Blistered by Corporate America

Corporate America SUCKS ASS. I had an interview this morning through a temp agency I signed up with last week. I really need a second job, since my work as a virtual assistant isn’t allowing me to catch-up on the costs of moving back to Colorado and my extraneous health expenses. The temp agency called me at 9am to tell me I had an interview with ING at 11am. Well, I had not one single acceptable interviewing outfit--NOT ONE. I’ve worked from home for three years and long ago gave away the last of my suit jackets, and even my business casual outfits. Plus, of the two nice pants I do still own, I don’t fit into either thanks to the fact I’ve been sitting on my ass for the eight months since surgery and have gained 12 pounds. It doesn’t seem fair you should not only lose your ability to walk normal but also your physique. They should give us orthopedic patients a fat-stopping drug once they take the painkillers away (which served as a nice, though psychotropic, diet pill for the first month). I know this is shallow thinking (yes, I’m thrilled I have my life and my leg!), but mostly it’s expensive, uncomfortable inconvenience! I’m too broke to buy new outfits just so I can get a job to help me from being so broke. It’s a vicious circle of fat brokenness.

I flew to Target and tried on outfits as quickly as possible. The only decent looking outfit I could find did not go with my black shoes (the only nice shoes I own) so I quickly picked out a cheap red pair. I spent $70 on the ensemble—which sufficiently maxed out my American Express card. I sped home, changed, ate a spoon of almond butter so I wouldn't pass out and then left with fifteen minutes before my interview, applying my makeup at the red lights. The stupid temp agency rep wasn't sure what the cross streets were but said it was two blocks away from their building. Unfortunately, I assumed the two blocks in the opposite direction. I learned this only after I parked, put the last of my quarters in the meter--realizing my Good Fiancé had pilfered almost all my quarters for laundry without telling me--and hobbled around looking for the stupid building. When I realized my error (and the fact that the distance was hardly a mere two blocks away from the temp agency), I got back into my car, drove as fast as possible--getting all the red lights--parked, put the few nickels I could dig up into a meter, which only provided enough for twenty minutes, and limped (sans cane—didn’t want them to think I was defective goods!) to the building. I was two minutes late for the interview. Not too bad, but not ideal. The interview went well, but when I get back to my car, there was a $40 ticket waiting for me. Plus I felt three blisters had formed. Ticket, blisters, money shelled out for an interview outfit. Was it worth it? I think, no. We’ll see if I get the job.

In good news, on my way back from my yoga camping retreat this weekend I decided I didn't want to wait any longer to start teaching yoga again. When I got home my massage therapist called saying this guy at the yoga studio he works at is looking for a teacher for a restorative class and he recommended me! I met with the owner yesterday, and will starting teaching a one hour therapeutic/restorative class on Sundays in September! Yay synchronicity! Now I just need to find some students to attend my class!