Lanta

It's been two years- you know what that means. . . True to my 2-year (or less) cycle, Will and I will shortly be leaving the fridged wasteland of the north and heading for sunny Atlanta (or, as the hip kids I imagine to be our new neighbors say, in the sad little "getting to know you" dialog in my head- 'Lanta).

I'm excited about the move, it'll be something new and challenging- plus I'll escape the hours of waste I spent in Minnesota scraping off and digging out my car every morning (yeah, sure, even in the summer. . .). What I'm not excited about is writing a resume. I've already found a great job listed with the High Museum of Art, one I'd be perfect for. It's the convincing them that I'm perfect in written form that I hate. I hate writing resumes. Hate it. No. So to make it easier, I've been drinking red wine and eating pre-Halloween SweetTart packets out of my Wonka bag. That and I'm finding it easier to blog about myself than sum myself up in resume format. Bullet points, bah.