Adventures in Suit Shopping

I tell you, I am batting a thousand today.

Let's begin with the good news, eh? The good news is that I've FINALLY been called for an interview with a private tutoring company a few minutes from my house, which is good for a host of reasons that should be obvious after I've been pathetically unemployed for two months and couldn't even get a call back for a $6/hr. job at the library. I now have a reason to live for a few more days.

So, knowing my one professional "business-y" outfit is ill-fitting and atrocious for a multitude of reasons (and knowing I'll need to look presentable for interviews for real teaching jobs), I went out today to invest a new one. Now, I'm well aware of the fact that my body is horribly disproportionate, so I was prepared for this to be a frustrating venture. In the end, though, I only had to visit four stores before I found a winner. However, anyone who knows me knows that's four stores for me to make a spectacular ass out of myself or attract some kind of weirdo.

Store #1: The sales lady wouldn't leave me alone. And she was very keen on trying to get into the dressing room with me, which I don't get and I've always hated. All of this unnecessary "checking in." Ugh. Finally, I was like, "I swear to you, I will come to you if I need your assistance, but at this particular juncture I can put my own pants on." Later, as I was checking out (I bought a single shirt), she invited me for a bra fitting (all on the up-and-up, of course), and my response, though I don't remember the exact wording, was something to the effect of, "Well, you know I would, but my husband prefers to watch and as you can see he's not here now." In case you're wondering, she WAS horrified! I probably can't go back there for a while.

Store #2: Why do people bring their frigging kids to stores? This little 5-year-old boy with a plastic Slinky was running around and no one was controlling him, and he was just screaming and being a little shit. You probably can guess how I feel about that. Anyway the sales lady was talking to me, and I was becoming visibly irritated with the little shit as he ran up to her and started talking to her. I must've rolled my eyes, because she asked me what was wrong. "I dislike little children," I replied. Her brow furrowed. Oh god, what now? "That's my nephew. He's my little buddy." PERFECT! My response: "Of COURSE he is. Why not."

Store #3: Nothing of note, as I only spent about 3 minutes in there before leaving.

Store #4: The woman in the dressing room next to mine was talking very loudly and in far too much detail about how she had some sort of oral surgery two days ago that involved a cadaver donation. I'm still kicking myself for tuning it out up to that point, because it got sooooo good when she started telling the sales ladies that she bit into this cadaver tissue, causing it to dislodge from her mouth. Long story short, she claims she SWALLOWED IT (blargh blargh blargh blargh blargh) and that (this is a direct quote I swear I'm not making up) "it really had a very distinct taste" which she claimed was still in her mouth. I tell you, if you asked me to grip a pen at that moment I would've been unable to. Sickening! So I spent the majority of the rest of my time there studying the woman and unsuccessfully trying to figure out the first part of the story. What kind of oral surgery was it? Why was her mouth not swollen? Why was she not speaking like a marble mouth? What kind of oral surgery requires a cadaver donation? Why was she not behaving as horrified as I felt she should be in a situation like that? And what kind of oral surgeon uses a cadaver donation that so easily detaches and is swallowed?! And does this constitute cannibalism if you accidentally eat a part of someone else's body? Ohhhh if it weren't for my horse...

On a final note before I proceed with today's quote of the day, if you are a friend of family member of mine reading this and you're mad at me for not returning your calls within the last couple of days, please forgive me. My cell phone has decided that it can't be bothered doing its damn job anymore. Yesterday it started turning itself off randomly, and after I convinced myself it was not, in fact, a poltergeist, I discovered the battery was going to crap. Then things went downhill quickly like an episode of According to Jim (what a horrible, horrible show) and my phone began telling me it was 1999 (ohhh to be young again!) as I kept it on life support plugged into the wall at all times. Finally, the death bells came and it won't do anything, so yeah....bear with me as I attempt to replace it sometime soon.

Ok, finally...the quote of the day. I was talking to my friend Steve online yesterday, and we were comparing notes about a particular professor at our old school whom I despise and whom Steve is getting his first experience with. This particular professor pissed me off because he was always unprepared for class and would stall for time. He was also really disheveled and had that curious problem of collecting white dobbins of spit at the corners of his mouth, which made me gag. My main problem with him, though, was that it was clear his four-pack-a-day smoking habit had taken over his life, as he would routinely leave in the middle of our 75-minute class to go outside and smoke. Come on dude, get the fricking patch or something. Ridiculous! Anyway, Steve has the great pleasure of having this professor as an internship supervisor, requiring him to meet with him one-on-one weekly...an unparalleled adventure in awkwardness, for sure. So we were commiserating about this teacher's quirks, and I asked Steve if he still has his nicotine-withdrawal bumbling stutter. Steve's response: "Yes...and breathes heavily, kinda like he's making a pervy phone call."

Picture it...piiiicture it. Now you've come along for the journey. That is funny.

UPDATE: We ordered new cell phones today (fear not, we were already planning on doing this; it wasn't merely an overreaction to my battery dying), and it's looking like my new one will come around Tuesday or Wednesday of next week. Til then, call the home phone, my husband's phone, or just e-mail to reach me. All two of you.