The third quarter

Yeeesssss!!!!

I haven't used that word since I saw the first 'face' picture of a woman I'd met on a dating website, and realised she was a total babe rather than a one-eyed monoped with an unabrow (or actually a 250lb computer hacker conman). Admittedly, we're six months down the road from that day and still haven't met, but that's besides the point. At the time, I was ecstatic.

I managed to make it to the solomag.ca launch event on-time, despite only remembering circa 4pm that the event started at 6pm. It wasn't as bad as I feared in that I managed to get the demons under control enough to be able to function, although I single-handedly kept the Philip Morris Co. shares up by chain smoking on the way. Fortunately for me I was introduced by the magazine founder to her family the minute I walked in the door, and didn't have to stand alone in a room full of strangers - potentially my most uncomfortable fear. By the time I'd run out of things to say to them, a friend turned up that I knew from DDB PR so I had someone to cling on to for the rest of the evening.

Two guest speakers gave me enough time to chug a couple of glasses of white wine so I was enable to relax a little, and at least un-hunch my shoulders. I knew that media people were there so I'd hoped to charm the pants clean off a nice managing editor from the Globe & Mail or similar. Alas, the first group I approached included a PR woman from Desjardins and a furniture & lighting designer. Don't get me wrong - they were both lovely women, and we even shared a laugh over a cigarette shortly afterwards, but no job leads there.

Then my ex-boss from DDB PR showed up.

I wasn't completely taken by surprise because I'd seen her name on the guest list, but for as long as I'd known her she'd been the patron saint of tardiness - perpetually late for meetings and appointments, disorganised, incapable of delegating, and unable to focus on the big picture. My antithesis, and someone for whom I found it very difficult to work. Of course, she had her pet freelancer with her too - an obnoxious, loud, manipulative and venomous creature whose penetrating, grating laugh could've been used on the Kurds by Saddam Hussein. The 'little and large' of bad PR if you will. I wasn't surprised to see them together either - because the freelancer had the boss so wrapped around her little finger that it was rare for her to let the boss out of her sight. Indeed, we'd gone head-to-head a couple of times while I'd been working there, after the freelancer had tried to commandeer my account staff in the final run-up to a big client event of mine. That probably didn't do me any favours because, after that point, I noticed that I could never seem to get alone face-time with the boss without the freelancer inviting herself in on the conversation.

I'm not known for being reserved, but I managed to resist the temptation to deliver a cutting put-down, and instead avoided the pair of them like the plague for the whole evening. There were too many witnesses. Too much chance that my reputation would suffer as much as, if not more than theirs. Besides, I already know that everyone and anyone who's worked there has nothing good to say about the place, other than the fact that they don't have to work there any more.

Later, in the middle of a conversation with another ex-DDB-er I clocked the solomag founder in my peripheral vision, waving frantically. I felt rude to leave the conversation I was already in, but she seemed pretty insistent so I made my apologies and trotted over.

And hey presto, that's how it happened. I met the editor of a new men's magazine launching in the fall, who were looking for a writer. It was the first vaguely good news I've heard in a very, very long time, and I'm not exactly poker-faced so I was pretty much a picture of glee from head to foot. I think it telled, they could sense my excitement. A little wine took over the vocal filter and I allowed a little me-ness to creep out. "You're exactly the kind of writer we've been looking for. Give me your contact details and I'll call you tomorrow," she said. Sarcasm turned out to be a selling point rather than a detriment, and confirmed all my suspicions about being on the other side of the fence to PR.

Suddenly, honesty and integrity were more important than tact and diplomacy. Creativity and questioning the status quo were more important than kissing arse and towing the party line. Answering back seemed more likely to earn me a promotion than a formal written warning. Just to cap it all, she mentioned that the team on the magazine were looking for someone to help them with PR. "Oh, I've done PR for over ten years," I replied. Her eyes lit up. I could have snogged her face off.

I have to try to calm down before I speak to her tomorrow. She might only have a few hours for me. The job might not start until October. I really don't know all the details yet. That said, it shows promise. And talking of promises, I promise to tell you more as soon as I know more.

Now I'm off to smoke a butt, drink my milk, and have the first decent night's sleep in months.