Strongly Worded

Oh, you. It's you again.

Because I am 30, I am quite wise. I have met and gotten to know many people. And with greater and greater frequency, I find myself observing that many of them are actually iterations of one another.

One of my dearest grad school friends just parted ways with her boss, who is essentially the same woman I worked for in 2000: crazy, charismatic, loved from afar and mistrusted from within. Said woman is also on the loose in the Louisiana public schools, where she is tormenting my friend K..

I've spent the last few months hoping that the event I'm working on (now half over, thank God) would yield lasting love. Among the 26 industry partners, one is male, single, and Jewish; we'll call him Mike. Pre-event intel/gossip indicated that Mike is a Prospect: brilliant and kind. I planned outfits for Mike. I got an intermediate haircut for him. I sent him witty pre-event emails, trying to spark an electronic repartee that never materialized.

When Mike actually arrived, I had a flash of understanding. Versions of Mike are everywhere. They are on committees and boards; I've worked with them at length. The Mike species is fairly attractive, uber educated, uber connected. Mike prides himself on his LinkedIn connections and his networking prowess. He tells stories about his failed relationships to highlight that he's so damned vulnerable and girls just can't resist him. And he talks all the time about how this person or that person or the other person is smart. Mike, of course, is super smart. And he's magnanimous enough to put all the smarties together at his frequent parties and "networking events".

I tried hard to give Mike the chance to fall in love with me. I went to his talk on career advancement, hoping he'd ask me out for dinner afterwards, since he was meeting up with a mutual acquaintance (failure). I sidled up to him at a group event (nada). I asked him about his weekend/evening plans and various other topics and got absolutely nowhere. Because I, of course, am invisible to Mike. I toil away behind the scenes. I ensure copies and coffee appear at regular intervals. Regardless of my hair or the new, perfectly fitting Gap pants, or my various professional/academic achievements, I am unworthy of a LinkedIn friend request or even a good morning.

The bottom line: Mike is not my husband.

Posted by Dori at 6:48 PM