As we speak...or as I type, as it were...I'm sitting at work with 2 rather large wads of Kleenex shoved up my nose.

That, coupled with the swollen eyes and dark undereye circles make me look like I just had a nose job.

Have you ever seen someone post- nose job? It's really not a pretty sight. There eyes are blackened, face swollen, and wads of gauze are stuffed up the nose.

No, no, I haven't decided to have my nose altered. But shoving absorbent materials up my nose is the only thing that will allow me to not have to blow my nose every 30 seconds. Literally.

I just hope none of my coworkers decide to come in and get some work done over the weekend, because if they see me, they will surely be terrified.

In other news, if schmoozing were a sport, I'd be Michael Jordan. Usually, she same girl is at the front desk of the hotel I stay at when I check in. I always make chit chat with her, and as a result, the last couple of weeks, she's upgraded me to a huge suite for free. Never underestimate the power of the schmooze. It can open doors you never knew existed.

For example, were I not such a schmoozer, I wouldn't be sitting here right now.

One of the producers that works here, for the network, called my old station. The station I used to work at in San Diego was an affiliate of this network. So occasionally, the network would call us if they needed assistance on a story.

One such day, this happened. I worked with this producer from here on a story and she commented about how helpful I was and said that most people she had dealt with at that affiliate were complete idiots. I informed her that yes, they were idiots, and that's why I was quitting.

Started chit chatting. Long story short. I got her to hand my resume to the boss and the rest is history.

The funny thing is, by the time I started working here, she was in the middle east on assignment. I finally met her about 2 weeks ago. I wouldn't even have this job if it weren't for her and I had never even met her.

Funny, isn't it? I like her a lot. A lot of people here think she's a bitch. For all I know, she could very well treat some people like shit. As far as I go, though, I think she feels like I'm her little pet project that she found and plucked out of local news and brought to network glory.

Which is fine by me, really. As long as the money keeps rolling in she can call me her bitch if she wants to.

She's going to the Congo next week to cover a civil war. I'm completely jealous. That's ok though. One day, instead of being at this bureau miserable and sick with a cold, I'll be running around the jungles and deserts of Africa miserable with a cold. And probably Ebola, to boot.

xoxo,

J

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