04.20.04 - 9:30 p.m.

The job and I are still in our honeymoon phase, so please don't disturb us. I walked to the next closest subway stop after work because the weather was so perfect, down Broadway past Lincoln Center (Michael Caine benefit on Monday! Possible old legendary celeb stalking action!) and past men parking their little pastel Vespas on the sidewalk and realized I was happy again.

Not that I'm doing much at the new job yet, but people keep telling me about things I WILL be doing, and they don't seem too impossible, even though they're types of things I've never written before. It's writing and information-finding. And sometimes event planning wherein I get to find venues and call caterers etc. How hard can it be? And I get to "facilitate" (that's one of my new PR buzzwords) exhibitions for some very cool people and places. Mmmm, artists.

However, I'm completely failing at my resolution to be less friendly to my new coworkers. I can't help it! My "needs a friend" radar goes off and I am compelled to talk to others, like the girl who started a few weeks before me and is obviously not making fast friends with the cool contingent. It's like high school. The perfectly groomed, cute-skirted girls with the well-chosen shoes took me (newest girl on the block) out for lunch yesterday and invited me into the conference room today to eat with them, while the girl with the weird name and the combat boots and the girl with the funny eye and the girl with the unkempt hair sit in their cubicles. Obviously I will not refuse these offers, as I just want to get along with everyone, but I don't want to alienate anyone either.

Why am I even worrying about this? I am a frickin' adult here. I can't style people's hair or fix their eyes for them. And it's not that I've ever seen anyone be MEAN to them, so who knows. Maybe I'm projecting my own insecurities. What does this say about my need for acceptance? Meh.

Oh, and I clearly need to buy some new PANTS because any type of denim -- including skirts (!) is verboten at Le Job Nouveau. Quel horreur! People will notice if I wear the Pants I am Married To every week. And I'm not sure the Backup Black Pants will cut it once this weather sticks. Yoy. I really hate buying pants.