candice

Gave up on the USCIS. The recording told me that my call was important to them, but apparently, it lied.

Another e-mail about a prospective job. Some seminar thing at RadioShack. Next to Tiki-Tan. Dress business casual.

Damn me and my all-black (well, mainly black) alt-girl wardrobe. Thank god I have (for as yet unexplained reasons) a credit card at Express, for I possess no business casual outfits, nor would I be otherwise able to purchase one. Considering I do not have a job.

What the fuck does business casual mean these days, anyway? Can I stray away from the sweater-set? 'Cause man, I think I'd have to shoot myself if I ever had to leave my apartment dressed in a god-awful sweater-set.

Now to call about the children's-soul-destroying class photographer position...

Weather.com indicates to me that I will be at least slightly unbearably uncomfortable in any half-decent outfit I have that says "give me a job" instead of "point at me and laugh because I do not fit your status quo". That is, after I clicked the button that shows me the temperature in metric. Damn this country, and damn the Imperial system. I thought you declared independence from those British types. Can't you claim independence from their outdated measurement system that I try and try and try to understand... But I have come to accept that I never will. Pint? Ounce? Quart? Gallon? Guh? How many shekels is that? How many pints to a rod? How many ounces in a bushel????? Kill me.