Sweat, Scots, Sake, and Sushi (in that order)

I had a pretty big Monday.

Working for a wedding planner, I typically have most of the week off and spend my weekends tying bows, freshening up the best man before his toast, and staving off come-ons from photographers and dj's during our vendor meal in the back. My leisurely weeks leave me plenty of time to be a social butterfly -- but that might soon change!

Yesterday I had an interview with a nonprofit for their fundraising gala planner position. I'm the perfect person for a job like that. (Okay, I might be *slightly* bias.) The director scheduled the interview for noon, and I spent my morning preparing and primping. Since the office was a short three blocks from my apartment, I thought I'd give myself 15 minutes to walk over. Well, of course, I left my place with ten minutes to spare, realized I'd potentially ruin my Michael Kors stilettos while trying to haul *ss, ran back in to get flip flops, and had three blocks to run with 7 minutes left.

I made it to the building, drenched in sweat. (It's summer! And I'm a sweat-er.) So I hop on the elevator, hoping the ride will allow me to calm (dry?) myself. Too preoccupied with the beads of water rolling down my back, I missed my floor and got off three floors up from where I had my interview. Insert sweaty gross girl, now BACK in stilettos, running down six flights of stairs, barrelling through the door, panting...trying to calmly enter the office with one minute till interview time. The receptionist called the director to announce my arrival. As the director rounded the corner, she smiled, we shook hands, and she said, obviously noticing my state and probably thinking I had just run a few hurdles: "...Can I get you some ice water?"

Hmm. Not the first question I was hoping to be asked in the interview. As she led me back to her office, I nonchalantly grabbed a tissue from the receptionist's desk in order to blot. Later, I noticed I had a piece of tissue stuck to my neck....throughout the *entire* interview. It's fine. Let's hope the director chalked me up as endearingly neurotic.

Once I recovered from that episode, I met my sorority daughter, Model, for my favorite time of day: HAPPY HOUR! A sushi place in the busy part of downtown has half price rolls and really good drinks. As she and I sat down to catch up on the *two years* that had passed since we had seen each other last, I saw a shaggy-haired, tall male approaching our table holding a big plastic bag. When I lived in Europe, people like this would frequently come into dining establishments and go table to table trying to sell wares like tissues and socks. (Why tissues and socks?! I don't know. But seriously, it was always tissues and socks. Maybe this guy got the MO on my sweat problem.) He said hello, and I looked at Model, ready to whip out the "get rid of the homeless guy" skills I had honed in Italy. But she got up and *hugged* him. I mean, I hadn't seen her for two years...maybe she was in on the tissues and socks?

But it turned out to be the bartender from the hotel bar she cocktails at, and he brought friends -- her manager and the Glenlivet rep from Scotland. Hey-o!! Relieved I didn't have to begrudgingly buy a pack of Kleenex, we ordered sake bombs all around. Truly, there's nothing like hearing the Japanese chant "Sake, Sake, Sake...BOMB!" in a Scottish accent. We entertained each other while indulging in more bombs, some beer, and plenty of sushi. Probably egged on by our rousing chants, our waiter brought over a round of mango shots for all.

What I learned: leave early, carry a pocket fan, everything sounds better in an accent, and never assume a guy with crazy hair carrying a plastic bag is peddling tissues and socks.