june 19, 2002.

This has been a really exciting couple of days. Yesterday I got a call from the school in Sodom Heights, asking if I was available for a phone interview today. The man I spoke to was tremendously friendly and encouraging, telling me that of 30 applicants, I was the only one they were excited about. The interview with the principal and the department head was this afternoon, and not to be hubristic or anything, I think I nailed it. I didn't prepare any answers, just responded thoughtfully to their questions and tried to be completely honest. I bungled the Rohinton Mistry question, as I know next to nothing about him, but I managed to return serve with the postmodernism question. I got the sense that they really liked me. I'm faxing references to them tomorrow, and since I never lie about my references, I think I'm about to get a job offer.

Wow. A job offer. In Sodom Heights, my old board. Granted, we'd have to live in the West End of Toronto to make it work, but as long as we can get a place on the TTC grid and the Boy can commute to his classes in two jumps, everything will be peachier than keen. And to think; two weeks ago I was getting ready to pitch it all in and join the Bedouin traders on my back lawn. Either that or escape into a planned-accidental pregnancy.

No, I kid. I don't solve problems with my ovaries. Please resume normal breathing.

My parents, by the way, have found a way to be quite cheesed off at my good news: they worry that the commute will eventually kill me. Our recent conversations have been marked by a noted lack of congratulations, which is not terrifically good for the old ego. Last night was the worst, though - when my dad found out that I had an interview today, he became inarticulate with anger. When I refused to fight with him, his conversation spiralled down to grunts.

I would be remiss, however, if I failed to point out that he called me a half-hour later and congratulated me, then apologized for his surly behaviour earlier. I was mightily impressed - I can't recall another time that he's acted this mature about conflict. Good on him.

"I dreamed that Corey and I were married and we owned a horse ranch? And Corey kept walking around with his shirt off."

- lisa's slumber party confession

My latest embarrassment: yesterday I got an email from James (the keyboards & loops guy in Bella Morte) complimenting me on my site. My site, that is, in which every reference to Bella Morte includes at least one line about the cuteness of Andy. My site, which refers to the keyboards & loops player only once, and that one reference compares him obliquely to St. Pete.

Guh. I blush with shame. Still, it's kind of cool that he likes my site.

Mustang Scotty is beginning to ail expensively. We took her in for a check up on Monday only to hear about holes in the body (John Doe advises us to refer to them as "speed holes"), an unbolted steering column and a problem with the signal switch. Fortunately, some of those problems can be fixed with second-hand parts & an uncle who owns a body shop; the rest cost us 250 bucks. It was kind of depressing until yesterday, when the Boy received a retroactive pay raise. The back pay adds up to - ta da! - 250 clams.

One step forward, one step back, one step sideways, cha cha cha. Add in a dip and a kick and you've got a party on your hands.

One hour later.

Oh. My. God. I got the job. We're going to the West End!!!

Thanks to everyone for the luck: you all must have very powerful finger-crossing abilities.