Adventures continued: the fun never stops!

First. After posting yesterday I ventured out of the house again, because I needed a new outfit for my job interview. Because I own one black jacket that desperately needs drycleaning and doesn't *quite* match either my black pants or my black skirt. I needed one whole suit-type thing. Well there doesn't seem to be a 'mall' in these here parts (something that makes my suburban-Dallas-bred heart just weep) so I ended up at this "shopping complex" that had Old Navy, Ann Taylor, and ... Banana Republic. Speaking of which Banana Republic is the stupidest name for a clothing store ever. Just saying. It's where I ended up buying my Grown Up Interview Suit for an amount that makes me feel guilty, shamed, and slightly panicky every time I think about it. The thing cost so much that I did that thing you're never supposed to do: I applied for the store's credit card to save 15%. Everyone knows that you should never open store credit cards! I am officially bad with finance. I have spent a week's salary on a suit and put it on a brand-new credit card to a store that I never shop in.

But, today I got the job, so at least I don't have the "unemployed-and-still-shopping" guilt to stack onto it. I start Monday morning 9:00. It's only part-time but they're increasing my hourly rate a bit. Enough to cover Virginia's frickin' state income tax (!) and have extra. I still need to find a second job but that'll come later.

I'm wondering: at what point in life will I stop feeling as though I'm playing dress-up when wearing "grown-up clothes"? Today I felt like photographing myself in said suit (and heels!) and sending it to my mom: Happy Halloween, I'm going as an adult this year! Oh, and the heels? They killed me. I thought: interview, sitting down. No big deal, right? No. The branch that I interviewed at, and the one at which I'll be working, are a "short walk" apart. It's not that short when you're in slingbacks which keep getting caught in the University's picturesque brick walkways. My feet were dying by the time we walked over there and back.

What was really neat though, at least to an un-jaded Texan, is this fierce wind that is blowing all the leaves *off* of the trees, so that the air is filled with leaves; leaves swirling everywhere. Like some kind of giant, bright-gold precipitation, getting stuck in everyone's hair and backpacks and things.

Last night I made our first in-home dinner. Have I mentioned that we have a gas stove here? And that I've never cooked on a gas stove at home before? This is not one of the new, electric-start stoves either. It's an ancient stove with pilot lights, and a broiler that is *underneath* the oven, right off the floor. To broil the garlic bread I had to get down on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor. The stove scares me to death, but the spaghetti sauce made the place smell like home, a little.