News, and in Other News

Tomorrow, I have an interview for a "real" job. I had an email interview last week. Today, a phone interview. I must have done well since I'm scheduled to go in tomorrow.

I've been doing the stay-at-home mom/writer thing since 1990. That's a lot of years. Well, I did do some substitute teaching...until other people's little heathens started sucking the life force right out of me. I don't intend on giving up the writing, though, should I find employment.

I'm a tad bit nervous. I won't jinx myself by going into details, but it sounds like a pretty cool place to work. It would be in an office, which is what I did B.C. - before children.

Cross your fingers, toes, eyes, whatever you feel like crossing for me. Send me good Karma, good wishes, that kind of thing. I could use it.

***

Now, here's something I want to know.

My husband had control of the remote last evening, and he was watching "Entertainment Tonight," or something of that ilk. I was getting up to go stir dinner on the stove, and I hear, "Want to recreate Sarah Palin's look? Stay tuned, and we'll show you how!"

I said to no one in particular, "Uh, why would you want to recreate her look?"

I walked back into the living room and said to myself, but loud enough so my husband could hear me, "Oftentimes, I have this undying urge to look just like Peggy Hill."

This annoys him when I refer to Palin as Peggy because he's one of those die-hard Republican sorts. And well, as he puts it, so long as I have my internet connection and computer, and the occasional monster margarita, I'm pretty happy with life.

I'm not saying she's an unattractive lady if you compare her to say, oh, maybe Hillary Clinton. I'm assuming it's the whole "school teacher/naughty librarian" thing that is playing into men's fantasies here. The bun, the glasses. She looks much older than she actually is. Didn't she get the memo that the new 40 is the old 30?

But please, I beg of anyone to shoot me should I decide that I need to get me some glasses like hers and start wearing my hair up like that. I'm just saying. I'm 39, and I've no desire to look like an old spinster.

***

Speaking of old, this aging thing isn't really agreeing with me. I've always prided myself on my quick wit and memory like a steel trap.

I was in the utility room, and my youngest son was standing there talking to me as I transferred clothes to the dryer. I realized I'd washed a pencil.

It was a pencil, alrighty. Yellow, had an eraser, a pointed tip of lead. I'm certain I know what a pencil is. Pencil - the thing you write with when you can't find a pen and you're desperate to jot something down. Yes, that's a pencil.

But what did I say? "Oh great, someone decided to leave a pizza in their pocket."

A pizza? Uh. I wasn't hungry. I didn't have pizza on the brain. I didn't just eat pizza. No one had just mentioned pizza. I hadn't read the word pizza. Yet, I called a pencil a pizza.

Uh, yeah. I need help, I suspect.