I don't wear suits often. I've been told often that I look smashing in them and, of course, THEY are usually right. I look in the mirror at myself in a suit and I just feel like I look like a little boy in his Dad's suit.
I don't have any reason to wear a suit. My job doesn't require it. I live in Southern California... I can't understand why I have to wear pants at all.
But I put on a suit today. No one died or got married or nuthing. Just had a job interview 10 miles away. And today I really looked like a man. Armani Tie, good haircut, shined shoes, starched white shirt. In fact I starched it just north of comfortable. I 've worn this suit before... but today for some reason.. I look like a man.
On the way to the interview, I am unusually irritable. It was one of those "National Drive like Crap" days. I notice a missed shaving spot. So I stop at the Ralphs and buy some razors and get to work on myself in the Ralph's bathroom. Scrrrrrappee... the dry shave is always a bad one yet Salt Wound refreshing..ripping skin cells off.. but I don't manage to cut myself.... a good thing going into a job interview.
My Internet date calls and cancels.. whatever.
I do the interview... 4 half hour one on one interviews. 3 of the 4 were terribly boring. I mean toothpicks in the eyes (not the eyelids) dull. Are you aware of the New SEC Sederis testing method... with the lyrical Ben Stein drawl....
How the fuck did I become an accountant? I have been lapped danced by the starlet du jour. I've smoked pot with rock stars. I puked on Gwen Stefani's shoes in Tiajuana. These people are dull... not enough "U"'s in dull to tell you how dull they are.
But the gig pays well... so I go with it.
I complete my two and half hour job interview and slam right into rush hour traffic.
And then there are these fucking Hippies...who have shut down Wilshire Blvd and there are thousands of us stuck in our cars trying to get on the freeway.
They hate Bush. Who doesn't? I will stand toe to toe with any nasty ass dumb witted Bush shrub.
So hippies, I empathize with your message. I know you don't have to get someplace.. but I am hungry and I want to go home.
Can I PLEASE go home now?
and please, shower.
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2 comments:
They say 'clothes make the man', but I've always wondered what kind of man they make.
I knew I was a straight girl at about age 4 or 5 when I found myself looking at men in church in suits w/ admiration and approval. In fact I told my big sis that the one church greeter in a suit was my boyfriend w/out really even knowing what that meant.
And I had the distinct pleasure of living in a dorm w/a hippie at Ohio University in Athens, OH as a freshman. Her idea of a "bath" was the liberal use of patchouli oil on all her "pink parts"... bleeeech. Once when she was tripping on LSD, I did have visions of shoving her outta the dorm window and then telling the cops that this dirty stinky dusty freak thought she could fly... but alas... I did not. Before I transferred to Kent State 2 yrs later, I did see her w/ a group of Hare Krishnas... She fit right in... and what a disgusting stinky tambourine playing bunch they were.
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