This week and last week account for New York City's summer "Restaurant Week" schedule.

Before moving to New York (almost a year ago from Indiana), I used to fly out every July and January just to cut a break on the usually-expensive restaurants out here. During restaurant week you get a 3-course lunch for $24.07 or a similar dinner for $35. I've always treated the scenario as if a mathematical algorithm, figuring that I'd only go to expensive restaurants that I couldn't otherwise afford. Basically, some restaurants make money during restaurant week (the cheap ones) and others lose money (the expensive ones). I opt to eat at the expensive ones that are allowing me to use and abuse them, not vice versa. But really, I was never getting a deal since I was spending money flying out here from Indiana ($200) and staying at a hotel ($100,000,000,000/night). Either way, the idea of using someone just thrilled me. What can I say? I'm a sadist. Okay, a sadist taking on the role of a masochist. It happens.

Analogies aside, what I'm trying to say is this: I now know how my boss feels. Using and abusing to save a buck. Man oh man, I just got my paycheck and I got seriously jipped.

Just so you know, I'm not one to perpetuate stereotypes, but that whole thing about, well, you know - it's all true.

But to be fair, yes, he told me how much I was getting paid up front. Yes, I knew ahead of time how much my check would be. NO - I did not know how boring my job would be. So as I leave you to write an elementary article about the proper body language one should use when he or she confronts another member of humanity, (no, I'm not kidding), I leave you with this message:

"Dear Condé Nast, I'm totally okay giving a two-hour notice. Same to you, Fairchild, Meredith and Hearst. Hachette Filipachi? Ziff Davis? Yeah, we can talk."