Um, Filters? Anyone?

so you know how sometimes things can maybe possibly fall out of one's mouth without a whole lot of (what'sthatcalledohright) forethought?

and you know how sometimes you can totally blame that on alcohol? yes, i know you do.

except you know when you shouldn't ever blame the falling-out-of-mouth-ing on alcohol? that's right! when you're in a job interview.

so no, i'm not saying i was drunk on a job interview (kids, it was 7:30 in the morning and plus i am actually a professional sometimes).

i'm saying that, while on an interview when i was very busy being 'actually a professional' i may have gotten a bit too ahead of myself and had something unfortunate fall out of my mouth because while i am actually a professional i am also actually a me.

and so, see, since it was an actual professional interview, there was nothing to blame the mouth-falling issue on other than myself. because you cannot be in an interview and say something stupid and then blame it on something like drugs ("oops, sorry, forgot to take my meds!") or alcohol ("i did a couple shots before i came in here...helps me calm my nerves").

instead, you have to pretend you meant to say exactly what you said, even if you absolutely didn't.

and just what is it i said, you ask?

oh, i'll bet you can guess.

ya-huh. in response to a question about a writing project i worked on a few years ago, i emphasized my writing skills, while off-handedly remarking that the site itself was not well marketed. and then i added:

"...i mean, my BLOG has more traffic."

immediately after which my brain had the following split-second conversation with itself:

"you are an idiot. i know you thought that mentioning your blog was a good idea in the 18th of a second you thought about it, but it was not. it was a really, really stupid thing to do. you'd better hope he doesn't ask for the url.

wait, wait, don't make that face or he'll catch on. be cool. he won't ask. everyone has a blog these days, it's just assumed. seriously, why the hell would he care what your blog address is?"

which is when he grabbed a pen and looked at me and said, "oh? you have a blog? what's the address?"

fuck.

so right, then my brain went into super-hyper-overdrive running through the following thoughts in oh-so-rapid succession:

• you are an IDIOT
• he's going to WRITE IT DOWN
• he didn't just ask and forget, he's going to WRITE IT DOWN
• maybe he won't read it
• omg your LIST is on there!
• and with the drinking?
• nice SUNDRESS diagram
• you use the word FUCK, kristy
• HELLO? MASHED POTATO BOOBS
• you are not a professional
• well, wait, maybe he will think it's funny
• maybe he will read it and think that you're GREAT and isn't is so cool that you're BRAVE ENOUGH to mention your fucking blog in a JOB INTERVIEW
• oh yeah, that's likely
• probably he will think you're crazy and the least professional person he's ever met
• seriously kristy, learn how to filter yourself

but even as all these thoughts were running through my dumbass brain, cluttering up the mental landscape, i still managed to hesitate only briefly, realizing i had two choices.

Choice A: i could say, "oh, well, it's kind of personal. i'd rather not."

but come on. the second i said that it'd be like announcing, "there's weird stuff on my blog." and plus, what's worse, it would be drawing attention to the fact that DUMBASS stuff sometimes falls out of my mouth and what sort of actually a professional would allow that to happen?

which meant i'd have to go with Choice B: smiling, looking him in the eye, and giving him the address as though i was expecting the question and oh, sure, it's *totally* fine if you read it and why wouldn't i want you to know about my bad dates and worse kisses and strange yarn addictions and occasional jokes about my lack of workplace productivity.


so i guess my point is that even when i'm working very hard to be actually a professional, the same sort of happy-confidence that makes me think i can swing down stairs without falling or skip down the hallway without stumbling can find ways to creep in. and then instead of physically hurting myself, i verbally trip and spill.

at least i'm consistent.


(oh, and in case you're wondering if he ever read this, well... imaginary internet friends, say hi to greg.)