LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, I HAVE A JOB INTERVIEW!
The architect whose office I called yesterday called me back today and apologized for not getting back to me sooner. It was all I could do to keep my voice from getting all shaky and ridiculous-sounding. Apparently, he'd spoken to one of his employees (who suggested I apply to work for them) and so he knew a bit about me. He asked me to refresh his memory about the type of architecture I'd been doing, where I went to school, etc...
Then, he said the magic words: "We'd like to interview you."
To which I replied, in typical sauve Ms. Strainedconsciousness style, "Really?" Oh, yeah, I'm smooth.
After I made sure the phone was completely hung up, I proceeded t scream at the top of my lungs. My dog, who was sunning his poor arthritic bones in the backyard, heard my shrieks, and came loping inside to see if I was okay. When he discovered that I was not being attacked or bleeding, he shifted his attention from me - by now crying with joy and trying to call my mom - to the closet where we keep his Milkbones. He'd done his duty as protector, after all, and so I rewarded the poor old feller.
I got through to my mom, who then had to listen to me shriek and cry some more, and by the end of the conversation, we'd gotten down to the real meat of the issue, "What are you going to wear to the interview?"
As you may have noticed, I'm a teensy bit obsessive about my appearance, particularly my wardrobe. The only real suit I possessed at the time of the mom convo was a heavy grey wool suit that is only suitable for winter wear. I wore it when I interviewed for my last job, got the job, quit snacking all day and drinking as much beer as I had when in college, dropped 5 lbs, and now the jacket's too big for me. So even if it was the correct season, my tailor couldn't have made the alterations in time for the interview (serious reconstruction on the jacket: it's got enough seams and darts in it for a platoon of suits).
Granted, I wasn't too sad about not having a suit to wear, because that just meant I got to buy another suit. My mom came home from work, and we jetted off to Northpark Mall to explore the BCBG store (50% off!), Banana Republic, which used to be my own personal Cheers, and wherever else the fancy struck. I struck out at BCBG, but found a suit at BR from their Monogram line. Oooh. Fancy.
And then, the fatal issue: no blouse. The blouses at BR didn't work especially well with the suit, so we ping-ponged back and forth between Club Monaco, J. Crew, BCBG (again), Dillard's, White House/Black Market, Ann Taylor, Ted Baker, you get the idea. You probably got the idea after the third store, but I'm slightly OCD about listing things and counting things, and really OCD about my appearance, so I'm bound to get carried away when confronted with the prospect of listing things relating to my appearance.
My mom and I were about to abandon ship, leaving me to pick up the scent Thursday, when she asked if we could go into J. Jill. There was a shirt she wanted online, but they were out of her size. We zipped into the store and she tried on a shirt, but it was too big. Whatever, the important thing is that I found the perfect shirt whilst browsing the racks, waiting for her to emerge. I tried it on with the suit, and it was amazing. Not what I'd intended to buy, not by a longshot, but maybe even better than what I'd hoped to find.
Now I just need to find some killer stilettos, screw the interview-tip website's advice to keep it below a 2" heel. Honey, I don't do less than 3-1/2".
(Creative Commons licensed picture courtesy of Markusram's Flickr Stream, found at http://www.flickr.com/photos/markusram/3273368539/)