I had a blind-date/meeting with an editor last night. We had planned to have a drink and discuss the possibility of me doing a non-fiction book. This had sounded fairly basic at the time mostly because I neglected to take into account how nervous I would be about losing my blog anonymity virginity.

In actuality, things began to go wrong a full 24 hours in advance. At my company's good-bye party I almost cried when I hugged my boss, did tequila shots (who does tequila shots?!), literally held the hair back for another colleague who was vomiting into a trash can, and eventually left my good-bye party without saying good-bye, instead just kind of drunkenly ambling out the door and into a cab.

I woke up the day of the meeting with a massive hangover and a puffy face, completely terrified about introducing myself as CB. I needed to do my internet alter ego justice. How was I supposed to be witty when I could barely move off the couch?

Possibly still drunk, I decided with absolute certainty that getting a haircut would solve everything. (Weirdly, this is a decision I have made before. I am like one of those women who get drastic haircuts when going through a break-up but unfortunately, I need only minor set-backs to induce me to chop off all my hair. Inevitably, I wind up looking terrible and repeating an inner chant of "Long hair is good. Remember this.")

So at 6pm yesterday, I—hungover, puffy, with bad hair that was making me more nervous than I already had been—met the lovely editor.

I tried to hide it all—my nerves (and hangover) with a drink, my hair with a clip—but finally I leaned forward and said “I have to ask—you’re the first person I’ve ever met that only knows me through my blog. Am I anything like what you expected?”

She squirmed a little. “Umm…I don’t know….I hadn’t really expected anything in my mind, really…but…”

I nodded encouragingly.

“Well, you know,” she continued “I guess my friends were like ‘Do you think she’ll be as hot as she says she is’?”

“But I never even describe myself!” I protested. This was bad. I hadn’t even put on mascara.

“Well, there’s just something about the way you write that makes people think you’re going to be really gorgeous.”

Then there was a pause--possibly the most awkward pause I have ever experienced.

“I mean, I don’t know, you’re very nice looking…” she offered, giggling a little.

Oh boy.

All in all, the editor was very sweet and encouraging and it seemed like we might have had alot of fun together had I not been so nervous and strange. But I am never meeting anyone that knows me only through my blog again. I really can’t take the pressure.

I woke up this morning feeling slightly nauseous. After forcing myself to shower, I lay on the bed in my towel, rubbing my wet hair everywhere. This is a signal for Re-Boyfriend to either a) notice I am looking sad and ask me what’s wrong or b) tell me to stop rubbing my wet hair everywhere. Usually one of these tactics will get me up and moving and if not exactly ready to face the day, at least clothed.

This morning Re-Boyfriend tried both (heavily sighing “CB, you’re getting my sweater wet,” then, when all I did was to move my body one eighth of an inch to the left, sitting next to me and tentatively touching my tangled hair, “Hey…what’s up?”) and I felt no more motivated to move than before.

It wasn’t until I’d made it all the way to the office that I realized the cause of my morning ennui—it’s my last day at my job and I’m sad.

God knows why. In my exit interview the suited HR women kept asking what parts of my job I had enjoyed. They kept asking because I kept evading the question, wanting to be polite, until finally I was forced to answer, “Um, I don’t actually enjoy my job. Like, at all.”

And now I’m sad? PULL IT TOGETHER CB.

What Have You Learned From Your Time As An Assistant?

In the course of the polite conversation everyone wants to have when they find out you’re leaving your job, one of my co-workers just asked what I've learned from my time as an assistant.

After I only half-jokingly reminded him that I am/was an ASSOCIATE, I was left with nothing to say. Had I learned anything from my time as an assistant/associate?

My co-worker laughed at the intense, confused expression on my face as I struggled to come up with something. He offered, “When I was an assistant I learned that hand cream prevents paper cuts.”

“Yeah…” I thought for a bit more. “I’ve got nothing.”

He seemed amused but the incident actually disturbed me in a small way.

In college I learned tons of practical, useful things such as: how to straighten my hair, sleeping with just a comforter and no sheet is really the way to go, mixing Kool Aid powder with straight vodka before putting it a bowl and calling it punch will make people vomit at a party. And the list goes on.

I haven't been able to come up with anything practical that I've learned by working as an assistant. Aside from that a lot people are fucktards, which I don't think really counts. You?

Meeting The Wife

Oh dear Lord. The Wife was unbearably awesome. She actually made fun of me for not drinking enough. Meanwhile, my alleged friend sat there, mostly immobile, picking at his bok choy throughout dinner.

Midway through the meal, when The Wife went to the bathroom, I announced “I really like her.” Re-boyfriend and S. vigorously nodded in agreement while my friend sort of laughed at the table. This is when I realized I was angry at him.

My alleged friend had been hiding from me for two years and the dinner was making it very difficult to pretend everything had been The Wife’s fault. Maybe insecure, controlling wives drink martinis and tell you about the time they passed out in front of their mother-in-law’s house but it seemed unlikely. So I leaned over to my alleged friend and whispered in my best I-really-mean-it voice, “I like her more than you.” Then I avoided him for the rest of the night which was difficult, since I was sitting next to him, but somehow possible.

Hopefully I hurt his feelings but I am guessing he thought I was joking.

My male (completely platonic) best friend from high school recently had the nerve to find a serious girlfriend, disappear completely, and subsequently marry said girlfriend. I have seen him exactly once since he met this woman and that was at the wedding. For the two years prior to the Big Day, all I got was the occasional trying-to-stay-in-touch e-mail.

Obviously I had to assume that this wife character was a horrible, evil bitch who not only forbade my friend to see me but was really, really fat.

However, The Wife has apparently achieved some sense of wedded security because I'm going out to dinner with my friend, Re-Boyfriend and The Wife tomorrow.

Now that eating overpriced Pad Thai with The Wife is imminent, I am forced to confront a series of uncomfortable facts:

a. The Wife is not actually fat.
b. Unless she dieted for the wedding and now has put it all back on!
c. But no matter what she looks like my friend is in love with her, and they are married, which means she is the most important person in his life. I need to respect that. But it's hard to respect it when The Wife hates me.
d. The Wife hates me because she thinks I’ll be a girl-bitch and say snide things and try to compete with her which I’m totally going to do.

So...The Wife is actually right to hate me. See? Uncomfortable.

Even worse was when S. tried to fuck with my head by saying “How do you know it’s her fault he never sees you?”

But I can't think like that, I can only be angry at one dinner companion at a time. So I invited S. to come along (great for being bitchy to females when needed) and bought a new dress (security blanket). Just as I spent the college years worrying what men thought of me, I am apparently going to spend the post-college years obsessing over women.

Update: Dinner is tonight. I have already called S. to discuss whether it would be best to get to the restaurant first or last (first), if meeting S. for a drink beforehand would be wise or stupid (stupid), and whether it would be permissible to completely ignore The Wife and talk only to my friend and S., thus leaving Re-Boyfriend to rediscover his single days by trying to charm a woman over cocktails with small talk (unfortunately, no).

I'm so happy S. is coming. Somehow I don't think I would have been able to discuss these topics quite so spiritedly (or at such length) with Re-Boyfriend.