Step one: put on expensive work pants.
Step two: put on high heels
Step three: bend down to pick up Betty Rascal
Step four: listen to expensive work pants R-I-P in the lining.
How is it that I am dieting and working out, yet my butt is getting bigger? Can butts be pregnant? Because I think that mine is. Growing a little baby butt in case I get tired of the one I currently have. Remember a couple of years ago when avant garde fashion featured evening gowns and other apparel with "bumps" actually sewn in the garment in odd places? Well, I guess that is what my future holds. Except at the end of the evening, I can't take my bump off.
In other news, I got an offer from the interview where I had frizzy hair, spotted suit, and 50 year old pantyhose. Apparently, scatterbrained, absent minded grannies are just who they are looking for. Kidding. Since I still have some other interviews, I haven't made up my mind yet, but I really liked the people I met and I already have a friend working in the Memphis office, so we'll see..
Apparently, I am going to have to stop interviewing though, because every time I interview, something inevitably goes wrong. Case in point: Monday I was driving downtown to interview with another firm. I left 45 minutes early - more than enough time to get there safely. I'm cruising along - scoping out all the places I could stop at on my way back for a semi-healthy lunch and notice blue lights. In my rear view mirror. Behind me and a couple other cars. Now they were right behind me. Surely those blue lights weren't meant for me. Crap. They are.
I pull into the nearest parking lot and put the car in park. Without thinking, I automatically unclasp my seat belt and then realize "hello...police car. Probably would like to see you fastened up, dearie." So then I am faced with the conundrum. Do I just leave it off or do I covertly try to sneak it back on, possibly looking more guilty? I decided to sneak it back on. Sneaking successful. So far, so good. But what the heck am I being pulled over for?
The officer - older black man, trim and not completely unfortunate looking - taps on my window and tells me that I was going 48 in a 35. I think to myself "I was? But I wasn't even in a hurry! Thank goodness he didn't pull me over when I was in a rush!"
Anyway, I stammer out numerous apologies, new to the area, on my way to an interview, bundle of nerves, blah, blah, blah - verbal vomiting in full effect here, ladies and gentlemen. Had he given me more time I probably would have apologized for slavery ever existing in America and for zippered acid washed jeans in the early 90's. Don't ever leave any contraband in my car - I'm sure I would have handed that over as well. The whole time I am shaking like a leaf and trying to catch my breath. I have never been able to understand why I do this. I am probably one of the lamest people ever - the most criminal thing I have ever done (other than speeding, apparently) is steal a single piece of grape gum from the local gas station when I was a kid. As soon as I got in the car with my mom, she smelled the gum, realized what I had done, and made me go inside, apologize, and pay the 5 cents. Clearly, raising hell runs in my blood.
Anyway, I am Miss Bottle of Nervy Pants and the officer goes to his car to do his mysterious officeral duties. After who knows HOW long, he comes back and tells me he knocked the ticket down to 40 in a 35. I thank him graciously, apologize profusely for the 32nd time, and then almost hit him as I back out. I smile sheepishly, he waves me on with disdainful municipal authority, and I look down at my clock and realize that yes, in fact, I might actually be late, despite leaving so freaking early.
I get to the right building, find a parking space after going up about 18thousand stories of a parking deck, and somehow manage to find the proper elevator without too much assistance. The interview is on the 29th floor, but somehow, I manage to hit the 28 button. Unknowingly, of course.
I get off at the 28th floor, and wander around blindly - looking for some kind angel to just end this all and send me to meet my maker. Finally, a secretary (I assume that is what she was based on her attire. trust me, sometimes you can just tell.) walks nearby and I practically attack her, asking her where I can find Firm Such and Such. She gives me the once over, decides that I look desperate enough for an answer, and says coolly "Oh, that is on the 29th floor, this is the 28th." I'm sure she's hoping she never has to work for me.
I get there, and the interview goes OKAY. I say this tentatively, because I'm not really sure if it did. I was a nervous wreck, and when I get nervous and jittery, I tend to speak crazy talk. It is a language that you rational people do not understand. I really have been considering putting in on my resume as a language that I am fluent in, but for some reason career services advised against that. I really cannot even remember 1/5 of what came out of my mouth, but I assure you, it was not at all professional and smooth like I had hoped to be.
Anyway, I expect I'll have a couple more interviews before this job hunting thing is over with, so I'm sure there are more stories to come. As long as I have all my limbs and I'm conscious at the end, I'll be okay.
In other (and more positive) news, my orthodontist told me that I might be able to get my braces off at Christmas! I am so pumped. Looks like someone was on the nice list this year! While having braces hasn't been as horrible as I had imagined, the only benefit I had hoped for (weight loss) didn't work out so well, either. Evidently, I would prefer to suck on a milk shake rather than a carrot juice when my teeth hurt. Go figure.
So, I am excited about looking like a 20something again, rather than an unusually educated and somewhat wrinkly teenager.
Finally, I have to tell you about my "above me apartment" neighbors. Last night (or more correctly really early this a.m. at 3) the Knight, Betty, and I are awakened to the sounds of what I think sounds like a washing machine working overtime on some tennis shoes and bricks. After completely coming out of my REM cycle, I realize that no, that is not a washing machine, but a headboard, banging over and over against the wall. In a somewhat rhythmic pattern. And OH there are moans. And shrieks. You get my drift.
Betty is convinced that a militia is trying to break into our bedroom, and she is busy giving them a piece of her mind...by barking incessantly. The Knight is as pissed as I am, and we just lie there, listening to what sounds like a workout a Cirque de Soleil performer would be proud of. The darn show lasted for 45 unholy minutes. Although the female performer was quite vocal throughout her entire bedroom debut, we both glanced at each and sighed with relief when her male counterpart sounded in. Finally, silence. But wait. Now we hear them washing up, using the potty, and settling back in. Great. We even got to be a part of the mundane after noises.
The Knight informed me that this isn't the first time, but I just usually snorzzle right through it. He said that it happened the night before, and possibly even before that. His impression of the girl's noises is dead on - I guess he has had several opportunities to practice.
Anyway, we are faced with a slightly sticky issue (no pun intended...well, okay, maybe just a little one). :) How do you ask your neighbors to pipe it down? The noise wouldn't be so bad, it is the timing that makes this nightly rendezvous unbearable. The Knight works really early hours, and those 45 minutes to an hour are crucial for him to make sure airplanes don't crash into each other. I mean, who does it at 3 in the morning? Sure, maybe kids do in college when frat parties or those late nights at the club come to an end, but not typical couples with jobs. And I'm pretty sure this is a couple in a relationship. Those distinct noises aren't made by just every woman. Are they so overcome with passion that they set an alarm, just to make sure they get enough lovemaking in? It boggles the mind.
The Knight wants to say something tomorrow if it happens again tonight, but I'm afraid that if he says something, they'll get mad and/or embarrassed and do it more. and louder. Our sleep cannot handle that. Any advice?
Well, that's all for now. Tonight is Halloween Celebration Time (Happy Halloween BTW) and we are going to hang out with some friends. They have a little dog, and so even though we're not dressing up, our puppies are! I promise I'll post some pictures!
Step one: put on expensive work pants.
So says Artsy Fartsy at 31.10.07