I had a metric buttload of “important” stuff to do today, ranging from getting a new cargo rack for my bike to finishing up some music reviews for this one magazine I’m writing for. Instead I opted to obsess over painting the trim in the bathroom. It took like 800 coats of paint to get the mutherfucka covered! Stupid obstinate doorway! It hadn’t been touched since it was installed in the 30’s– it’s that depression-era shitty pine stained badly to look like something swankier. It was bubbling and cracking and beading up in places. To do a “real” job on the door would have taken tons of chemicals (my former occupation as a stripper would have come in handy. PAINT stripper, that is. Hehehe I never get sick of that dumb joke), and frankly, the wood quality was so shitty to begin with it wasn’t worth the effort. Now we have an orangey yellow bathroom with yellowish orange trim. I think it looks AWESOME! I love how I can be totally non-productive and procrastinate and still get more shit accomplished than I ever did in a day at my craptacular job.

Plus, I re-read the unemployment insurance book for the 100th time and found that if I qualify to receive benefits, I also get some kind of health care plan for just $2.50 a week. Nobody has contested my getting unemployment yet, I have my fingers crossed! The job situation doesn’t look good. Nothing from the 18 jobs I applied to at Tufts, nor the 25 or so jobs I applied to at MIT. I applied for a bunch of once-off or 2-3 hour a week yardwork and odd-jobs jobs posted by random people on Craig’s List, but alas, I am not qualified to help old ladies take out their trash and weed their gardens, either.

There was this one job that looked heavenly! It was an oddjob person for an apartment complex. The main requirements were “vacuuming, moping, dusting, replacing light bulbs, window cleaning, trash removal, light mowing, weeding, and sweeping.” Dude, I so need to get paid for “moping”! I had an entire cover letter written about how I have been an expert moper since childhood, and how I can bring along my favorite Smiths and Joy Division CDs in order to mope better on the job. Luckily I came to my senses and didn’t send it. Somehow, highlighting and waxing poetic about a potential employer’s poor spelling skills probably isn’t the way to score a paycheck. Oh well, back to the drawing board!

This evening I went to another renaissance ensemble (kind of a splinter group from the one I usually am in), and it was really awesome! I walked in late, and they were singing “Fair Phyllis I Saw”– I remember that song from high school! I LOVE that song! It’s the pervy one where they fall a-kissing up and down. I guess madrigals were like the Renaissance porn. All the other songs are cool too– mostly about how love brings pain and death is the only thing providing respite. Oh yeah, there are a couple about dying swans, too. I love Italian. That’s the language of agonizing over lost love. The English and French could never match the angst in Italian madrigals. Morrissey should get off his “English Heart” kick and take lessons from the Real Masters.

Then, Rae cooked a scrumptious dead animal feast and we ate and watched cartoons (Invader Zim, Simpsons, King of the Hill). I brought salad from my garden. Yay garden! Yay seared flesh!