trading at fifty cents a share and so there is nothing of value to sell anymore anyway.
Some consolation: The assholes who are in charge don't stand to make any money on their stock options barring a miracle buyout, which would probably never happen because the place is such a mess and the people who are now in charge are completely incompetent.
If you print this, please keep it anonymous... unless it's after Friday when the severance package runs out. Then we can say whatever we want about those DICKS.
Eloquently put! Now, the story of the forgotten Downsized Employee:
My old company—a boutique ad agency in the Financial District—went through three rounds of layoffs throughout late spring and the summer. In the second round, they laid off five or six people, and then called a meeting immediately afterward with the rest of the staff.
I'll forgive the fact that they called this meeting while the fired were still cleaning out their desks. But the bumbling owners decided it would be helpful to go through with the rest of us a list of the people they laid off. But one of the people they announced on the list was out of the office that day, and the owners were too inept to realize that they hadn't actually laid him off yet. So now everyone in the agency but him knew what was to come the next day. Someone must have tipped him off, because he came in the next day, collected his things and left.
Caroline McCarthy hears a rumor that Zombiecon—the annual New York City "flash mob" that foolishly exalts the greatest menace facing the civilization, the flesh-eating undead—may have a Wall St. theme this year! Because, you know, vast stretches of way-lower Broadway are now hideous, ghoul-filled wastelands, replete with the moaning and lumbering reanimated corpses of various Lehman Brothers and Merrill Lynch employees. So yeah, it's a fun idea—bloody blue Oxfords, stock ticker tape spilling out of abdomens like guts—but it's also dangerous, because, you know, we don't want to be the city that cried "zombie" for when the real war comes. Ah well. What would your Wall Street Zombie costume be?
Shortly after hearing the scuttlebutt (yeah) yesterday about the summer intern who took her new TV network employers and shat all over them (no literally shat all over them) yesterday we put a call out to some of our most cherished sources for "nightmare intern" stories that might gratuitously expand upon the "Kids today: My they are insubordinate and entitled in just that infuriatingly unabashed way that will probably totally work in their favor!" meme. And wow, did the stories we heard totally play to our stereotypes in ways we could not even ourselves imagine! But they also helped to contour our cartoonish notions of "clueless lazy entitled youth" with hints of "well, their parents' generation is obviously to blame"-ism. Take the case of this hapless Vogue-ette!
One of my old [Conde Nast publication redacted] interns had a nightmare herself - she moved up to Vogue and was passing Anna in the hall on her first day. Knew she wasn't supposed to look at her. As they passed, Anna tripped and fell, just bit it. Intern freaked out. she didn't know what to do. So she ran.
Oh, no! How like a poor young thing unschooled in social interactions not involving the "BRB" option! However.
Didn't help AW. got back to her desk, told her new boss what had happened, and the boss told her she did the right thing and that if she'd actually attempted to help AW, her first day would def have been her last.
Of course, there are two castes of interns at Vogue: worthless debutante billionairespawn, and meticulous and diligent pretty untouchables. Now let's contrast that with this dispatch from the Embassy of a major European country:
I've got a story of an intern here whose dad is some bigwig in the biggest [European country] union, and who has erased his title of "intern" from his sig., and instead calls himself the "acting social economic attache" or some bullshit like that just because he's commandeered in the office of the REAL social economic attache, who is on vacation. Because of this elevated, clearly non-intern status, he refuses to engage in the less-glamorous work all the other interns are required to do, namely act as hosts and hostesses at events and basically be bitches.
But! What works in Old Europe won't fly in, say, Boston.
We had 2 interns last semester who showed up at an Ashlee Simpson appearance at saint, or some other club here, and tried to bully their way in by telling the GM they worked for Boston Magazine and if he didn't let them in they'd blog mean shit about him and his club. Then they gave him the names of various Boston Magazine editors. While they were arguing they spotted one of our art department assistants, who was on a freelance photo job, and tried to pretend they were with her.
Such an uncharacteristic show of resourcefulness, right?
So the art assistant almost lost that freelance account because the GM was so pissed, and an editor here had to make some big show of apology to the GM or else it would probably end up in the Track. And then the interns first denied the whole thing. Then each blamed it on the other one.
God, are they too preoccupied with aspirational reality TV to have absorbed the single most obvious lesson of all crime television?
Then we made them write notes of apology to the club and they were filled with misspellings.
Yes.
Anyway, our last story, from a publication in Philadelphia, is a long, cautionary tale about Why You Cannot Trust Ivy Leaguers Even If They Appear To Be Hardworking And Eager To Please (And Also Attend Lesser Ivies)
Once upon a time, [website] had an intern. Let's call her Jennifer Aniston. Jennifer Aniston came into our lives around three winters ago. Our website explicity states that we do NOT consider Penn students for internships, for reasons that would be obvious to anyone who's ever lived in any kind of proximity to Penn, and Philadelphia's radical allergy to the kind of senses of entitlement for which Penn students are widely known. But when we met Jennifer Aniston, she made a good point: She had graduated from Penn, and was thus, no longer a Penn student. And she seemed nice enough, and we really needed the help, so we let her by on the technicality.
And here it must be said that Jennifer Aniston was actually a really, really great intern. She loved the [publication], did tons of grunt work with gusto, and was really just super diligent about any task with which she was charged. She ruled. But the more time we spent with her, the more we realized that Jennifer Aniston basically had no sense of self. For example, she constantly talked using "we" when discussing anything about her personal life, referencing things not simply she, but she and her boyfriend of a few months, did or enjoyed.
Q: Hey, Jennifer, what are you listening to these days?
A: Gosh, well, we really love Peter Bjorn and John and Italo disco!
It also became apparent that JA was just a really, really sheltered young adult — that she was one of these people who moved to a big city to go to school, and then proceeded to basically never leave the campus, thereby terminating more than half the value of her education.
In addition, we soon learned that she was attending this strange emo born-again Christian church that seems to prey on hipster transplants here in Philly.
We felt bad for her. And we also felt like we wouldn't be doing our duty as intern masters/psuedo mentors if we didn't expose her to the world as we knew it. So we took her on a trip that we needed to make for work. A long, long road trip.
On the trip and long conversations that ensued as we drove halfway across the country, we learned a lot of wacky stuff: That Jennifer Aniston didn't seem to know a lot about sex for a young woman approaching her mid-20s. That her boyfriend seemed to hold an almost cult-leader-like control over her. That she would pout at the slightest inconvenience. She was utterly horrified when we started listening to Howard Stern to break up the car rides.
Well, the trip was what it was. But when we got back, through the strange social mesh of Philadelphia, we found out (inadvertently) that a friend of a friend of ours had met up with Jennifer Aniston's boyfriend roughly 30 minutes after we picked her up for the trip. This friend of a friend was then reported to have holed up and fucked Jennifer Aniston's boyfriend for a week solid.
We didn't know what to do with this information.
So we just held onto it for a while. But then, things got weirder
It turned out that we started working another young woman who turned out to be Jennifer Aniston's Boyfriend's last girlfriend. We'd known this woman for a while, respected her a lot, and eventually, one day while chatting we realized that she and Jennifer Aniston shared something in common ( Jennifer Aniston's Boyfriend), and unbeknownst to Jennifer Aniston, that at least in the beginning, they were sharing this young squire concurrently.
But Jennifer did know that our new co-worker did see her boyfriend in the past. When she found out that she was on the team, Jennifer quit her internship. Immediately. Despite the fact that she'd basically never have to see her.
Meanwhile, Jennifer had been posting on her blog and talking nearly constantly about when she and her BF were going to get married, and how much in love they were, etc.
We were worried. It made us sick to think that here she was, proclaiming eternal love, when in reality her BF was basically the town pump and here she was, unwittingly making a fool of herself.
This all came to head at another employee's birthday dinner, where, unlikely as it seemed, all concerned (except the chick that Jennifer's BF screwed for a week while we were away) were present.
When Jennifer's BF showed up, our new employee asked if they could talk outside for a moment.
While we were not there, we assume and were told later that Jennifer's BF was given the dressing-down of his life.
Meanwhile, Jennifer Aniston slowly sat at the table and slowly lost her mind. When everyone returned to the table, Aniston bragged to our new employee, as if she had been hypnotized, about how she and the BF were so in love and were going to get married and make many many Aniston babies.
Everyone at the table stared in disbelief. Silence.
When the dinner ended, we decided that this could not go on. While it was not really our place to tell Jennifer Aniston what we know, we could, we realized, pass it along to a mutual good friend and co-worker whom we did know, and at the time, was very close to her.
In short order, Jennifer Aniston reacted in the following ways:
- She pulled down her Myspace and her blog.
- Her Flickr stream as well.
- And never spoke to us again.
In the time since, it's become clear that she shot every messenger she could, and stayed with the BF. She still alludes to us on her blog from time to time as these evil, awful people from her past. It's made us sad, but it's also shown us one thing that we kind of knew already, but needed to be reminded about:
No Penn students, ever.
OK, so is anyone as creeped out by this trailer for The Strangers as I was? It looks a bit like that Luke Wilson/Kate Beckinsale movie Vacancy, which was actually pretty darn scurrry.