Just as I suspected, I think I might be kind of a hippie

Someone at work called me a "hippie," and I was delighted!

See, all these people know about me is -- oh, wait, that's right, they don't know ANYTHING about me, 'cause no one here bothered to ask me any questions about myself for the first four months I was here.

They do know that I worked in environmental printing before I came here, so I guess to most of the mamalukes who work here, I'm a certified tree-hugger. All most people have to hear are the words "recycled paper" and it conjures up images of patchouli-smelling, birkenstock-wearing, Burning-Man-going hippie girls doing a noodle dance to Grateful Dead or Phish jams.

But that's not me! I swear! Okay, I do wear a patchouli blend of essential oils. But you will never, ever find a pair of Birkenstocks anywhere near my closet. They're just... ugly. Comfortable doesn't have to mean serious ugly. Two words: Frye Boots. And I've never done enough psychedelics to want to go to Burning Man. It just didn't seem ... appealing.

(I know, I go on and on about my Frye boots like I want to marry them -- now that you mention it, my favorite old pair of Frye boots has lasted longer than just about any marriage I can think of... Hmmm. Would I rather have a great pair of favorite old boots or a marriage? I dunno, you can re-sole a great pair of boots, I have yet to see the marriage of anyone I know that can survive a hole in the sole or a broken heel.)

What no one here knows is that I came to New York and was a *gasp* Advertising Agency Whore. Suits, heels, briefcase, the works. I know, if you know me, you can't believe it. (Racer X, he would believe it, because that's when we met -- when I was Agency Wench.) It's okay, i got out when I realized that a whole lot of people in advertising thought that what they were doing was important. No, seriously, these people actually believe that what they do matters (roll eyes here).

In the meantime, there *is* something going on here, with someone I work with, but I'm not quite ready to talk about it. I don't know if I will at all. Suffice it to say I did get drunk with the hottest guy here, after which I dragged him off to my lair. We've been having a probably-unwise email flirtation during work hours, and all I want to do is drag him back to Brooklyn and have my way with him (in a non-drunken and not-meaningless way).

More will be revealed.