I think someone put my security blanket in the dryer.

As my beloved ex, actor-producer-writer-smart-ass extraordinaire James Huffman, once so eloquently put it, I have a tendency to settle into my comfort zones a bit too easily, for a bit too long.
Case in point: The Hired Guns.
I started working on the most part-time of schedules for this group nearly five years ago now. I have steadily increased my time there until about a year and a half ago, when I signed on full time as their events manager and content guru, doing copywriting, editing, and all sort of various things. I got comfortable. I went from affectionately being nicknamed "Girl Friday" to "Overhead." (I'm very good at spending other people's money, particularly on a party. Ask my dad. Or my ex-husband.)
Unfortunately, this isn't the most ideal climate in which to answer to "Overhead."
And I am, indefinitely, out of work.
A scary thing indeed for a girl whose only apparent skill is making her friends laugh in a blog she can only manage to write on a once a month or so basis.
I love this company. I love these people. They are passionate about what they're doing over there - and I believe firmly that in ten years, when The Hired Guns has reached unimaginable status in their field, this time in the company's history will be a huge learning lesson in bearing down and weathering the storm. That's the price that gets paid for being visionary. And I take them at their word that as soon as things turn around, I'm the first person they'll call.
But this afternoon this fish is feeling a little out of water, as evidenced by my inconsistent mixing of metaphors. I mean, sure, it was nice being home to watch the Michael Jackson memorial service uninterrupted by pesky work. And I already have huge plans for cleaning the whole apartment, rearranging my room, losing a lot of weight, and hanging with Scott in the Hamptons while we compete over the hot, wealthy, gainfully employed and emotionally available men that are pining for us, so clearly there's a lot to do. If I knew this "furlough" was just going to last for a couple of months, honestly I'd be ecstatic. Who doesn't want the summer off? Yeah, I'd have to pinch some pennies, maybe bust out a credit card once or twice, but think of the tan! Think of the naps!
But the only way to really enjoy sunbathing and catnaps is with the security of a bi-monthly paycheck.
If you care to help me out, that would be great.
It's been years since I've had to put together a resume, but I reckon it goes something like this:
I like to write. It's really the only talent I have. I'm okay at it on my bad days, and pretty damn good at it on my best.
I would be happiest writing on my laptop, near a beach. I don't care all that much what I write, but if it was about current events, pop culture, stupid shit that no one cares about but everyone reads, all the better.
I can effortlessly plan a mean wine and cheese fete, a lovely sunset boat cruise, or a picnic-themed French bistro cocktail party, with nothing but an unlimited budget and complete control.
I am willing to travel (as long as it's warm), willing to work long hours (as long as they start around noonish), and don't promise not to be lippy.
Hmm... it's a good thing I have an agent as of this morning. I think that's gonna need some work. But you get the gist, yes?
This is always when the interesting stuff happens, isn't it? When life kicks you in the butt and tells you to get a move on?