A commentary on the first impressions of the artist formerly known as Nugget.

When I was an associate editor at our student newspaper, I was a big fan of one of our interns. She was reliable, and she could turn most rather dull story ideas into compelling pieces of student journalism. One day, she had a late story and I was late editor, so I edited it for her. We were sitting together, and I questioned the AP Style of one of her phrases. She said she was sure it was right. I figured it was right, but I said, “Let me just check with our managing editor.” Turns out, she was right.

It also turns out, thus began her loathing and implicit disgust for me.

Despite this apparent hatred, I still thought she was a great reporter and a great editor. When I became top lady at the pape, I hired her as our freelance editor. As she is often accustomed to doing, she had the new summer staff of managers over to her apartment for a lunch of curried chicken salad and assorted fixings. Knowing that we’d be working closely together over the next year (she as my No. 2 gal), I took a deep breath and walked up to her in the kitchen as she was preparing our feast.

“Hey. Thanks so much for having us over today," I said. "Also, I heard that you just went through a sort of rough break-up, and I just wanted to say I’m really sorry and that I’m actually going through something really similar right now.”

As she continued to stir the food in her mixing bowl, she icily said, without looking up, “My condolences.” Was she being funny? Should I say something back? Was she giving me a signal to shut up and get away from her? I went with the third.

Six cities, eight jobs, one blog, and 26 happy months later (and by the grace of Allah himself), she is my bff. Oh Neens. God love ya.