Here I am in Charleston

How is Charleston different than New York? Tough to say. I was expecting lynch mobs and throngs of morbidly obese people, but things aren't that different. Except that we live two blocks away from a megachurch. And the heat. Oooooh, the heat. You don't know heat-related discomfort until you move to the south. Where everything is heavily air conditioned but it's still NOT ENOUGH. A walk on the treadmill at the air-conditioned gym has me dripping with sweat. Dripping in the literal sense. As in drip stains on the treadmill. Good enough imagery? Moving on. I get out of my car and my glasses fog up. Walking across a parking lot is so torturous I've demanded Joe let me stay in the car on quick errands. The problem is that it's so gorgeous outside (we live right on preserved foresty land and it's so pretty and I just want to sit on the deck and enjoy), but the second you open the door to explore, it's just too much to bear. So I'm currently enjoying the great outdoors via the fabulous invention of windows.

Anyway, it's been a fairly easy transition moving back in with Joe. To all the ladies out there who have yet to move in with a man, take note: you will have NO SECRETS any more. Take this example. I love to get my upper lip waxed. In New York it's a mere $8 for the delicious, indescribable bliss of smooth and numb under-nose skin. In South Carolina, they charge you $10 to sit you in the middle of the salon in front of horrified-looking southern housewives, NOT apply numbing agent to your skin, subtly disparage your eyebrows, oh and then SCORCH YOUR SKIN WITH THOUSAND-DEGREE WAX WHILE GIGGLING. Needless to say, I overpaid to have an angry, flaming red scab under my nose for the past three days. Which cannot be hidden from my lover/roommate. Who thinks it's hilarious. It hurts to smile and laugh. Good thing I have nothing to smile and laugh about (seriously, keep me unemployed for three more days and I'll start up with really, really dark poetry. I am not meant for sitting around. Because you have to sit around when you are unemployed. Otherwise the second you go anywhere you spend money you don't have! Gah!). Draaaaama teenager.

Anyway. So I had a job interview Monday and actually managed to cover up the scab with enough makeup to hide it, but not too much to look obvious. Oh, but then I left my house. And sweated it off in 4.2 seconds. Not to mention I did NOT anticipate the parking garage at the hospital being full, so by the time I found a spot on the top floor and parked and jetted down 7 flights of stairs IN HEELS, sprinted across the parking lot and into the clinical building, I was a fully-scabbed, drenched, shaking, soaked-hairline mess in a wilted suit arriving a minute late. What a way to make a good impression!

Alright, I've been staring at the treadmill for an hour and should probably hop on. I know that the second it becomes inconvenient for me to answer the phone, it'll start ringing, so let's bring on the interview calls!