Houston, we have... a Heather??

Welcome Back! Something is different about you today... Did you change your hair? ...New outfit? ... Lost weight? ...I can't quite put my finger on it, but whatever it is, I love it.

My hair is a few shades lighter these days, thank you for noticing. A quick trip to a beauty salon, and a checking account deduction of 70 US Dollars yielded a hipper, trendier, me. Some hairs on my head are unquestionably more important than others, and I felt as though they should be highlighted as such...mission accomplished.

The reason for my sudden leap into the world of those who spend more than one minute on their hair in the mornings? The ominous and ever-intimidating "job interview." Yes, soon, I will be joining the ranks of the full-time, gainfully employed. I will uncharacteristically leave out the fine print of the whole ordeal, and give you the big scope: I was flown to Houston for a big bad job interview. It was quite the adventure to be whisked away to an all inclusive 3-day, 2-night job interview experience.

It's a pretty nifty little gig that I auditioned for... they are the hooligans responsible for the 3D imaging on google earth, and are also the little rascals that are contracted to expand the Panama Canal. The division of the company that yours truly would be gracing, is a division who markets geological oil basin and oil well drilling data to big wigs like Exxon Mobile, Texaco, Shell, Chevron, BP, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera. I had to wear my "big girl" clothes and "grown up" heels the whole time. Heck, I even accessorized. I can see you've inched (or for our Canadian readers: centimetered) closer to the edge of your seat; you should know by now that in this intricate little relationship of ours, you will be the absolute FIRST to know what the future holds for this little geological girl-wonder....don't you worry.

I often wonder what my life will evolve into after I enter the real world... is there life after graduation? I try to picture myself in a downtown highrise apartment, with my hip highlights and trendy new 'do, cleaning and putting away groceries, planning and organizing for the next work day. Then I snap out of it. "This is my life, here, not my delusion," I tell myself. It'll be more like watching TV in my apartment in sweats and a ponytail, eating chicken fingers I ordered in from Applebees with paper plates and plasticware. While in mid honey-mustard dip, I'll suddenly realize I have a presentation to a client the following morning, but nonetheless plan to pull an all-nighter after my chicken strips are thoroughly consumed.

Although, I may surprise myself (and my mother). There are times when I display a bizarre and twistedly unfamiliar bout of cleanliness around the house...I dare say there is a slight-albeit slight- chance that in some unthinkable way, bits and pieces of that behavior may be carried over into my soon to be new, grown-up life. Is it possible?

Come to think of it, you'll never believe this (I can barely conceive the notion, myself), but there have been times, whilst the family was away and I was left to fend for my own well-being, that the entire kitchen remained a sparkling, pearly spit-spot combination of cleanliness and Comet, with a hint of Palm Olive and bleach. Ladies and Gentlemen, let the records show: I, Heather, cleaned, on my own accord. This was not just for a minute, not just for a day, but I assure you, this was for the entire duration of my time alone in the home. If I wasn't there for the episode in person, I would have scoffed in disbelief at anyone who tried to convince me otherwise. Indeed, mere minutes after their arrival, I recall walking in the room to find it in a complete state of disarray. Every cupboard door was swung open. Drawers were no longer flush with the counters edge. A peanut-buttery aroma filled the air as I found our JIF jar in a new home near the toaster, lid unscrewed. Crumbs of every shape, color, size, and texture were strewn about the cutting board as if Hansel and Gretel one day needed to return to that very spot. Previously non-existent grocery items paraded the counter tops. A frying pan lay dormant upon the stove. A box of Saran plastic wrap was prepped and ready to pounce at any bowl of left-overs that dared not be fresh.

I remember smiling, knowing that it was not I (this ONE time), that made a mess and left it there. Furthermore, this was in fact proof, that there could be other times it may not have been me, as well (it's a bit of a stretch, but evidence is evidence, your honor).

I suppose whether I am ready to grow up or not, I will eventually have no choice. Am I ready to give up my relaxed jeans and Keens in lieu of fancy pants and accessories in the heat of Houston? ...Let's just say I have five days to figure that out. Wish me luck in the decision! It's a doozy!

Peace out,
H