THE WHEELS OF INDUSTRY TURN SLOWLY

I suppose that's normal this time of year. It's kind of funny, since I had figured that I'd probably not find work during this season anyway, but I've gotten so much positive feedback that now all of a sudden I want a job and I want it now, please. I want my own flat. I want my own paycheck.

I want shoes.

All right, sort of amusing story. Maybe not amusing. I found it entertaining, though.

I've been conscious of the fact that Matthew is very British, and so I haven't been wearing my normal clothes around him, but generally go with "subdued." So yesterday, I talked to him on the phone about picking up something from him a few hours later, and midway through the conversation realized that I was wearing this zebra-striped coat that he's never seen because I thought it would send him into shock. So I said something about, "Uh, I wasn't really planning on this, so please be prepared for the fact that I'm wearing weird clothes."

Anyway, so we met up, and the first thing he said was, "That's a great jacket! Where did you get it? Have you had it for long? Is it new? That's a great jacket!" or something along those lines. Then I was stuck trying to explain why it is that I wear this jacket all the time, just not around him. I think there's a lesson to be learned in here somewhere.

So I was telling him about how amusing I find it that one can buy "free range eggs" here in the stores. Not "eggs from free-range chickens," but "free range eggs." And when I see this, I have visions of eggs frolicking in green fields under sunny skies.

So he brought up the interesting point that perhaps the chickens were *not* free-range, and just the eggs were. That perhaps there was a little chute in the chicken cages, and when one laid an egg, it would go rolling out to the green pastures while the chicken stayed inside with nowhere to sit. This led to a discussion about whether or not the eggs were considered "free range" if, say, the door to the chicken coop was open and the eggs *could* come and go as they pleased, but just chose not to.

All right, so maybe these things are not funny.

So anyway, I went in this morning to discuss project specs with this company who is *considering* hiring me for contract work. It's very annoying at this point, that everyone I talk to about work "will get back to me" on and on and on. I really do think it's the time of year. It's Christmas-y, and people are just not focused on things like hiring, which is completely understandable. Personally, I'd rather be running around making cookies and shopping and stuff. But still, the idea that I went in to discuss project specs, and they're going to interview someone else for this contract work as well, and they're going to get back to me this afternoon...it's just annoying.

Grr.

Peter was especially annoying. I mean, when I told him that I needed to get up to go to this meeting, he started grumbling about trying to arrange bathroom times in the morning. Finally I said, "Look, Peter, I just need fifteen minutes in the bathroom prior to 8:00. Tell me when would be convenient for you, and I'll do it then." He said, "Well, how about I make sure it's free by quarter to eight, then?" I said all right.

So then he stayed up until 1:00, watching television so loudly that I could actually make out all of the words in my room with the door closed.

This morning, he got up at 6:45 and filled the bathtub. Then he went downstairs and started banging around. At 7:30, I finally wandered downstairs to try to figure out if he was actually going to, you know, get *in* the bathtub at some point, since an empty yet unusable bathroom seems kind of pointless to me.

Around 7:45, he looked at me and said, "I'll just go up and get into the bathroom now, is that what you wanted?" I really, really wanted to say, "No, I was actually hoping that you'd just leave the bathtub full for another three hours or so," but I didn't. So he went upstairs, and I assumed he went into the bathroom, but then I finally heard him actually get in there at about 7:55. I swear, next time I will follow him upstairs and make sure he gets in there.

All right, this sort of story is becoming tiresome.

There's a typo on these ads for Virgin Megastores DVD sales that advertises a sale price on "The Outlaw Josey Walesa." Something about the Solidarity movement at the end of the Civil War, if I'm not mistaken.

I'm so pathetic when it comes to this sort of Jewish Mother instinct. I mean, I don't want kids, although I'm not quite as violent about that since I met Corbin who is, I believe I have mentioned, possibly the Cutest Baby Ever. The only reason I say "possibly" is that, well, Charity was kind of the Cutest Baby Ever, but she's in her twenties now, but I still kind of feel that way. So I guess what I'm saying here is that there's some kind of tie for the Cutest Baby Ever title.

Mind you, not that it is all that difficult to win the contest, since most babies are not, in fact, cute. They're more like little shriveled raisin things with poor motor control and an almost complete lack of social skills.

But I digress.

But it's about this cooking thing. Matthew has to work on Christmas Eve, Christmas, and Boxing Day nights. And he was talking about the fact that you can't actually do any shopping on those days or eat out anywhere (the entire country shuts down, which is actually a good thing I think, since I think everyone should get to have a proper Christmas), and MTV does actually provide Christmas dinner then, but they sort of forget that there's a night shift, so by the time they arrive for work, all of the food is gone.

So all I can think about is how I really want to make some kind of Christmas dinner for him and his coworkers, but then, see, one of the things that shuts down is public transport, so there's no way I could actually deliver this stuff to them on Christmas Night, but then at the same time, it wouldn't be quite the same if I gave it to him, say, two days early and told him to just reheat it or whatever.

But he was saying that he always sort of wishes that he could just sit around and eat and watch rubbish television on Christmas, and so since he does work at MTV and watching rubbish television is exactly what he'd be doing, I just wish I could figure out a way to get him the food part, because, well, cooking is one of the few things that I do quite well, and there is the Jewish Mother instinct to see a problem and want to shove a sandwich at it.

It's sick, really, the things I've been coming up with. I mean, a taxi to and from Gipsy Hill would be difficult to get, and would probably end up costing a good $175 round trip. For that price, I could probably just rent a hotel room up around where he works, but then, would they actually have a kitchen? Or would I have to bring something cold? I mean, I suppose I could just make things cold, but it's not the same as having a nice, hot turkey or roast or whatever. You see? This is the sort of thinking I've been doing FOR DAYS. Maybe even weeks. Totally out of control.

So anyway, last night I made some lemon frosting because, well, I was thinking that shortbread cookies would probably taste yummy with some lemony frosting on them, so I made the frosting last night and figured I'd make some shortbread cookies today and test out the theory. Peter was, of course, intrigued by what I was cooking, and has requested a cookie or two. Sort of weird because I'm used to testing things out myself before subjecting too many others to them. Michael is good for guinea piggery when it comes to this sort of thing, because if something turns out a little strange, he realizes that you're just testing things out. It's very rare that something I make turns out to be a complete waste--usually it's just that they aren't phenomenally exciting. There was this one time when a recipe I was trying to invent for a raspberry cheesecake went awry and I ended up with something that resembled a vat of very hot raspberry yogurt, but we just don't need to talk about that right now.

I don't know why, but for some reason I don't want Peter to know that I can cook.

Anyway, I think I'm going to bag job hunting for today, and go make shortbread cookies because that's what I want to do. And it's Christmas, so I'm allowed.