The next morning, I woke up with extra pep in my step. Normally, I am not much of a morning person. Usually, it takes me a good thirty minutes to fully wake up. But today, I have to get a shit load done.
I have to go for my job interview. I sent a brief prayer up to the lord last night that I would nail this interview. Settling in a new town is already stressful enough, but settling in a new town without a job would be even worse.
I absolutely have to nail this interview.
Find a cell phone store and start up a fresh plan and get my different phone number. Not that I actually have anyone around here to talk to, but having a cell for emergencies at least is a good thing. I'm hoping to make some friends soon.
Stock up my fridge and kitchen cabinets with a run to the nearest grocery store. I am a decent cook, but I'm a freaking outstanding baker, not to brag about myself.
When I was little, I used to bake with my grandmother all the time. She taught me all of her little baking secrets and shared some of her carefully guarded secret recipes with me as well.
All of my old friends back home used to practically beg for me to hand over those tight guarded techniques of my grandmother's, but I never cracked.
And I'm glad I didn't.
I would not be okay with all of my now ex friends using my family recipes to create their little gatherings. I'm not bragging about myself, but I will, of course, brag about my grandmother. She knew exactly what to put into her recipes to prepare them unbelievably delicious.
She told me that anyone could bake if they tried and got in the practice, but she also expressed that baking without loving to bake would just make them taste all the same. Furthermore, she declared that if I put passion into my baking, that those I was feeding would cherish what I created even more.
Sounds silly, I know, but I would never tell her that.
She passed away years ago when I was thirteen, and I miss her every time I step foot into a kitchen to bake. I remember her, the little things she used to teach me and reprimanded me on.
She told me if I put just a slight dab of mayo into the baking batter that it would make my cakes and cupcakes extra moist.
Mayo added moisture.
Who knew? My grandmother, apparently.
I did not believe her at first, no I didn't tell that to her face, but inside my head I was laughing, thinking she was just joking, but the look on her face suggested she was nothing but serious.
Later that night, after everyone in the house was asleep, I snuck into the kitchen and did just as she suggested. I mixed my eggs and cake batter together to make a plain chocolate cake, and I added just a "dab" of mayo. It worked. I had made that chocolate cake recipe many times, and it never tasted that fluffy.
After that, every time I baked, I used mayo.
I have not stepped foot in the side of a kitchen and baked it in weeks. Those months before I moved to a new town had been rough on me. I was basically stewing in my misery.
Everywhere I went, people would know about my problems. About the betrayal of both my boyfriend and my best friend.
It had made me not even crave to leave my house. I would rather not face anyone.
It most certainly didn't make me feel like putting any type of love into baking, and therefore, I didn't bake. My grandmother would turn over in her grave if she had seen me months ago. I stopped doing something that I loved doing all because I was so down in the dumps to get myself un stuck.
That changes, though.
I have her recipe card safely put next to the oven once more, and as soon as I can, I will make one of her favorite cakes.
Coffee-Toffee Crunch Cake.
It's been a while since I tasted that yummy goodness, and it was time I created it once more. No better way to celebrate my new life, with a cake made from my grandmother's first recipe.
I stopped thinking about the past and headed into my bathroom to get ready for my first full day in my new town. I picked the appropriate interview outfit. A pair of dark blue jeans and a dark lavender silk shirt, it had sleeves that ruffled up.
For my first day here, it was perfect.
I had my style. I like to dress fancy. It was just how I was. Not only that, but I was the girly girl type, if I'm being honest. I liked my pretty light colors. Purple was my absolute favorite. It didn't matter the shade. Just any color purple would make me happy and always put me in a good mood.
I quickly get dressed before pinning my eyes on my hair through the bathroom mirror. My dark brown hair was a mess, as usual. I had gotten a perm a few months ago, wanting a fresh me start, you know?
I had changed my hair color, from my natural-born color of , and went dark. Dark like how my life was feeling back then, I guess, but also because I had put on a wing in that hair salon that day and found that I looked positively astonishing with dark brown hair.
I had told Joan's my old hair stylists of the revolution I wanted, and it took about twenty minutes for me to convince him that I was one hundred percent certain that I needed that transition.
Once it was all said and done, I didn't regret it one bit. I absolutely loved it. The new me made me happy. I looked different, more mature, but also more alive.
I felt more alive, at least.
My bitch of an ex best friend had seen my post on Facebook showing off my new hair and actually had the tits to comment on how "fantastic" it looked.
I would have said balls, but tits sounded funny to me.
I didn't appreciate her opinion and did not comment back. Instead, I got petty and deleted the comment and about ten minutes later, I deleted my whole Facebook. It seemed that I couldn't even get on social media anymore without the memory of the betrayal.
I didn't want people to see her comment and pity me even more than they already did.
So, poof.
I had no more Facebook, no more Snapchat, no more Instagram. No more anything that tied me to my old life.
I pinned up my curls loosely today, having most my hair in a little ponytail, but left little ringlets of strands flowing down my face.
I was not one to overcoat my face with makeup. If I'm being completely honest with myself, I can't even do make up that great. I tried watching many YouTube videos on how to apply make up.
I tried all the latest trends and still, what I would create was definitely not matching up with what I was seeing on the videos, so I eventually gave up.
Maybe that was one reason my ex went to my best friend. I swear, some women don't even look the same once they put on all that makeup.
Brandon by the way was constantly apperceived of a beautiful face and Carla had consistently made sure never to leave her house without her face done, and I mean completely done with makeup. She would wear everything: base, eyeliner, eye shadow, mascara, and blush. She would even contour her entire face.
Not only that, but she looked like a different woman.
I added one coat of base to hide the redness on my cheeks, that was caused by driving for hours with my window down and left me with being a slight bit wind chapped.
It wasn't too bad, only a meager redness, but I didn't want to go to my new job interview with my face looking like this. I needed to make a good impression. Even though I'm struggling with that, I preferred to look like I got myself together.
I applied a little mascara and skipped the eyeliner and eyeshadow part. My eyes are sometimes sensitive and will cry because of my allergies. I do not want mascara to leave black drip marks running down my face. That would be embarrassing if I wouldn't notice while trying to make sure I landed this job.
I had a nice nest egg from selling my parent's house for more money than I paid for my new one, but the money would dry up soon, and I wanted to have something to fall on once that happened.
I grabbed my blush brush and added a just little bit of light pink blush on the top part of my cheeks and checked myself out in the mirror.
"I look okay. This should definitely be okay for a job interview." I mumbled softly, wanting and trying to hype myself up.
I'm not overly nervous about the job interview part as I know my long years of working for 911 operations will have me at least at the top of the hiring list but also I want to make some friends and nobody wanted to be a friend with the new woman that just moved to town if she looked and dressed like the complete mess that she had been feeling for months.
As soon as I'm finished in the bathroom, I shut off the light and head towards the kitchen. My grandma told me that when I leave a room in the house that I should always turn off the lights. It saves on the electricity bill. My parents never made me do that. We had a good life and didn't really need to save the electricity, but my grandma said just because we could didn't mean that we should.
I'm not really a breakfast eater, I tend to skip breakfast and delay until lunchtime, but today will be a long day, and I'm not certain how long I will have to wait for the interview and how long it will actually take. I still have to go to a phone store and a grocery store afterwards, so it's best to make certain my stomach is full while I run all these errands.
I decided to just make a light breakfast, some toast. My grandma used to make this gelatin called Crawfish Jelly, and it was the bomb and I mean the bomb. I loved it. Everyone she gave a jar to loved it, it was one of her favorite things to give out for Christmas.
I was the only one she told about that recipe too. I keep it locked tight with all her others. Not because I was greedy and didn't want to share my grandma's love around, but because I felt that I still had her with me while I was the only one making her fabulous yummy treats.
I don't really have anything else in my kitchen currently, so I guess it's a good thing that I had picked to just make toast.
Bread, jelly and peanut butter.
That's about all I have right now, but it works fine for this morning. Quick and easy, and I know it won't upset my stomach later. I had my gallbladder taken out a few years back, and I'll just say it's a pain in my ass. McDonald's breakfast? Forget about it. If I eat anything for breakfast at McDonald's, I had to make sure I was around a restroom in five minutes.
Anyway, time to start my day.