Like going on a blind date

Um, OK.  So, I’m all cool and stuff because I just won a hard trial and got big ups from a judge who hates out-of-state lawyers, right?  And, um, ‘cuz I am still doing free­lance writ­ing on the side, albeit at a slower pace than when I was under­em­ployed, right?  And, um, ‘cuz I have an awe­some hus­band who took me to an awe­some lunch at Zuni Cafe today that he thought to make reser­va­tions for, right? And ‘cuz, I have cool read­ers, right? (Please insert self-administered back pat­ting here.)  So explain to me why I just spazzed down in the lobby when I saw Bossy, and couldn’t even intro­duce myself, and then fur­ther spazzed when I ran into Leah­Peah and her hus­band, and intro­duced myself by just my first name, with­out even using my han­dle?  Um, yeah.  Because I am sure she doesn’t know a bajil­lion other Erikas, espe­cially when they’ve just got­ten in and look really tired.  So now I have to say, um, sorry I am a spaz and this is who I am, right?

Ugh.  It’s like high school all over again.  Good thing one of the ses­sions tomor­row is about Blog­ging v. Intro­ver­sion.  I could use a refresher.  I might have been my high school vale­dic­to­rian, but I was still a dork.  Still am, appar­ently.  Sigh.  Wish me ade­quate lubri­ca­tion to make friends tonight, with­out indulging in antics that get me posted as “first table dancer of the conference.”