mu'abla lel-wazeefa. an interview. (sometimes english is easier, it's a whore of a language really) tomorrow i have to show that i can write the entertaining crap you read half heartedly while sipping caffeine so your brain gives the semblance of life for a few more hours. that is, i have an interview for a writing position in a magazine. as such, i'm already employed-- i assist in the university i've been desperately trying to leave for the past six years. they lured me back in after grauation with promises of a shiny CV and the stability of not having to face the real world. more specifically not having to leave my little privileged bubble of the coddled and youthful elite of cairo...not just yet anyway while preparing for the interview, my father offered the following advice: 'just dont be a megalomaniac sarah' ... but, but i was trying to be pedagogical not demagogical (is that a word?) what do you even say to that? anyway, the guy interviewing me is about my age, much more successful with an attractive british accent. i irrationally resent this and feel very intimidated, also slightly attracted to him-- no matter i will rock his literary socks off ...or distract him with my boobies which look rather pleasant now that i've gained a ridiculous amount of weight (think positively) living in the middle of nowhere may prove to be a problem though 'do you drive' he asks seductively on the phone (okay i projected the seductively part) not wanting to sound like some spoiled idiot, i decided against saying i'm chauffered and said 'transportation is not a problem' in my high pitched i think you sound sexy voice (which comes off as an i'm desperate and have been looking for a job for months voice) great start. wonderful. i have boobs. it's okay. smile. (insert panic attack) and now to find a flattering outfit that speaks to both my intelligence and mammaries :) |