Surprise surprise...
After I wrote yesterday's entry, I pulled my head up and realized that the Boy & I were staring slack-jawed into computers in separate rooms - not the best way to spend our only day of the week together. We decided to take a walk, and on the way ran into a crewmate on the Good Ship Education. She told us that the owner of HMSS Lassitude had just returned home after a hiking trip and was trying to get a hold of us. So we went down the street, hand in hand, to bring home our new car.
Oh, she is not the youngest car in the world, and she smells like gasoline when she runs. She is dusty and rusty and her blinkers only work sporadically. But she is ours. And we can put anything we like on her...for example, we can adorn her with the Star Trek bumper sticker I've had since I was 11. And we can paint her jet black with a silver ankh on the hood! She can be our gothmobile, although we are not nearly goth enough to have a whole vehicle dedicated to our goth needs. (I can imagine the cheers when she first appears on Queen Street... and the jeers when she is parked in front of a sports bar.)
I have to say, as much as I have enjoyed the kindness of the community while we were vehicle-less, it is so nice to be able to hop into the Lassitude and just drive around the country for no good reason. Teaching in town I get so sick of these scenes and become desperate for a change. Maybe next weekend we can get all the way to Halifax, land of comics and cool second-hand record stores. Eeee!
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I'm not sure if I've ever mentioned this before, but in the area where we live there is a composting program. This, along with paper, metal and plastic recycling, is one of many successful initiatives to reduce landfill waste in the province. Our solid waste - our garbage garbage, if you will - has been reduced to one bag every 2-3 weeks or so, which gives you some measure of the program's success. Anyway, we have a compost bucket in our house, and although it is a noble undertaking, it's not always fun to deal with rotting vegetable matter on a daily basis.
We line the bucket with old newspapers, which means that when I am lining the bin (as I am this morning) I often lose track of what I'm doing when I start to read the newspapers. I try to stick to the Business Section, which is less attractive to my wandering eyes, but today I grabbed the Personals section. I decided to see what my options were, should I decide to chuck it all.
Hmm. So many age restrictions. '18-70'?! You're not picky, are you, sir? Many men older than my father; I don't think that would fly with my friends and associates. A lot of 'slim, attractive' - I wouldn't say that I'm slim. Attractive, yes. Slim, no. 'Fun loving' - well, we all love fun when it comes right down to it. I think they mean bubbly. I am not bubbly. 'Vibrant, alive & humourous' - no, these qualities are the natural enemies to the true goth. Which I'm not, but keep going. 'Enjoys bowling'? Next.
I have come to the conclusion that there are no single men looking for me in Nova Scotia.
My ad:
Save me from this mediocrity!!MWF, 25, 5'5" with longish dyed black hair and Snow White complexion seeks wickedly smart androgynous Ziggy Stardust/Snape type for unusual dancing and even more unusual conversation. Must have own PVC clothing; I will lend makeup.
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Afternoon:
Church was oddly pleasing this morning. It had been decided a month ago that this day would be Choir Appreciation Sunday, and three things were done: we were treated to a lunch after the service, the congregation sang a song of thanks with all our names in it, and one of the members made a presentation to myself and the other guy who's graduating in a month (an inscribed hymnbook). It felt kind of like all the surprise wedding showers I experienced two years ago - I was pleased and embarrassed and a little guilty for getting all this attention. I've only sung in the choir for 14 months or so; there's a soprano who's been doing this for fifty years. And it's not like my alto is going to stop the world, either: I have, strictly speaking, a shower voice. I suppose we all suffer from the Impostor Complex once in awhile.
Nevertheless, I'm really pleased about the hymnbook. It just came out a few years ago, and I think it strikes just the right note between ponderous old tradition and happy-clappy folksongs from the 70's. Bearing in mind that most of you will have no idea what I'm talking about, you'll just have to trust that this is a good thing.
I'll put it next to the little old black one Palaver bought me.
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3 years ago today: They make me look like a mermaid. My mom was in raptures.
