I dare you.

Go ahead, interview me, I dare you. I'm unstoppable in an interview. I’m not kidding. My friend Joanna is of the opinion that everyone has random special talents (hers are parallel parking and gift wrapping). Mine is interviewing.

So I interviewed today. The most I did to prepare was choose an outfit. I left my house late and quickly identified the correct route in my head within a minute of getting into my car – not only was I unsure of exactly where I was going but I had no idea in advance how I was going to get there. (there are people that roll this way on the daily but it is unexpected of me) So I drove inappropriately fast, weaved in and out of traffic with a fluidity that only an east coaster could accomplish, exiting at Denny. I parked in Capitol Hill with 5 minutes to spare.

On route I considered interviewing. I paused to consider why I was so at ease. I didn’t prepare. I was late. I rolled in cold. If you asked me to stand in front of a group of people and make a persuasive argument I would feel similarly. Ok, what’s the topic? It is truly under these circumstances that I feel MOST comfortable, most confident. Odd. (or genetically programmed to be my father’s daughter?)

How is an interview any different than a first date? Right? Not that different. Yet physiologically and mentally very different. I've been known on occasion to actually get sick on a first date. I've felt my undeniable charm wither before my very own eyes. Grrr. Isn’t it essentially an interview? Why are interviews and dates so dissimilar?

Performance. You would think that if you felt completely at ease performing under one circumstance that this comfort would translate across the board BUT it does not. Public speaking… no problem, charades… eh.

On several occasions I have stepped onto the dance floor alone in an effort to entice others to join and made a complete ass out of myself – happily and comfortably. Yet, recently (dancing) I felt thoroughly and painfully aware of every movement. A high school friend aptly called this the robot affliction. Fascinating.

My ex-boyfriend of many years frequently sang “my girl likes to potty all the time.” Um. Apparently my digestive response to life stressors was amusing. And upon reflection, it has generated some of the funniest stories in my repertoire. That is if I am in a story telling mood. Fortunately my mental health has improved greatly in ten years such that this is no longer an issue… unless I find myself on a first date. Too much information?

So from this point forward if you ask me, I am not dating, I am interviewing (the other person of course) and I don't dance on the first interview.