(Image found at Atelier Lydia ) We went out for happy hour tonight--Molly, Celia, Lisa Marie and I--and we talked for half the night about work--using code names and deconstructing people based on personal experience; attempting to understand how we might succeed in life without being total bitches. There were frat boys everywhere. We didn't speak to them, though we did lust after the waiter. I don't know how to pick up boys. I don't know if I want to know how to pick up boys. I look around and think, No, not you, not you, maybe you, but probably not and why waste the energy? In some ways, it would be easier if we lived in a culture where your mate was picked for you from birth. So fine, you marry this guy with a gigantic mole on his face, and maybe he's too short, but he also loves his mother and is good with kids so whatever, you can deal with it. You can marry this person and then move on to figure out what you want to do with the rest of your life. That would be pre...