There I go again, being pishy without counting my blessings. I forgot to mention yesterday that I was offered a part time job at one of my favourite retail stores, the one that starts with an "L" and ends with a "ane Bryant." You may think taking a job as a shopgirl is beneath my dignity as a holder of two degrees. Well, this girl would like to eat next month, not to mention divest herself of the extremely generous discount offered employees.
I have also decided to re-apply at Colonial Williamsburg for next summer's re-enactment fun. I was thisclose to getting a job there last year, but they wanted me to start on March 21st which was (as I'm sure you all remembered) the day of my grand re-entry into the US and subsequent ticker-tape parade. Hopefully they'll be dazzled by the fact I have only added to my knowledge of colonial times in the intervening year and offer me a job.
Am also getting bad cramps, which I hope means the womanly time will start tomorrow, meaning that the brunt of the agonizing pain/heart palpitations/hand shaking/double vision (oh yes, it realy is that bad) will be Thursday and can be shunted aside by sweet, sweet generic allergy medicine (which doesn't cure allergies so much as knock you unconscious) instead of arriving Friday and causing a wee distraction. I have countered the pain slightly by eating cassoulet today, which is a hearty French stew/casserole that includes (yes, Virginia) sausage and Duck. Well, we all knew I was a bad vegetarian. But the cassoulet had the happy effects of dousing the growling Beast lodged in my right hip and also causing fond remembrances of Paris to swirl through my head.
I apologise for talking about bodily doings so much; I blame the fact that I have been reading alittlepregnant.com religiously for the last couple days.
Meanwhile, Stephen Colbert has announced his candidacy for president. Meanining that FINALLY there is a candidate who has caused me to do some deep soul searching about my unabating love for Barack Obama. Sure, Hilary Clinton is less sexy than Barack, but Stephen Colbert...is definitely MORE.
Also: update on the roommate situation. Any suggestions for getting your "liberated" male roommates to do the dishes? Both have told me they've "lived with women" before and so they're "used to" helping out, implying they're "doing me (the woman) a favour" instead of acting like "human beings" and picking up a "sponge" once in awhile. Yet when I returned home yesterday, the counter was still liberally strewn with dishes. Not gross, disgusting three-day-old soaking cassoulet dishes, just empty drinking glasses and cereal bowls that need a wash. Maybe I'm just being paranoid that I'm the only one doing the dishes--but oh wait, I am. When Rich did them last week (last week!!!) he only did half of them because they didn't fit in the drying rack (curious, I could make them all fit) Sure, I could nag them about it--but why? I'm leaving tomorrow, and I'm planning on spending tonight hunched over my favourite table at A Taste of Heaven on Clark Street (not the best scones in the world, but pretty close) feverishly getting in some last-minute cramming. And if the dishes are there when I get back on Monday, why, I'll just continue to blithely ignore it.
Because if it doesn't bother them--I'll grit my teeth and not let it bother me.
Now, not replacing the TP in the bathroom...this will be addressed at the next meeting.