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I got the job.
I am the new celebrity journalist for scene magazine.
One of the best selling young peoples magazine in America.

Though, to be honest, i don't think the interview had much to do with it.
According to Mrs.Evans, or, 'Eliza' as she wants me to call her,
I had a good chance anyway before even taking the interview because i'm British...(?????)..

Eliza is a complete cow by the way.I could tell from the minute i wal'ed in her
office and set eyes on her.

Blonde, almost white hair (obviously bleached), icy blue eyes, pointed eyebrows,
obvious fake tan, botox, the works.

She must have been at least 45.

'Hello! You must be Ella!' She smiled toothily, holding out her hand as i walked in.
'Nice to meet you Mrs.Evans' I said, shaking it.
'Please, call me Eliza.' She said, the freakishly wide grin still on her face.

Then she did something really wierd- she started circling me.
Like vultures circling a dead animal carcuss.

She was stroking her chin and mumbling something uninterperatable to herself, with the occasional
nod of her head.

'Um ....so' I said after this had been going on for a while 'Do you need me to answer some questions?'

'Oh right! Questions, yes, yes of course.' She said sitting down.

'So what...experience do you have?'
I blabbered on for a bit and showed her some documents enclosed in my suitcase.

'OK that's great' She yawned. 'Well then good news Ellie-'
'-Ella'
'You've got the job'
'Really?'

Wow , i mean i expected there to be a lot more questions.

'Yes. All the other interviewees were a ...less than lovely sight for the eye, if you know what i mean.' She winked.

So basically she was hiring me because i wasn't ugly.

I could feel flattered i guess.
But then i feel kinda dissapointed. If i wanted to get a job based on my looks, i would attempt
modelling or something.

But apparantly , according to Eliza, i had 'the look'.

So who cares if you can't string to words together, as long as you have 'the look' eh?
Terrible.
I'm usually against this kind of thing. But i was so desperate, i was willing to let it pass.
Maybe she hired me because she thought my experience was very good?
Possible.

She then went on to ask me where i got my shoes from and how i should start
using some dove self tanning to 'really warm up' my 'pale legs'.

I rather like my paleness.
I get complimented on it even.
People say how i have skin like moonlight.
I don't think i'd look right with fake tan.

After asking me whether or not summer colours suit her complexion, and then going
on to bitch about the receptionist, she finally set me free, and i left with a feeling of accomplishment.

She may be a shallow hag, but hey, at least i'm employed.
I can actually STAY in Vegas.

'You got the job didn't you?' Said Jon .
'Sure did..you guys are still here.?' I asked.
'Yeah. I think she's forgotten about us.' Said Brendon.
'We must have been sat here for like an hour now man.' Said Spencer.
'Too hot to move though.' Sighed Brendon.

'Oh, i'll go and get her for you.' I said, returning into her office.
'Yes Elsa?'
'Ella. Um Just wanted to let you know that Panic! At The Disco are waiting outside.'
'Oh lovely, send them in.They are absolutely gorgeous boys, aren;t they?' She said.

Ew: 45 , at least.

'Um yes, very' i said, thinking it best to agree with her.
'My favourites the lead singer.How about you?' She asked.
'Oh um, i'm not sure.'
'Oh Ella, journalists are NEVER unsure.'
'Um , OK then....Ryan.' I said.
'Lovely.You may leave' she said with a flick of her wrist.

That was wierd i thought , as i closed the door.

Something about Eliza Evans definately gives me the creeps.