Actually, there’s not likely to be another tomorrow like today for a while. One whole day of pure, unadulterated selfishness. My beautiful Bald Man is working until 1am tomorrow morning (poor habibi, I think I’ll offer him a chauffer ride home if I’m still awake then) and so I’ve got the whole day to myself. So. I’m running about the house in an old green skirt which is disintegrating around the hem, and having fresh-made juice (apple and carrot, oh god, she’s a health nut as well as a nerd!) and just gonna slob and play and knit all day. I might go have a great fat bubble bath and read until I wrinkle up beyond recognition. Oh yeah. There’s something really special about lounging about in a bubble bath with a glass of wine and a book, knowing that most of the poor bastards in the country are at work. Laziness is much more fun when you put it into perspective like that. Mmm mmm. If I could work out how to net-surf while in the tub without electrocuting myself and killing my computer, I think I’d just be delirious with joy. You could just about get a Nobel prize for coming up with an invention like that.

So. The green shirt, she is finito!

Embarrassment and Humiliation. I just love it. I thrive on it. There must be a streak of the masochist in me. (Ooh! See The Secretary).

I sent my resume off to several temping agencies yesterday. There was a nice polite letter with my resume attached, photo and all. Off they go through cyberspace, and I print a final one to fax to someone who hasn’t heard of email yet (scary, I know). I notice that there is a monumentally idiotic error in it. I’d left part of the example template which I had taken straight from Word and overtyped, except I hadn’t overtyped this bit, and so where I explain what I did as a receptionist several years ago, I claim that I "Developed an Excellence in Training Course".

Doh!

So I have three options. First option, I can pretend it’s not there, and hope they don’t see it, which I’m positive they will, and look like a complete IDIOT.

Second option, I can just email them another copy of my resume, changed to reflect ordinary receptionist skills rather than some crappy bullshit, and look like a complete IDIOT.

Third option, I can send them all another email, and simply tell them that I’m a complete IDIOT.

I went for option three.

I emailed ‘em all, telling them that I’d missed taking out that bit of the template, and that I’ve never developed any sort of course in my life. "I’m hoping", I said in my email, "that this will be viewed as evidence of my superior (if slightly belated) proof-reading skills" and pretty much took the piss out of myself. Hey, ya gotta laugh.

Out of the four, I didn’t hear back from two. One guy wrote back to me, laughingly saying that he wouldn’t put me in the proof reading role he had available for me after all (ha, yeah good one mate, now offer me a job, all right?). And one woman rang me back within about twenty minutes and offered me an interview. Whoo hoo!

I finished my green shirt. Double whoo hoo! (That'll be the joy bit). I attached the second sleeve during the last hour of choir rehearsal last night. Sigh! I love finishing things. Mind you, with the gauge the way it was, it should have been finished months ago, but I just keep getting startitis. I’ll get someone to take a pic. For some reason, the timed pics on my camera suck, but it looks okay when someone else takes it.

I really like the way the collar turned out (which you can see in yesterday's entry anyway), sort of assymetrical and modern. I won’t lie; that was an accident. Which just goes to show that accidents, like getting lost and making silly mistakes, are completely under-rated.

First of all, take one luscious skein of Italian merino, 2 ply. Envision your gorgeous future shawl. Ooh yeah. Let’s do it.

Follow the instructions for the dye and cook it in your microwave. Steamy hot wool smells really odd. The Bald Man came home one day after I’d been cooking handspun merino, and nearly died when he walked in the the door and took his first breath. Imagine the smell of dog. Now imagine the smell of sheep. Okay, try thinking about the smell of wet dog. Wet sheep really ain’t that different. And hot, wet sheep… well let’s say only the Kiwis are getting excited over that one, but the Bald Man on the other hand was singularly unimpressed. Hehehe…

After you’ve cooked it, and it’s cooled down, baptise it. Thoroughly. I name thee… black wool? Huh? Believe me, your slight surprise at black wool when I was aiming for green, is nothing compared to the rising panic I was feeling. Noooo! How will I survive??? Wah! Oh, hang on a minute, it’s going to be a lot darker when wet. Oh yeah, that’s right. Just like hair. (remembers hair-dying experiences from younger days with fondness… and thanks the gods it was always someone else’s head. Mwahahaha!)

Then, get the skein in between two towels and stomp on it. This is my self-designed agitation-free, felting-risk-free spin dry cycle. Cute Italian boots and swishy skirt optional. Sings *la cucera-CHA! La cucera-CHA! LALALALALALA…* and clatters imaginary spanish clickety things whose proper name escapes me…

Finally, shake it a bit to separate all the wet strands, hold at arms length and proudly photograph. Whee! Actually, it's not quite as dark as the photo makes it out to be, it's a nice deep bottle green which should be a bit paler when dry. Yuuuuum.

Inner Monologue Transcript, as I stand admiring my handiwork:
Negative Monica (NM), nastily: Ya silly bitch! It’s patchy! You didn’t follow the instructions properly, did you?
Positive Monica (PM), in best "I've got this totally under control" voice: Hey, if it’s patchy, that’s because I’m an artiste, dumbass, not a frickin’ machine. It’s a cool colour, now just settle.
NM: I knew you should have put the dye in first and then put the wool in, but NO! You had to tip the dye on top…
PM: Yeah well, you weren’t saying anything THEN, were you? Oh, I just looove 20/20 hindsight. Anyway. I’m just going to stick one of those little signs on it saying "This garment is handmade. Any inconsistencies in colour or design are considered part of the unique charm which makes this a one-off fucking masterpiece."
NM, rolling eyes: Right, like anyone believes that…
PM: Are you kidding? You get charged at least an extra ten bucks for that little sign, it’s gotta be good.

So. Next time I’m sitting there with a slight frown on my face, working on deepening my a-la-Alan Rickman forehead crease, staring off into space and completely ignoring any conversation I may have previously been quite actively involved in, you know I’m just smacking the negative bitch down and will be with you very shortly.

Now, I’m off to dinner with Eva and her gorgeous family to gobble a deliciously fattening Portugese feast. Right after I do about a week’s worth of dishes here at home. Yeeah. Housework is so a priority in my heart. A low priority, that is.

Idiotic joke of the day, thanks to Triple J: Where do paw-paws come from? Dog-dog trees.

Today’s card was King of Cups. Like anyone who isn't into tarot gives a flying fart. Heh.