I Am (Apparently) For You To Poop On

Yesterday I had a job interview. And I looked hot if I do say so myself. I was wearing a red, ruched shirt, a black knee length flared skirt and a black blazer. The outfit was accented with pointy black pumps and a skinny, black patent belt. Invert the color scheme of this photo, add some pounds, and you'll have the general idea.

As I was walking to the metro stop, I felt something fall on my head, so I ran a hand through my hair in an Herbal Essences commercial sort of way, all hair flopping and wind blowing. Detecting nothing, I sauntered on to the metro. I noticed quite a few people giving me a second look. Well of course- didn't I just say I looked hot? In my head I was thinking to myself "I look good and I am going to rock this interview".

I got to the metro, rode five stops, changed lines, rode another two stops and proceeded to the interview. At the interview building, I had to go through security, because EVERY building in D.C. seems to thinks it's important enough to be a terrorist target. The sign-in book the even asks if I'm an American citizen. I can assure you that if I'm a terrorist, I'm going to be really comfortable with lying on a sign-in book. And let's say this building is actually hit by terrorist (god forbid)- the sign-in book isn't exactly an airplane black box. So the citizenship question really just seems senseless and I didn't bother to answer it.

I look slightly less hot at this point because it's a warm day and I am wearing a suit. I check in with the receptionist and ask her where the ladies' room is. The receptionist informs me that not only a key was required, but I also had to be buzzed through a glass door. Going to the bathroom in these places is also apparently a terrorist threat. After all, we don't want the terrorists to...use the bathroom?

After making it through homeland security to the toilet, I discover that I have - in the part of the bangs that swoop sexily over my left eye - a large quantity of bird poop in my hair. Again, that's BIRD POOP in my HAIR. I had ridden for seven metro stops with bird poop in my hair.

And for the first time, I realize I reek. Of poop. I dig in my bag in a fit of panic and pull out an ace bandage (and no, I have no idea why it's in my bag) and I start to clean the poop pellets out of my hair. After wiping off the chunks, I try to brush the rest out, but I still I find that my hair smells like a litter box. I know some culture believe that having a bird poop on you is lucky. Those cultures are stupid. Birds don't have sphincters - getting pooped on just means that the universe has aligned to screw up your day.

My confidence for this interview completely shot, I scrounge around in my bag some more and come up with hairspray. Ah, an alcohol based hair product, that will cover the poop smell! My hair, now laden with spray, hangs in my face like I'm Cousin It from the Adams Family and still smells poopy, so I decide to slick my bangs back behind my ear. I no longer look even close to hot; more deflated, mousy, and sweaty at this point. But I throw my shoulders back and march on to meet my interviewer.

He is a nice man, I even though I look and smell like crap, I feel relaxed. We chat and I notice that he keeps looking past me. Despite this oddity, I continue to try to make eye contact as we chat. And it's precisely 30 minutes into our interview that I realize that he has a lazy eye, and I have spent the entire time that we've been chatting, staring into the lazy eye. My mouth immediately goes dry, my palms go sweaty, and I think "I am a giant ass". I have treated this very nice man like sideshow freak. Damn damn damn. We conclude the interview, and I am now completely unable to look anyone in the face.

To round out the day, that evening I walked to the neighborhood grocery store to grab a movie, and I saw the hottest straight man I have ever seen in our neighborhood. And as I see myself reflected in the glass doors of the store, I notice that my fly is down.

If I weren't unemployed, I'd take myself out for a drink.

My Most Important Post Ever: The Grant Miller Interview

Yesterday I completed my last acts as a law student, and while that is a momentous occasion -and the culmination of three years of hard work- it's nothing to the fact that the one and only Grant Miller has deemed me worthy of an interview. Behold!

Grant Miller: You, along with vikkitikkitavi and Coaster Punchman, were among the first people to link to Grant Miller Media. What are your thoughts of those early days at Grant Miller Media?

Laawyuhr: Grant Miller Media (which back in the early days was known as The Official Site of Grant Miller) was like a shining light in a land of darkness. I saw the light and the light was good.

Also, you promised me a pony.

GM: You have a legal background. Why does America need more attorneys?

L: Because the terrorists hate our freedom.

GM: What do you have against chick flicks?

L: I am morally opposed to films where chicks un-ironically sing into a hairbrush to a song like “It’s raining men” or “RESPECT.” Or the lead(s) does something wacky to take just one more chance on love! Wacky!

But I still have a uterus, so I am required to like a certain percentage of chick flicks, although I like explosions just as much. I count among chick-flicks I like: The Princess Bride, Strictly Ballroom, and the A&E Pride and Prejudice (Keira Knightly can suck it) because Colin Firth in period dress makes me feel all swoony.

GM: You're given an endless supply of money. What's the first stupid infomercial product you would buy and why?

L: Oh my god, how can I choose?! Will it be Jonathan Antin’s worthless hair products? Will it be the Hercules hook? The

Forearm forklift?

Ah, I think it would have to be the Pancake Puff Pan! Haven't you ever had the compulsion to make tiny pancakes that could then be infused with a creamy center(using the "filing injector")? No? Well, clearly you don't smoke weed. Neither do I, yet I still have the compusion to make tiny, delicious pancakes with an assortment of filings. Mmmm. Your imagination is your only limitation!

My favorite part is that the kit comes with FREE "turning sticks" which are known in the rest of the world as "bamboo skewers".

GM: Why should people read your blog?

L: Because if you don't I'll be forced to use MySpace or Facebook, and we all know that's a slippery slope away from writing about relationships and using happy face/sad face to let you know my complex moods.

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P.S. I'll be on brief hiatus for the next week as I'll be getting the nose fetus removed.