My sister just came home from work and said, "Hey, let's go driving today."

Agggh. Too spontaneoussssous. I think she likes to see me panic.

I'll do it, but I won't be happy about it. Especially because we're doing right turns today. I HATE RIGHT. That's why I'm a Democrat.

Bah dum tish.

But seriously also. Anything involving right makes me scared, because of my stupid deaf ear. From the vantage point of the driver's seat, the right side of the car appears, to me, like a massive void beyond my ability to control it. I don't trust it. I keep imagining things flying at me from the right, like curbs or the edge of the road or squirrels or Gary Busey.






I'm too neurotic for driving lessons. But I'm the perfect amount of neurotic for comedy. When I get nervous, I get my most zany. Maybe it's because of endorphins.

When I was a kid (t'was only yesterday), I used to read that as "endolphins".

The interview went well yesterday. :) It was very laid back and creative. I had to draw a picture and tell a story. I approached it like it's something I always do (which it is) and I made Joe (my future boss [I hope]) smile. He called back about an hour ago and asked me to come to the DC location on Friday at 10:30 for an interview with him and the owners.

My first thought was, "OOH, FUN!" XD Maybe they'll ask me to play with a stuffed animal this time.

My one worry is always that I'll be late. But pfft. I'm getting up at 7 and taking the Metro so I'll probably be early and have time to stroll around and enjoy DC.



I don't even have the job yet and I'm already thinking about asking for Friday, 9/11 off to see The Black Seeds in NYC. I'm not holding my breath, but it would be rockin' if I could make it work. Especially because I might be able to FINALLY meet sunnyringo and illusionedwords! ♥ ♥

Please cross your fingers for me. ...And... take a picture of yourself doing that?

You don't really have to do that last part. XD

But it would make me laugh.

joining the bandwagon - September 10th, 2005.

I was coerced into joining LJ because my friends used it and I wanted to be able to talk to them on it. And I've never looked back... well, except to answer this question.

Today's the day I'm going to call the toy store and set up an interview. Why am I so nervous about THAT? I could understand being nervous about the interview, getting there, etc. but about setting up the interview? That's not normal, is it?

I'm mainly worried that I'm going to say something idiotic and they won't like me, before they even meet me. :\ My self-esteem is hiding.

ETA: INTERVIEW IS SET UP FOR TOMORROW AT 3! :D I'M ACTUALLY EXCITED!

11:30 p.m. Arrived back at dorm room, feeling cheerful
11:40 p.m. Said goodbye to Dad. Sadder but still okay
12:00 a.m. Panic attack

I'm so scared. I don't want to do this anymore. There's no time for all the stuff I have to do. I'm not even un-packed. I can't do this.

Forget I said that. Everything will be fine. It has to be. Why? Because John said so.

"Are you serious, sir?" he said in a small whisper which had the effect of silencing the pub. "You think the world is going to end?"
"Yes," said Ford.
"But, this afternoon."
Ford had recovered himself. He was at his flippest.
"Yes," he said gaily, "in less than two minutes, I would estimate."
The barman couldn't believe this conversation he was having, but he couldn't believe the sensation he had just had either.
"Isn't there anything we can do about it then?" he said.
"No, nothing," said Ford, stuffing the peanuts into his pocket.
Someone in the hushed bar suddenly laughed raucously at how stupid everyone had become.
The man sitting next to Ford was a bit sozzled by now. His eyes weaved their way up to Ford.
"I thought," he said, "that if the world was going to end we were meant to lie down or put a paper bag over our head or something."
"If you like, yes," said Ford.
"That's what they told us in the army," said the man, and his eyes began the long trek back toward his whisky.
"Will that help?" asked the barman.
"No," said Ford, and gave him a friendly smile. "Excuse me," he said, "I've got to go." With a wave, he left.

Written by Douglas Adams, not me. Srsly. I can't write like that.

♥ ,
Sara