Sorry for the lack of posting. At first I was busy, then I was sick. Now I’m traveling for the holidays and I probably won’t be back until January 9th.

Happy holidays and thanks to all of you who continue to read about the ridiculous minutia of my life. I really appreciate my readers, commenters and e-mailers, especially those of you that have been here for awhile.

(I am drunk and feeling the holiday spirit.)

Dear Gawker,

I used to love and worship you. You were the only blog I linked to and even calling you a blog seemed somewhat insulting because you were so much more than that. You were a Website. You were Cool. You were, most importantly, Funny.

Now my feelings for you are much like my feelings for Britney Spears. Hopeful, yet despairing. Supportive, yet angry. I know you are going through a difficult time what with the change of editorship (Jessica Coen, I would never have had to write you a letter) and the new business model that requires you to repost an item from a Nick Denton blog once every five seconds until I get really confused and forget which blog I’m reading.

So in the spirit of optimism and looking-forwardism, I would like to share what I think has gone wrong.

Wrongdoing 1: The new earnest/judgmental tone.

Exhibit A: www.gawker.com/news/blackberry/its-too-bad-blackberries-dont-make-you-sterile-retroactively-220924.php

The question to ask here is, do I give a shit if little Lucy no longer gets to play Candyland with someone related to her because her multi-millionaire mommy is on the new Blackberry Pearl?

The answer is no, no I do not.

The answer is also, I wasn’t aware I was reading UrbanBaby.

Wrongdoing 2: The reuse of jokes

Exhibit A: www.gawker.com/news/ben-kunkel/kunkelfruit-now-more-than-just-derogatory-nickname-for-indecision-author-221261

See that last line? Where they make that joke about trying to determine the level of Benjamin Kunkel’s hotness? Can we all agree that the whole trying to determine the hotness level of a celebrity—OH MY GOD WE ARE SO CONFUSED, HOW HOT ARE THEY—was mildly amusing with Marisha Pessl since two pictures did show her to look totally different, but is now really super fucking over?

I am no genius, but I think I can determine the relative attractiveness of another person. And all this joking about how maybe I can’t, is like saying “Ha ha. Maybe that sky, it isn’t so blue after all…maybe it is cerulean. HAHA.” No.

Wrongdoing 3: Park Slope Mommy.

I know they took this feature away but seriously. Park Slope Mommy.

Wrongdoing 4: Assuming that everyone is fascinated with book publishing. (I am sure the fact that the new editorship used to work in book publishing is not at all contributing to this bias.)

Exhibit A: The entire Ask an Editor feature. Types of publicists? Types of authors? Hahahahahaha. I am thrilled to the core even though I could have written every single one of these items just by using common sense and a few expletives and absolutely no insider knowledge. Hahahahahahahaha.

Exhibit B: www.gawker.com/news/books/literary-contest-winners-to-get-published-screwed-219869.php (See also Wrongdoing 1.)

Wrongdoing 5: Revealing the fact that Gawker editors are not actually cooler than anyone else. (Admittedly, this might be good for my mental health since it is probably not the best idea to idolize people you know solely through snarky internet posts. Except for you Jessica Coen! I saw you once on TV. I love you! COME BACK.)

Exhibit A: The To Do feature.

Perhaps Gridskipper warned, “You can encroach on my territory, have a To Do feature, and not link to me, but you must not write about anything that I would ever, ever write about because I am King of To Do and you cannot appear to be cooler than my To Do-iness,” and Gawker said “No problem, I’ll write about things that suck. You don’t write about things that suck, do you?”

This suckiness came to a head with the recommendation that people go to Auction House on the Upper East Side. But only if they live on the Upper East Side. And, like, not really because it's cool but because it's the least uncool thing around. So if you want to be cool stay Downtown. And if you want to be cool Uptown, just give up and go Downtown. But if you’re super lazy, Auction House might be tolerable if you feel you must stay Uptown.

Okay. Gawker? You know what you just did with that half-assed recommendation? You just ensured that every douchebag making the Upper East Side douchey will now go to Auction House at least once, since you told them it wasn’t douchey. Thanks. Now I’ll have to hide in my apartment chugging vodka while feverishly peering through my keyhole out of an irrational fear that my apartment will be the new locale taken over. And, as you admitted, Auction House isn’t even a bar you really want to actually recommend, it's more a respite for those (such as myself) who are forced to be on the Upper East Side. SO WHY IS IT IN THE TO DO SECTION AND WHY ARE YOU RUINING MY LIFE?


And so Gawker, I still love you, but in the way I would love my family no matter what not in the way that I actually think they’re good at anything. I hope you get better. I’ve been reading The New York Times lately and they don’t even try to be funny—sometimes it hurts my head.

Sincerely,
CB

P.S. Pssst…guy that writes the Unethicist thingys….I think you’re super neat. Ignore this letter!

Update to the Editors: I'm sorry for not being more supportive while you were finding your footing. Apparently you are both lovely and snarky--and also slow to adjust to your new job.

It was with great fear and dread that I came into the office today.

Last night, due to the pressures of an approaching twenty-fifth birthday (25!) and impending domestic bliss (Domestic Bliss!), I got quite drunk with co-workers.

Office Slacker was there to absorb most of my verbal diarrhea, a fact for which I am ridiculously thankful.

Sample Conversation

Me: I think John is creepy.

Office Slacker: Oh, definitely. And I think [insert important name here] is worthless.

Me: Really? Let's talk about who else we think is horrible.

Office Slacker: We can make a drinking game out of it!

One can imagine that the conversation might have taken a quite different turn had I unleashed my mouth on someone with more team spirit.

When Re-Boyfriend showed up, he looked rather horrified at my state and suggested we might leave soon. But one cannot leave the party early when there is an open bar tab, and one has been recently accused of being shy. I mingled and yelled and bummed cigarettes with abandon until, in a freakish time warp, I woke up at 5am in my own bed groaning with a headache.

I put on a great deal of make-up this morning, asked Re-Boyfriend 10,000 times if I had done anything really bad (“Because I need to know. You can’t be nice to me about this, I have to be prepared,”) and slunk into work feeling like a criminal.

“Hey!” one of my cubemates greeted me. I looked at her, already blushing. “Did you hear about Office Slacker?”

And so I came to learn that, after I left the party, Office Slacker had made an undeniable ass out of himself, asking my boss, and several other higher-ups, if they wanted to go to the massage parlor down the street and get hand jobs. While this may or may not have been an attempt at a joke, one thing is clear: I cannot be That Girl because Office Slacker already took the title of That Guy (probably while he vomited).

And I am never drinking in the presence of colleagues again unless Office Slacker is there as well.

The Self-fulfilling Prophecy

I will admit that it takes me a bit of time to be comfortable around people. I have to figure them out, decide what I can and cannot say around them, if they like me and what I can get away with. Then I become loud, talkative, a bit ridiculously in love with my own witticisms, and generally run around like a banshee making random statements that I expect others to be interested in (“I really think my new drink is rum and diet coke”).

Unfortunately, this evolution has been derailed in the workplace and now I am viewed as “shy” and “reserved”.

If I had to pinpoint when I began acting “shy” and “reserved” it would be last year’s review when my boss told me it was clear that I was “shy” and “reserved.” Then he segued into the discussion portion of the meeting by saying “You don’t have to be intimidated by me. What do you have to say?” Immediately I was intimidated, not by him, but by the prospect of proving myself to be not-intimidated, fun and lively in ten words or less.

The situation grew worse when I first attended a work event outside of the office. As clients began to enter the room, my boss whispered to me “Now is not the time to be shy.” Immediately I felt self-conscious, as though someone was judging my interactions with people, mainly because somebody was.

Then there were the inevitable comparisons to Perky who was unanimously viewed as out-going. This was mostly because every time someone used the word “quiet” Perky would shriek “Not like me right?” I tried to copy this technique but found I had too much untamable sarcasm to properly pull it off.

And so I became the quiet one to Perky's loud one.

Today my boss pulled me aside so we could discuss both my workload and chance of promotion now that Perky has taken her perky ass elsewhere. “I know you’re shy and a bit…reserved…” he told me. I stared at him. I felt like he was name-calling.

Then he kept talking, and said many things that I cannot relate because I involuntarily stopped listening. Though I can read forever without losing focus, I can only listen to bullshit for about a minute or so before my eyes glaze over and I begin thinking of how I will recount the experience in my blog.

“So don’t feel like you can’t talk to me,” my boss said, wrapping things up with a smile. “I need you to be more communicative, even if you are…shy.”

The thing is, I'm not sure what my boss expects me to be more communicative about. My job is embarassingly easy. I suppose I could feign confusion once in awhile so that he could feel helpful. Mentally reviewing conversations I have witnessed between my boss and Perky has not helped since all I can recall is my boss talking ad naseum and Perky nodding vigorously.

I am slightly suspicious that when he says “shy” my boss actually means “retarded” and/or “boring”. This is fair I suppose since when I say “I don't think you're arrogant” I mean “Yes I do.” So we're all liars here. But after a boss that worshipped my every cough and whisper, it is bizarre to have this relationship.

On the upside, all this shy and reserved business probably means my boss has not heard me on the phone with S. discussing the pictures of Brittney Spears’ vagina.

Update: I have taken a poll of several people in my office, and the consensus is that I am not shy. The consensus is also that being called "shy" cannot be construed as a positive thing. I ordinarily would not tell my boss all this, but am considering doing so in an effort to appear not-shy.

I have to stop thinking about this.

Update: I said "You know, boss, I really don't think I'm shy." He said "What the hell are you talking about?" Ugh.