My ex-boyfriend is a little bitch

Am starting to think that I should have started a blog with the title My Ex-Boyfriend is a Little Bitch. There would have been ample material to update every week--on some occasions daily. We've recently started speaking again. Or, to be more specific, I have started speaking again. He has started to try to have sex with me, which I guess involves some amount of speaking on his part but mostly it's humping my leg and trying to remove my shirt while I sit on his couch watching television. However, this is not exactly what relegates him to little bitchdom.

What Relegates My Ex-Boyfriend to Little Bitchdom

Ex-Boyfriend has had to travel for work recently. Unfortunately, he has a real job and is not on a company bitch trip. He is on a mover and shaker trip. (This is unfortunate because I am not one of those girls that can wish exes well, I wish them a lifetime of poverty and sexual abstinence). He finds occasion to whine about his trip endlessly in mass e-mails. After a cursory glance at the e-mail addresses, one finds that the missives are targeted to a largely female audience. It is highly unlikely that a misogynistic douche-bag would suddenly find the time and motivation to go out and make hordes of female friends that come over and chastely watch football. One can only conclude that I have made it onto the list-serve entitled "Girls I am Fucking or Would Like to Fuck" hereafter referred to as GIFWLF.
On these GIFWLF e-mails, lines are often included to target a specific girl, such as "Can't wait until I see you again, Jessie" or "Sandra, sorry I couldn't make it to the show". I tried to make myself feel better for a bit by pretending that the whole operation was a clever way to get under my skin. However, I am not that easily manipulated, even by my own self. The truth is I have left the confines of a serious relationship to enter Ex-Boyfriends harem, which includes both other ex-girlfriends and short term projects.
My presence on the GIFWLF mailing list insults me, but in a horrible girly way that no straight man's logic could comprehend. This is partly my fault for refusing to accept that any man I have slept with could actually be a misogynistic douche-bag with no redeeming qualities, but I think I'm coming around to the idea.

And in other news, my company bitchdom has survived the plane trip, allowing other staff members to wander the convention center freely, while I am stuck behind a table starving, trying not to piss myself, and rereading the bits of Ex-Boyfriends latest e-mail that flash before my eyes at irregular intervals. The joys of assistanthood....

So my company has sent me to a comic convention because comics are IN NO WAY related to what I do, or, for that matter, what my company does. Besides being meeting-happy in a harmless sort of way, we have also apparently become convention-happy, sending random employees off to every gathering of freaks in the country.

At the end of my last day in the office, I found myself riding the elevator with the CEO of our company.
"So, you're leaving soon?" My heart skipped a beat. Though my cubicle is on his bathroom route, I had no idea he knew my name, let alone my travel plans.
"Yeah" I said.
"Watch out for the freaks. You're going to get hit on, a young girl like you." Ew. But you can't say ew to the CEO, so instead I tried to banter.
"Well, it's not like I'm going to be wearing the Princess Leia slave outfit or anything..."
"In their heads you will be!!!!" CEO started cackling while I looked at him in horror. The elevator stopped at another floor to let additional people on. They too stared at CEO strangely while he giggled to himself the entire ride, apparently picturing me--or picturing people picturing me--in a Princess Leia slave outfit. Is this sexual harassment?

Though I am definitely pretty--possibly even very pretty--I am in no way beautiful and would never be mistaken for such in a city like New York where aspiring models and actresses bring down the stock of every "normie". I am a bit frightened to leave the city for the company of comic book geeks that, according to CEO and various others in the office, have not seen a women in ages. We shall see how this goes....

Ha! So my musings about whoredom have paid off. (Sort of). A very ugly man made very flirtatious chit-chat with me in the elevator today. Lines like "So, I've noticed you around..." abounded (followed by worse lines, such as "You use the bathroom alot"). It was perfect--he was older, had money, knew I was piss-poor so would be more likely to "lend" me cash and was ugly enough to resort to such things.

But then I realized two things:

1) I still don't understand how The Washingtonienne did it because this man would probably never actually offer to pay me for anything. He'd think he was really lucky, but where the hell does that leave me? Still broke. Am confused about the logistics of it all. Would I have to ask him for the money? Would he offer it in the guise of an early birthday present after we'd had sex? Or would he lead me to the bedroom, then baldly say "$400 for your ass"? I guess it's somewhat of a moot point since....
2) Dear God I could never have sex with a man that repulsive, money or no money.

I never had her body

"I never had her body" I hear L commenting to the woman in the cube next to me. I have suspicions that she is referring to me, which are confirmed when she sticks her head into my cube and says "You're so skinny". Unfortunately, she catches me mid-bite into an apple. I feel that I have been caught doing something illicit by being a skinny girl that eats fruit, rather than eating a huge hamburger and yelling at the top of my lungs "IT'S MY METABOLISM". Apparently L agrees, because she clucks her tongue at me and laments "You should eat more. You're too skinny." I briefly consider saying "You should eat less. You're too fat" but decide against it for a myriad of reasons, one being that L is about the same weight as me. I say nothing, just sort of nod and chew, and L leaves to spread rumors of my eating disorder.

I am now sitting in my cube, trying to work but actually just staring at my computer screen while entertaining fantasies of killing L. Or, alternatively, walking past her office eating a huge bag of M&Ms and yelling "You're pissed because you have to work for it!"

Ugh.

The Washingtonienne

I have bought The Washingtonienne (novel based on real girl's exploits hooking her way through DC while working assistant job on the hill) but cannot bring myself to read it. At first I thought maybe I had grown suddenly prudish. Then I realized it's not an attack of morals but of jealousy.
If someone wanted to pay me $400 to supplement my lousy assistant's salary (assistants that are supposed to be going somewhere get paid less than actual assistants that are secretaries for life. Why is that?) I would be all for it....I'd at least like the option. I feel like everyone else is being offered money for sex and I am reduced to occasionally screwing my ex-boyfriend and getting nothing besides free breakfast.

S just called to tell me that a high-level executive called her into his office, asked her to get a file from the drawer by his feet, thanked her and got back to work, ignoring S until she left the office, more than a little confused.