So, I was watching Anderson Cooper yesterday and he interviewed Edie Falco and for the entire length of the interview I thought his guest was Felicity Huffman. So, that happened.
I’m training for a 5k. I know, I know, it’s only 3 miles but it’s RUNNING three miles and so far I cannot run one lousy mile. And by “training” I mean that I went to Target and bought a sports bra and some cute shorts. Go me!
I’ve got to find a stinkin’ job. Again. The pizza thing is chugging along but I need to get something of my own going that doesn’t involve cleaning toilets and high school drop outs. Actually, I’ll take the toilets over the drop-outs if push comes to shove. I have an interview today and I have little to no hope for this opportunity. I’m going though so I can 1. say that I wore something other than yoga pants this week and 2. practice my mad interview skillz. There’s something liberating about interviewing for a job in which the outcome is incidental. Maybe I should tell an awesome joke right off the bat?
How do you get a kleenex to dance? PUT A LITTLE BOOGIE IN IT! And then snort madly while slapping my knees. That’s a start.
I may mention that I’m interviewing for a new position because as I mature I find my arthritis is making it more difficult for me to pole dance.
I’ve decided that I’m going to gauge my actions of whether or not this office has those God awful “successories” posters. You know what I’m talking about. They’re those sleek inspirational wall hangings that make everyone briefly consider a shooting spree. Or maybe that’s just me.
Now see, if this had a big upright middle finger as it’s image, well then that’d be a poster and a message I could get behind.
Now, this is more like it.
Like I tell my girls, “shoot for the middle”. Let’s be honest.
Anyway, I’m going to give it a shot anyway. After all it’s Friday and tomorrow Johnny and I leave for the 500 mile trek that is the journey to Michigan. We’re spending a weekend with my kick-ass 105 year old Grandma and taking in a Nascar (!) race for Johnny’s birthday to boot. Y’all don’t make me get a Dale, Jr. tattoo on my arm ’cause I will. I’m still trying to come up with the perfect outfit to don for the event but Johnny keeps taking out all of the fun.
Me: I think I’ll wear denim cut-offs with a tank top, my red Converse sneakers and a cowboy hat. Cute, huh?
Johnny: Honey, last year I saw a guy wearing only shorts and one flip-flop carrying a hamburger patty in a ziplock bag. You’re good.
On the upside it looks like my “douchebag” flask will be a apropos accessory.