Pavlov's Broken Dog

I'm sitting in the waiting pod for an interview today that I knew would suck. Not that I would suck, just had an indication - a fart sniff, if you will - that nothing fun was to come of it other than a bath and damn good looking clothing and hair. When I call the waiting area a pod, that's what it is. It's not a room. People go into rooms to hang out there. A pod is a place of chilling before a transfer to an actual room.

Boredom hit me very swiftly. I hadn't brought a bag so had nothing to dig around in or fiddle with. I had simply fisted a crisp resume and my keys into the pod to await my transfer. I actually thought of snuggling my keys into my shoe as to not make it seem that I was completely prepared to flee at any moment. My lack of shoeing my keys was noted at he end of the transfer. "You didn't leave a purse or anything did you?"

As in, don't forget something and have a reason to come back. I get it.

I really don't know why I look so great on paper and a herpe when in person. I do have a mirror and it's sadly not much of a liar. In fact it takes glee in showing every last damned fuckedness on my body and glorfying it with a halo of light. So if I leave the house knowing I look good and the mirror confirmed it, I'm one step from the cover of Vogue, my mirrors are some unforgiving bitches and I am always happy to point at them and talk shit when I know I've made science a reality by cleaning up proper - "See! Who's ugly now? You got nothin' do ya??? Ha!"

Right, back to task. Bored. Nothing to fiddle with. A young man came in with the most amazing belt. It was gleaming with a blue plastic deliciousness that at the time, didn't occur to me made it appear that I was staring at his groin. In true DM fashion, I confirmed shit that hadn't yet hit my DUH radar.

"That's a great belt."
/fidget "It uh, yeah it kinda is huh?"
"Yes, very shiney."

All the while I'm still totally fucking gaze locked on the thing and not making the connection that I was to ANYONE else on the planet except me, flirting with him. But I wasn't. I was in honesty... flirting... with .... that... belt.

As I contunied to sit, I realized how extremely fucked up and broken I am. They had a box of kleenex and various magazines scattered. I was going mentally deformed to not get up and straiten things. That damn kleenex was not centered on it's perch and I wanted to nudge it one inch back in the worst way. This is what 6.5 years with Bosslady has done to me. I look at things and somewhere in my mind have a need to correct it because she will notice and make a scene out of not liking it. I am Pavlov's Dog. See a stimulous and the proper response is illicited. Yikes.

So shitty interview and I have a good sense that she thought I was weird, which I am but how that translates into a bad thing, no idea. I'm not criminal weird, I'm creative weird! Instead of doing what I'm reading in the news and killing myself and entire family because I have no job(insane!!!)... I came home and got my groove on to this:



When I first heard the opening line I thought - No, you didnt! Then my head began to wiggle and my hips went into pop action. It's actually a catchy little tune to prance to. Most don't share my taste of hip/hop type of shit but give it a listen for the pathetic and downtrodden who on return from failed interview - had a letter from unemployment giving me birthin' day wishes in the form of "oh, you like... hm, gotta pay taxes for taking government assistance." All in stride. Knowing it went like shit, guess what I did on the way out?

I fixed that god damned box of kleenex and smiled to my car.

-DM