Boring Load Follows

Without further ado - without any ado - here is the list of things I'm going to do tomorrow. Because I have run out of anything even mildly interesting to write about. I really need to get a job before I go mad from boredom and/or spending too much time in my own company but in the meantime this is what you get.

Tomorrow's To Do List

- Call recruitment agencies with a view to setting up interviews later in the week. One of the agencies will say, "Oh, come in this afternoon!" and, because I don't want to seem unmotivated, I will say "Great! Sure! Love to!" and then really quickly write my CV from scratch because the only copy I have was on my old work computer, do a half-assed job of ironing one of the ten kabillion shirts I thought it would be a great idea to bring to Chch, throw some makeup in the general direction of my face and try to remember how to answer psychometric testing questions in a non-psychopathic way.

- Do immense pile of ironing. I only realised this morning, taking in the second load of washing (for about a week before I moved I thought 'why bother washing that, I can wash it at home' - nice), that I really enjoyed living in a house without an iron. It was an ironclad (ha ha) excuse to be consistently wrinkled. I don't think my life was any worse for the wrinkles, but now that I have iron access it seems lazy to be all creased - although if you think about it some of history's greatest figures were creased. Alexander the Great. Caesar. Jesus.

- Spend an entertaining half hour trying to make my sheet into a toga.

- Find polite way to decline presumptuous acquaintance's offer of sexual relations. This offer came in yesterday and, for the life of me, I am having trouble finding a nice way to rephrase "NO." ('Nice' is loosely defined as 'any answer which doesn't include the word 'fuck.'') I am too polite, that's what my problem is. Strangely this is never what the psychometric tests say.

- Call doctor's and demand appointment - they were meant to call me today but this hasn't happened. They always do this - take my money, take my blood, take my emotions, and then leave me sitting by the phone. Perhaps medical receptionists are trained by uncommunicative boyfriends. Perhaps they are just disorganised.

- Wander down to camera shop and ask about digital cameras. Say "hmm" a lot and nod thoughtfully, then buy the prettiest one. Take lots of pointless photos ('look how long my toenails are!') and upload them to this blog, then become disappointed when no-one comments on my immense attractiveness. However, this is only because everyone knows I'm not good at politely refusing offers of sexual relations and they don't want me to hurt their feelings.

That's about it, really. Maybe get some writing done (yes get some writing done, I am being hideously slack and this blog is just one more procrastination tool) and eat something. Start a webcomic. Start a band. Start a relationship. Start a revolution. Ick.

Have decided that I'm coming up (so you better get the party started) to Wellington in a couple of weeks (or thereabouts). Think of Wellington as the parent with limited visitation rights. You know, the one that lets you have things Christchurch doesn't (alcohol and one night stands), and tells you stories you never really needed to know. GOD I miss Wellington!

Side note: why is it that every superhero, fantasy or war movie I watch I find the good guy kind of annoying and the bad guy kind of cute? Either these things need to be cast better or I need to pay more attention to the psychometric test results.