Intel Nitasha Loses the Intel

By
Like this, only sobbing.

It seems like just yesterday the blogging gods shined down and granted me the password to the Intel chatroom, so I could spend my days in electronic bliss with Intel Chris and Intel Dan, the best work boyfriends a girl could dream of, while a steady stream of corrections and admonishments from our wicked-quick commenters kept me in line. But sadly the time has come for me to move on to techier pastures at the New York Observer, where I can obsess over whether Eric Schmidt actually means what he says and party like it's 1999 in peace. Thank you for tolerating my debilitating fear of subway and toilet rats, my mockery of Rush Limbaugh's fattitude, my curiosity about New York neighborhoods' relative kinkiness, my discovery that pimpin' ain't dead it just moved to Galleon, and my resoundingly meh feelings for Vampire Bill. I miss everyone above and below the comment section already. And since today is my last day, I can finally admit: I loved it when you called me Nerdtasha.