I feel so used

I am angry.

Not only is it Monday and thus a Bad Day by default, laden with computer issues and everything, I get home from work and find this thin little postcard in the mailbox from Jane magazine. I expect it to be a renewal notice.

It's a Dear John letter. I just got dumped by some publishers on a postcard! (Not as bad as Carrie Bradshaw's Post-It note breakup on "Sex and the City," but close.)

Conde Nast isn't going to be publishing any more issues. Seriously. Oh, oh! But "In its place, we will be sending you Glamour. ... We think you'll love Glamour. Like Jane, it's packed with everything smart, sexy women want to know -- about your body, your beauty, your relationships ... and more!"

WHAT. Um, 'cuz I would pick up a magazine with that tagline. I'm feeling really bitter. Sorry.

Ignoring the fact that I'd rather see my $6 subscription left-overs go up in flames rather than get Glamour magazine in its place, they didn't even put the right phone number on the post card to cancel the subscription. What the crazy?

Irrational anger racing through my tired veins, I logged on to the Internet to find out what was up. Luckily, I found it and canceled on the phone, pronto, so I could get all of that $6 back.

But you guys. I (sob) didn't even (sob) get to say goodbye! Oh, the humanity.