Looks like I'm here to stay...

I had my interview with St. Louis County today and boy, am I ever not feeling confident about it. I've never been involved in a situation such as this before, but I assume it's negative for an interview to last only three minutes. Even my interview at Sears, that blight on society, took twenty minutes...and all I did, day in and day out, was arrange racks of ugly clothes by size.

When he shook my hand, the hiring manager simply said, "Angela? Hi." but his expression said, "I fucking hate you already. Follow me to my office so I can humiliate you and laugh at your stupidity with my colleagues an hour from now over coffee and doughnuts in the break room....the break room you'll never see!"

So, I drove over 300 miles today for a three minute interview. It happens.

As soon as I walked through the door upon arriving home, Chuck started talking about packing and when the moves are going to happen. That means I have to light a fire under my ass and start looking TODAY for a) jobs in Duluth or b) an apartment in the cities. Memories of Walnut Trails and the most lonely, frightening year of my life come to mind. Only this time I won't have a mean looking boyfriend and his gun over three days a week to protect me.

If you know anybody normal who is looking for a roommate....

Oh yeah, all the seemingly normal people turn NUTS when they share a home with me.

So, if you know any mean looking guys with guns who might want to hang out with me....well, you know where to send them.

Luckily, the day did redeem itself at one point. Dad and I were cruising around Duluth (he drove down again to take me to lunch and hang out with me so my day wouldn't be wasted for a THREE MINUTE INTERVIEW...I know, so nice!), when we came upon a semi stopped in the middle of the road. I don't mean he was stopped in the middle of his lane. It was actually the middle of the road. Dad was already well into his "Light's green, buddy! What the hell is this moron doing?" fit of road rage when the guy got out of the truck and ran frantically back to us.

It didn't much resemble English but we're pretty sure he was shouting, "I took the wrong turn! Where is my turn?!" We also thought we caught the word "Wisconsin" and Dad managed to point him in the right direction. We hope.

Ah, who am I kidding? We didn't really give a shit if he found his way to Wisconsin or not. As an afterthought, Dad thought it would have been fun to send him across the aerial lift bridge.