This morning we had a medical person come to our house to examine us because we have applied for life insurance. Yes, very grown up and not a pleasant topic at all, but mandatory. So the guy came at 8 AM and he told us beforehand that we could not eat breakfast, which includes the consumption of coffee, until after the exam.

My hands were shaking as the door slammed shut behind him and I poured my first cup. How did I get so addicted to this elixir of death? I am on my second cup now. I usually only drink one cup, okay maybe one and a half, but today I am making up for lost time. Plus, today I have 13 babies coming to my house for a Mommy Group birthday party. Four of our babies were born in the space of one week!

Anyway I was just thinking that if I get this job (if I get it I will take it) I will need a lot more than 2 cups of coffee a day.

Tune in next week to see if I get the job. In the meantime, I have to go Swiffer the entire house to get rid of the 2″ layer of dog and cat hair before the moms and babies show up. I don’t want them to know that we live in filth. (Those of you paying attention will realize that my housekeeper was just here TWO DAYS AGO and in that short space of time the house has a fresh new carpet of pet hair on it.)

Whew…THAT’S over. It went pretty well, from my perspective. Traffic was a breeze so I got there early and my friend who works there let me watch an episode of the show so I would know what I was talking about. The show is actually pretty cute, in a Katherine McPhee sort of way. (Speaking of which, don’t you think that Paris looked like Mandy Moore last night? Eerie.) The meeting with the boss seemed to be successful, although I’m not sure I convinced him that I am as great as I was telling him that I am.

Note: this is a writing job I am up for, and I totally mixed tenses in my last post. Would you hire me?

Second note: in reality television, “writing” is called “story editing” or “story producing” because if you really were a “writer” they would have to “pay you more” and give you “benefits” and you would have to belong to a “union,” namely the “WGA” which is currently trying to get “story editors, story producers, and editors” to be treated as “writers.”

So. During the interview I felt as I had feared I would: a sense of entitlement. As in, of course you should hire me because with my experience this job would be cake. Also I felt extreme greed when the guy mentioned how much the job pays without even asking me what my rate is. Cha-CHING. That more than anything else makes me want the gig. Like I’ve said before, I can be bought.

But at what price? I’d get a weekly rate, the experience of working on a network show (well, not one of the big three, but not cable anyway), proximity to my friends, and a grown-up life. I would have to give up a humongous chunk of time, hours spent sitting in terrible traffic, four months of my child’s life and time with my husband, a few hundred dollars a week to a babysitter, my son’s love to a babysitter, summer, and most likely my sanity. At the end of it all I’d be sitting on a giant pile of cash. Maybe I’d go on and do other jobs that are kinder to my family life. It could be a good thing.

As usual I am getting way ahead of myself. I am supposed to check in next week to get the verdict. It could be one giant anticlimax. Is that even a word? For now I will focus on the 2 parties and 4 houseguests I have in my immediate future. That’s what really matters.

Aren’t you glad you asked?

And for the record, I considered never posting again so I could always have “35 comments” be at the top of my page.

I got that job interview and I have to leave in about 40 minutes to get there on time. I am not very nervous, although I am a bit worried about the traffic, so I’m leaving really early. My housekeeper is here today so she will watch Kyle while I’m gone.

On one hand, when I talked about the job with my friend who recommended me, I feel pretty sure of myself and it’s no big deal. On the other hand, when I imagine myself doing the job, I already miss Kyle and worry about him. I’m sure that’s natural. I hope it won’t show when I meet the prospective boss, who does not have children. I checked.