God bless Freecycle.

You can get rid of excess crap via the interwebs, and then get more excess crap from those same interwebs! It’s a win-win situation!

Anyway, last week I managed to score an overlocker from a very generous Little Old Lady who wasn’t using it. ‘Awesome!’ I thought to myself, ‘now I can do all that professional-looking sewing stuff that I always wanted to do!’ My head was filled with sunshine and rainbows and handmade garments and domesticity.

So I bundled the machine into my not-so-feminine-and-domesticated Falcon Ute, hauled it inside and proudly sat it on my sewing table. It had been sitting there for a week before it occurred to me that I needed to get thread for the thing. At the earliest possible opportunity I visited my local lincraft, and grabbed four spools of the easiest-to-reach white overlocker thread.

I decided at about 6pm that tonight was THE NIGHT, my shining moment of sewing wonderment.

Thus, I present to you my latest masterwork: HOW TO FAIL AT OVERLOCKERS IN THREE EASY HOURS.

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Enter the Glorious Sewing Sanctuary, pull out the user manual while praising the Little Old Lady for her generosity.

Load up spool #1 and pull end of thread free.

Realise that is it generally a good idea to read up on overlocker threads BEFORE you go and grab, in your infinite wisdom, the easiest thread to reach. WOOLY STRETCH NYLON THREAD is, in fact,  made of about a hundred itty-bitty little microscopic nylon filaments wound together. Loosely. Unless you pull it taut. Which, unless you happen to have been born with three hands, is nigh on impossible to maintain.

Juggle thread and manual while attempting to work out pictoral instructions because the text is basically gibberish (WTF is a ‘lower looper’ anyway??)

Spend 20 minutes attempting to thread three hundred micro nylon filaments determined to escape from their bindings through a small hole. Discover that the pair of tweezers in the accessories canister that you originally thought the Little Old Lady had included by mistake, are actually not only supposed to be there, but very, very handy. Cheer when thread finally goes through the small hole.

Look at manual. Spend 10 minutes trying to locate second small hole. Discover second small hole in the deepest recesses of the under-overlocker area. Facepalm.

Spend 30 minutes attempting to thread five hundred disobedient nylon filaments into second small hole using tweezers that don’t quite reach into the deepest recesses of the under-overlocker area. Utter some curse words.

Get frustrated and slam fist down on machine. Discover that the entire side panel of the thing actually opens out, enabling access to the second small hole. Facepalm repeatedly.

Triumphantly finish threading spool #1. Realise that overlockers generally have four separate spools. Sigh in resignation and move onto spool #2.

Cringe at the discovery of yet another small hole. Spend 10 minutes attempting to thread one thousand micro nylon filaments through hole the size of an amoeba using tweezers.Consider that the Little Old Lady probably didn’t use the damn machine because she couldn’t thread it.

Discover that sucking on the end of the so-called ‘thread’ causes the three thousand micro nylon filaments to stick together and resemble something a lot closer to something that you sew with. Fistpump air.

Finish spool #3 with no issues. Puff out chest in pride. Start on final spool while inwardly smirking that you are more talented than the Little Old Lady who obviously had no idea what she was doing.

Get thread from spool #4 tangled with thread from spool #3. Spend 15 minutes untangling ten thousand mirco nylon filaments from each other. Bite lower lip to keep from uttering more curse words.

Spend another 15 minutes attempting to get overly salivated, flaccid and sticky thread through eye of needle. Direct bad karma toward the manufacturers of overlocker needles for making the eyes of their products far too small.

Breathe sigh of relief as spool #4 is finally completed.

Realise that you missed an important part of spool #3 due to overconfidence. Slam head on desk when it becomes apparent that this involves un-threading all of spool #3 and re-threading it through the TWO small holes that you missed.

Spend 30 minutes rectifying the error while promising to the karma Gods that you will never gloat at Little Old Ladies ever again.

Find bit of scrap fabric to test sew on. Sew successfully for approximately 10 centimetres. Continue on for a further 10 centimetres before noticing that the thread pattern appears to be doing something weird. Spend 10 minutes staring blankly at the Cursed Overlocking Machine of Death before discovering that you threaded the first part of spool #2 backwards, causing the thread to break into fifteen million individual micro nylon filaments.

Facepalm repeatedly, slam head on desk and utter a string of creative expletives that would make a sailor blush.

Re-thread spool #2 while cursing that Goddamned Little Old Witch to the Seventh Layer of Hell for All of Eternity.

Finish the threading process. Escape the Sewing Prison at a run and don’t look back. Fail to care whether the Cursed Overlocking Machine of Death is still turned on or not. Down a glass of wine.

This has been the last week of classes at work and all of my students have been rushing to get all of their assessment tasks in on time (i.e. COB yesterday. The exact time of COB is apparently open to interpretation…4pm, 4:30pm…9:30pm…midnight GMT…as long as it’s still Wednesday 24th right??)

I can’t actually remember what happened on Monday so I am assuming it was an ok day, no falling over chairs or through desks or the usual acts of brain-friedness that come with week-before-assessment-week teacher tiredness.

Tuesday I took on 2 extra relief classes, conveniently forgetting in my desperation for extra money that I had a professional development session straight after the last class until 7pm. I *think* it was on assessment (can’t remember, was incapable of absorbing any information at this stage)…I KNOW they provided free food. Only because I managed to drop a muffin topped with whipped cream and attempted to catch it, thereby getting whipped cream all over my pants and incurring the dreaded ‘pity smile’ of the visiting teachers due to my extreme lack of hand-eye co-ordination.

At 7pm, in a mental state best described as slightly above vegetative, I arrived at my faithful little (slightly dusty) car to discover that some little darling had decided it needed decorating, and therefore drawn giant phallic objects all over it in the dust with their finger.

I dragged my sorry ass into work Wednesday, grumbling about my newly decorated car much to the amusement of my workmates, to discover that not only had I forgotten my lunch but didn’t have any cash to buy any. (This is important to note for later on)
I spent my spare time during the day finishing off a needle-felted design on a t-shirt, which I was keen to wear to dinner that night, because I had told a friend about it and was keen to show it off. Took me ages but the My Little Pony design was actually pretty cool, if I do say so myself. I had to stay back at work later than usual to supervise the stragglers rushing to get their work in before Wednesday actually turned into Thursday, so had about 45 mins to get home, iron new outfit, put on newly-felted super awesome t-shirt and rush off to dinner.

Throw on change of clothes, discover that newly-felted super awesome t-shirt is a size too small. Have a CBF moment and leave the top on anyway.

I get into my car, turn on the ignition and notice that I have approximately just above zero litres of petrol in the tank. No problem, I live next to a service station. Rifle through handbag.

Discover that my wallet is sitting, where I pulled it out earlier that day to check for cash, on my desk at work.

Drive to Monash constantly praying that I get there without breaking down. Arrive in one piece. Thank every deity in existence.

Get offered a drink, drink it down to alleviate built up stress of the last two days…goes straight to my head due to not having had any lunch. Spill red wine all over my newly felted super awesome t-shirt, in front of a bunch of very smart and classy people, 60% of whom were male.

Drive back home with my metaphorical tail between my legs, praying that I get there without breaking down. Arrive in one piece. Thank every deity in existence. Realise that I don’t have enough petrol to get to work in the morning. Decide that breaking down on Adelaide Ave and have one third of the peak hour traffic gawking at me and my Penis Car is not a feasible option.  Look up bike path route from Curtin to Narrabundah.

Thursday, I wake up late due to sleep deprivation. Have coffee, skip breakfast (no time). Pull bike out of shed. Discover flat tyre. Facepalm repeatedly.

So…

What does one do when one has no petrol, no wallet, and no bicycle?

If one has rocks in one’s head like me, one walks to work. 10km. I got to Mugga Way before it occurred to me that I probably should have called someone for a lift.

Good Lord…it’s only Thursday.

Step 2.  Begin to mix eggs, cheese and milk together for scrambled eggs.

Step 3.  Add some feta cheese, as the packet says ‘best before 24th june 2009′.

Step 4.  Add some taco seasoning to make an otherwise boring serve of scrambled eggs more interesting.  Sniff, then add more.

Step 5. Remember that there is 1kg of frozen corn kernels sitting in the freezer.  Drag these out.  Do not defrost.

Step 6.  Add three times as much corn as you intended to due to the fact that the bag is heavy and completely full.

Step 7.  Put some bread in the toaster.

Step 8.  Cook the corn/egg/taco mix, frantically praying that the extra water from the frozen corn will evaoprate before the egg gets soggy beyond repair.

Step 9.  Allow toast to go cold while waiting for the above to happen.

Step 10.  Arrange toast and egg/corn/taco seasoning conglomeration onto a plate.  Serve with coffee.

Some guy sitting in the driver’s seat of an old Peugeot hatchback, singing and playing a ukelele.

Yeah…how about NO?  Is NO good for you?  NO is good for me.

Am I the only one totally put off by Facebook’s stupid ‘personalised’ advertising?

Oh. My. God.

Honestly…I got no words for this one.  Seriously, WTF??

Ode on the Mammoth Cheese
Weighing over 7,000 pounds

We have seen thee, queen of cheese,
Lying quietly at your ease,
Gently fanned by evening breeze
Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you’ll go
To the great Provincial show,
To be admired by many a beau
In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees,
Or as the leaves upon the trees
It did require to make thee please,
And stand unrivalled, queen of cheese.

May you not receive a scar as
We have heard that Mr. Harris
Intends to send you off as far as
The great world’s show at Paris.

Of the youth beware of these,
For some of them might rudely squeeze
And bite your cheek, then songs or glees
We could not sing, oh! queen of cheese.

We’rt thou suspended from balloon,
You’d cast a shade even at noon,
Folks would think it was the moon
About to fall and crush them soon.

…as you do.

From this website.