Day off: No fires.

I work every other Saturday, so I get an alternating Thursday and Monday off. I made a schedule for myself, and followed it diligently.

Sleep in.
Read until 1 p.m. or book is finished.*
Look up double brioche stitch, or something that will make a more interesting brim for a hat.
Set up local bank account.
Eat at No Problemo
Knit and watch TV all night.

The banking research had already been done, and in fact, we had such a positive experience I was looking forward to going back. Unfortunately, our account-signer-upper person rubbed me the wrong way. She referred to New Bedford as a big city, implying that it was scary. When we expressed no preference for who’s name should go first on the checks, Jason handed her our IDs face down, so she could randomly pick. She said, “Well, the man’s name usually goes first.” I turned to Wads with a look of horror, then said to her “I think that makes me want to do the opposite.” She did not hear me, or chose to ignore. Whatever. Wads’ name is first ironically.

Wadsbone and I found No Problemo as we searched out the potential neat places near our apartment. The menu is kind of like Chicago’s Picante – fresh and not too greasy. The fundamental difference, we found out, is that it’s run by white skater boys. And they have no horchata. And they close at 8. It’s good enough to go back to, but I still miss Picante.

I discovered something else exciting tonight. While looking for an elusive brioche stitch, I came across MagKnit’s Malagaiter. This will replace the hat I was about to knit. MagKnits is also responsible for the sweater I knit for Antron.

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THEN, E pointed me to this mittem idea for transit cards.

And E told me she’s wearing the arm warmers I made her last winter. I’m so full of knitting love that I may try to tackle the pattern problem I’m having on the sweater I’m nearly finished with.

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* Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency, by Douglas Adams. Not part of the Hitchhiker series, I can now understand why Adams’ fans are so peculiar. I really enjoyed the novel, but it messes up my sense of humor in a way that makes me unable to hang out with people who think Everybody Loves Raymond is funny, and I pride myself on my ability to cross clique lines unnoticed.