A Big Fat <i>Ughhh</i>.

March 23, 2012 at 1:10PM By Jessica Knoll | Work was brutal this week—I know I’ve mentioned before that I’m a research assistant for a well-known author, and if you’re anything like anyone I’ve ever met, you’re probably wondering if that is even a real job. I’m here to tell you that it is, but that it’s definitely not your normal 9-5 gig by any means. That’s also why I love it…and sometimes hate it. Love: As an aspiring writer, it is an absolute dream to work for a talented, successful, smart, funny writer, who has insane connections, can teach me a lot, and is willing to read over my work. Hate: The fact that he’s also slightly crazy, does his best work very late at night, and therefore, is fully within his rights to call me at 1 AM on a Saturday to ask me who invented mayonnaise. Also, I’m more like a cross between a personal and research assistant—I walk his dog, clean up his dog’s poop, take care of his dry cleaning, and answer his questions about Microsoft Word while trying to conceal my bafflement that anyone could possibly have a question about a program as basic as Microsoft Word.

But I digress. The reason work was so nuts was because my boss, let’s call him Bill Shakespeare, had his first draft manuscript due at the end of this week, and there were lots of late nights at the “office” (AKA his two bedroom apartment that he shares with his bulldog, Bernard).

But enough about that—what you really want to know is whether or not I called Mark. Well, after consulting all of my friends, I decided the best way to go was to text him. Ashley was not having it.

“He said to call him,” she protested.

“I know, because no one writes ‘Text me,’ even if that’s what they really mean,” I countered. “If he doesn’t pick up, then I have to deal with leaving a message, and it’s just too much. I’m texting.”

Then, there was the hour-long discussion about what to text him. Here’s what we finally went with:

“Hey, it’s Josie. What’s going on?”

Simple, to the point, and as Patti Stanger would say, not too much male energy…let him make the move to ask me out.

Welp, that was Tuesday (obviously, I waited the obligatory three days), now it’s the end of the week…and nothing.

I don’t get it (said in my best Cher Horowitz voice). Why would you leave your number if you didn’t want to hear from me? Now, Ashley is all smug about the fact that she was right and things would have turned out differently if I had just called him, but he could have just as easily screened my call, forcing me to leave an awkward, bumbling voicemail. In my humble opinion, it’s much better to have a simple text message ignored than a lengthy, embarrassing voicemail. Ugh, can someone else date for me until Mr. Not a D-Bag comes along?

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