It is interesting, I guess, that I choose to write this blog under a pseudonym. First of all, I’d venture that at least 6 out of the 8 of you who read this know exactly who I am. Second of all, the pseudonym and the rest of my cover are pretty easy to figure out if you were committed to cracking the code. Still, I persist in pretending to maintain my anonymity because I AM TERRIFIED OF MY LAW SCHOOL. If someone who was not one of my dozen or so friends found this and figured it out, I’d suddenly feel compelled to be a lot less candid in my rantings about why my classmates lack souls.

So imagine, if you will, the delicate position in which I found myself when the lovely Samantha Jo, who is all brave and shit and doesn’t use a pseudonym at ALL on her blog, and who has been a faithful reader and commenter, asked what my real name was. What to do? Well, I battled this out internally for about .3 seconds and up and told her. And then we went for drinks. It was like a date! Except for bloggers! And it was totally totally fun!

We went here, which is one of my favorite places to have a glass of wine after work, mostly because it is filled with couches where you can lie back and slouch down in there and sort of pretend that you’re at a cooler version of your house instead of in a bar. Also, I have this memory of these thin-crust pizzas that they make, with rustic ingredients and cracker-thin crust and all big and irregularly shaped and served on a wooden pizza holder… we order one to split, and it comes, and don’t I look like a doofus now because here I am trying to impress my blog friend with this huge, rustic-chic pizza and instead it’s maybe 6.5 inches across, perfectly round, and looks suspiciously like it just came out of a frozen Lean Cuisine box.

Samantha seemed willing to overlook the pizza problems, though, and we had a lovely chat, and I was forced to totally reconsider all my opinions about Wheaton, and it was frankly just very cool to realize that someone can be cool and fun in writing and be that way in person, too. Next time I just have to convince her to do our blog date here– I’ve been trying to convince John to go to “make his own man bag” with me, and you’ll be shocked to learn he’s not all that hip to the idea.