"We're gonna be getting rid of these people here... First, Mr. Samir Naga... Naga... Naga... Not gonna work here anymore, anyway."

On a recent Monday afternoon, I was let go from my job. “We have determined there is no longer a need for your position, so it has been eliminated,” said an overly enthusiastic Human Resources woman. As I  sat across from her, I briefly contemplated the unfinished pile of work on my desk, then got up and left the building, never to return.

I had never been let go from a job before, be it a lay off like this or a firing, so admittedly this came as a slight shock. I drove home in shock. I ate dinner in shock. I went to bed, still in shock. But when I woke up the next morning, the shock had worn off and an unfamiliar feeling set in: Pure, unadulterated, utter bliss!

I hated my job. Hated it to the point that it was making me physically and mentally ill. Hated it to the point where I was miserable by Saturday afternoon, knowing I’d have to go back on Monday. Hated it to the point where I was completely lethargic and stopped taking care of myself. What I didn’t hate was the paycheck. And because of that, I felt immobilized to make a change.

Of course, no one actually enjoys being let go from their job. But like many things in life, when a particular job just isn’t the right fit, you know it in your soul. You feel it in your bones. The spring in your step just isn’t as springy. Or, as was my case, just totally sprung out.

“When a particular job just isn’t the right fit, you know it in your soul. You feel it in your bones. The spring in your step just isn’t as springy.”

When the hand of god (a.k.a Human Resources) bitch slapped me out the door, it propelled me into action. Instead of wasting my energy on self pity, I became this finely-tuned job hunting machine. Instinctively I started eating healthier. Positive thoughts began flooding my brain. I  reached out to friends I hadn’t spoken to in awhile. My family was happier too. A couple days later I was motivated to pursue and secure an ongoing freelance opportunity. Shortly after that I was again gainfully employed full-time, this time at a job I truly love.

On his blog, The Altucher Confidential, entrepreneur James Altucher lists his Top 10 Reasons To Quit Your Job Now. I really don’t think I can do any better than him, so my advice is that you go read his list.

I’m not necessarily encouraging you to go out tomorrow and quit your job just because you hate it. It’s not exactly practical. Besides, I understand the difficulty involved in being unemployed and the financial burdens it can cause you and your family. I also know that being unable to find work — particularly in this bad economy — comes with its own set of problems. But I do want you to ask yourself this: Do the pros outweigh the cons?

You may be surprised to hear yourself shouting your answer from the highest rooftops to everyone who will listen: YES!!!!!! YES!!!!! A million trillion times YES!!!!!!!!

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Sometime during a hectic, adrenaline-rush-inducing week between being laid off from one job and hired on for a new one, I did something I’ve been wanting to do for a very, very long time: I started freelancing for Vegas Seven. I guess being unemployed (albeit for only a few days) was just the soul-stirring push I needed to finally take the leap. My first article,  Love Him: New York artist Curtis Kulig brings his signature tag to the Cosmopolitan’s P3 Studio, can be found in the Arts & Entertainment section of this week’s issue. The SoHo artist first transferred his “Love Me” message from his sketchbook to the streets seven years ago. Today those two little words have gained incredible artistic and commercial momentum. Kulig is the artist in residence at the Cosmopolitan Las Vegas through Valentine’s Day. Check him out and feel the love.

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“You’ve broken my heart. It hurts so bad. It’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt. Like a paper cut on my chest. I can tell this is going to last a long, long time. Like 10 whole minutes.”

Wow. Ten whole minutes of heartbreak? Oh, to be a kid again.

“You apologize too much,” he responded without making eye contact, and continued on his way.

My first thought: What a douche. My second (third, fourth, and ongoing) thoughts: What? I apologize too much? Is he right? Wait, didn’t this dude just started here last week? What the hell?

Much anxiety and self-analysis ensued. I concluded I must come across to others as overly apologetic and completely insecure.

But today I read an article in Scientific American which proves just the opposite. According to a study by Psychologist Andrew Howell and his colleagues at Grant MacEwan University in Edmonton, those who are more likely to apologize are actually those who exhibit compassion, agreeability and high self-esteem.

People with low self-esteem … were less inclined to apologize, even though they probably feel bad after a conflict … In contrast, “people who are sure of themselves have the capacity to confess to wrongdoing and address it.”

So that’s right douchey coworker. I DO apologize too much. And you know what? I’m going to keep on apologizing too much. And for that, I am NOT sorry.

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So you roll out of bed, check the refrigerator, Google “AOL Guy,” discover the answer is Elwood Edwards, post a tweet about the telepathic relationship between Elwood and woodchucks. At that point you can’t help but check your Facebook where you’re thrust into the grips of a photo album posted by a friend with photos from a party you weren’t invited to. You feel bitter and angry and start cursing facebook, you pace back and forth, you bang the keyboard, you sacrafice the 10 ”friends” closest to the party planner (it is the morning after National Unfriend Day afterall), and that makes you feel slightly better so you take a quiz to determine just “How Bitchy Are You?” (40% Bitchy).

At this point it’s 3 a.m.,  which means you have less than 3 hours until your child wakes up and wants breakfast. You are extremely tired but you can’t get back to sleep. So you start worrying about how tired you will be when you do actually wake up in the morning — if you ever manage to sleep again, that is — and before you know it it’s 4 a.m. and you’re still tossing and turning. Now you’ve convinced yourself that you have forgotten how to fall asleep. Your sleeping mechanism is broken and you are doomed to becoming a living zombie. You wake up your husband to tell him about Elwood, the party you weren’t invited to, how you’ve forgotten how to fall asleep, but he’s already asleep again before you finish your sentence.

It is now 5:30 a.m. Your child is hungry, your husband is still sleeping soundly, and it’s time for you to wake up. Oh wait, you never slept in the first place!

Well, there’s always tonight.  At least you won’t be wondering about Elwood.

Knock on wood.

You see, earlier that day I accidentally crashed his car. Well, “crashed” is a little harsh. More accurately, I  “tapped” into another car as I was slowly backing out of a parking space at the car dealership. There was absolutely no damage to the other car, and the bumper of the car my husband so loves only suffered a tiny, weensy, minuscule, barely even noticeable scratch.

And so I breathed a sigh of relief — I thought I was free and clear. My husband was inside the car dealership at the time paying for servicing on my own car, which he was to drive home. He would never have to know that his loving and unbelievably clumsy wife was the cause of the tiny scratch. Besides, his bumper was by no means in perfect condition to begin with; most notably, there’s a splotch of green paint from one of his mural projects.

But fate had something different in mind. And by fate, I mean nosy car salesperson.

And so comes the evening and his question: “Is there something you want to tell me?”

I took a deep breath. I laughed nervously. I quickly pondered all possible answers before blurting out: “It wasn’t my fault! He came out of nowhere. He wasn’t looking where he was going. I think he wanted me to hit him … I’m so sorry …”

He laughed. “So when were you going to tell me?” he asked.

And that’s when the real truth came out: “Well, actually, I wasn’t.”

We are always told that the key to a succesful marriage is communication. And it’s a rule I try to live by.  But if the truth isn’t hurting anyone, isn’t it sometimes better to avoid it in leu of possible conflict?

Maybe. Or maybe not.

While it sounds good in theory, it’s really just circular reasoning. It’s not taking into account the intervening variables, in this case a nosy car salesperson. With variables such as this one, the truth will invariably come out, raising even more serious questions about your partner’s honesty and faithfulness.

The conversation about scratching my husband’s car wasn’t an easy one. But not telling the truth could have done more damage than the accident itself.

“So what other secrets are you keeping from me?” he asked, half-joking, half not.

Oh boy, here we go.

“How much time have you got?”

I can certainly accept that it happens sometimes: people walk into things. But in this case, there was no change in body language. No quick, embarrassed glance behind him to see if anyone was watching. It seemed so unnatural.

My theory: The robot invasion has begun. Brace yourselves people. This is our future: