OHMIGODYOUGUYS.

I got a call back for an on-site interview for that job I phone interviewed for last week. And I'm psyched. That's all. I shall rely on the ecstatic glee of the Delta Nu's to properly illustrate how I feel now.

In addition, though, I should describe how I almost blew it all by being a douchebag. (I've been using that word a lot lately -- seriously. Say it with feeling. DOUCHEBAG!) So I'd been waiting a week to hear back from The Firm. After prompting from friends, I finally was working up the courage to call them and do the, "Hey, it's me, the Fat Girl, did you forget to invite me to prom?" (Because I compare this whole thing to waiting to be asked to prom.) So I picked up my cell phone and look and see the "New Voicemail" icon.

Wha-wha-whaaaaa?

So I dial up my voicemail, figuring it's another message from my mother that I quit listening to halfway through because good goddamn that woman rambles in her voicemails -- and the phone just kept it saved as "new." But it wasn't my mother. Instead, I heard,

"Hello, Ms. How2, this is Jane from The Firm. If you could please call me tomorrow [the call came in yesterday evening] at blah blah blah, we would like to set up an interview with you for the Position..."

This is the point that I was doing pirouettes around the house like a madwoman.

So I quickly dialed the number and called The Firm, giddy and excited and OHMIGODYOUGUYS. The receptionist answered and I asked for Jane. Who? Jane. I'm sorry, there's no Jane that works here.

I immediately began doubting myself, and realized that maybe I misheard the name from the caller while I was...um....leaping and doing moves from Bring It On through the house. I apologized and said I must have the wrong number, and hung up and hid under the covers. Thankfully I never said my name. I went back and re-listened to the voicemail, and lo and behold, I was needing to speak with June. (This is all for the sake of the blog -- I'll say now that the real names were even more similar than "Jane" and "June." Easy mistake to make when you're dancing around like the spazzy kid at the 2nd grade ballet recital gone off her ADHD meds.)

So then. THEN!!! I didn't want the receptionist to think I was some retarded douchebag who can't get names straight, because who would want to hire a douchebag like that. So I sat agonizing for an hour, hoping that my faux pas would be forgotten in the hustle and bustle of the day. After an hour, I called back, disguising my voice as much as possible without sounding completely demented (because surely someone not demented wouldn't have this problem in the first place). I was sent through to JUNE'S voicemail, left a cheerful and appropriate voicemail, June called back, and an interview is scheduled for Monday.

Anyway. I'm a douchebag but I'm a douchebag with a job interview, so whatever. It's official because it's written on our family calendar, with "FUCK YEAH!" written in multi-colored gel pen next to it. Serious shit, guys. Serious.

OHMIGODYOUGUYS.