  Metal on metal is the sound of the brakes in the car. This cannot be a good thing, as Kurt pointed out. He is in fear of running the car into the ground, and he's got a point, on a busy night, 400 clicks on the car is well within credibility. So, later today, he's going to call garages and suchlike, and get the brake pads replaced, and, meanwhile, we'll have to hope real hard that the mechanics will let us drive out of the garage - the car is much overdue for an inspection, and we are not entirely sure we can front the cash to do things like fix the windshield.
Bloody hell, if it isn't Life that will bum you out, it will be the frigging price of maintainence that will get you. Ever wonder why essential things like medicine or glasses cost money? Never made a terrific amount of sense to me. My mom tells me stories of the price of meds my grandfather had to take in between chemotherapy sessions, and the price of each zarking pill that was necessary to him having a chance of survivial was pure, unadulterated insanity.
Then again, we do live in a place where there are directions for the correct usage of bacon bits. Kurt mentioned tonight that he just couldn't picture spending the rest of his(our) life(lives) in North America. Uhmm. This doesn't surprise me, coming from Kurt, however, since I like Canada, haven't been anywhere else but Canada, i had no intentions of moving out of Canada. I mean, i had been toying with moving to teach English in Korea, as my brother is there, and I'm sure he'd be fun to hang with in his native country, and it'd be an efficient way of paying student loans, but never once did i consider moving out of Canada, and becoming a missionary, as Kurt suspects we're going to.
Besides, I'd make one crappy missionary. And, the thought of being a missionary freaks me out, waaaay out. I'm not going to get in on all my beliefs, etc, nor am I going to get all pontificaty on Christian culture, but I will say, a lot of the time, the Christian culture seems to be heavy on the Holier-than-thou bullshit that is, strictly speaking, not about Jesus. The man hung out with the dregs of society, he upbraided his followers frequently for looking down their snoot at other people. I had a conversation with poo a while back, on the subject of maintaining a good reputation. When it comes down to it, and depression isn't a factor, i don't give a pair of stinking dingoes kidneys what other people think of me, my credibility, my hair, or me picking my nose in public. And what's more, I do not think anyone should have to. Perhaps I'm wrong, but I think this pretty much renders me ineffective as a missionary. And, to really drive this nail home, and to beat that dead horse, I really do think the only person I'm accountable to is God. That's it. I am not going to try and be this Shining Paragon Of Virtue, because it's a lie, I'm going to fuck up somewhere, and blow my cover, and I think it would make anything I said about my beliefs hollow, twisted, and otherwise not good.
Right, so enough on that. I'm coming close to deleting everything I said above, because I keep thinking I'm going to bother someone. Or, more likely, that I was too blabbermouthy about personal stuff that I've been, for years, very quiet about, and that will scare somebody. Big dicotomy going there. I think I mentioned it before - one of my major struggles in life was talking about stuff.
When I did start talking, a lot of people got uncomfortable. A few stopped being friends. I sort of became belligrent and bitter about that, so I became open and honest about things more. (And, I hope that my honesty is a good thing, and not something based on performance and silliness) Occasionally, my openess, in particular about stuff i've been through, scares me, and I feel the need to distance myself from others. So, I'll end up not talking to someone for months because I had expoused my motivations for doing or not doing a particular thing. I guess it's sort of like embarassment. I'm afraid I'm too intense, too MUCH, or that the friend will think I'm an attention whore. So, I'll hide. I'm working on it, ok? Wow. Now I want to delete the last paragraph because i sound like an arse.
I've not called the lady with the fifteen year old dog yet. I want to run it by kurt again, and see if we should, i dunno, ask our landlord's permission. I don't want to do that, because, hey, the guy might say no. As they said when I was the seller of TV dishes "It is better to beg forgiveness than ask permission. " But, it's the correct thing to do, call our landlord, ask permission to get a big dog when we already have three pets, and the rent's overdue.
I'm SURE he'll say yes. If I had a lot of money, I would make an animal sancturary, and take care of animals that people didn't want, or couldn't have. None would be put down, even the mean ones. The mean ones would get things to chew on, and be mean to, and they would have no one bother them, or try to hurt them. There would be places for feral cats to be feral, places where old dogs wouldn't have to even try to learn new tricks, and every animal would have enough food, company, and a warm place to sleep. I would have a vet on staff, and people coming by who wanted to help. I'd shovel the dog shit, and rub the old ones' bellies. There would be a place to bury them, and they'd have little markers that said they were loved, and taken care of, and not sunk down to the bottom of the world's utter shittiness. Dogs, cats, horses, stupid birds, any animal that had no home could have one. And no thirty day life span, no trip to the animal-baking room. Why don't I care about people this much? 
