Shmeg-kicking!

As I write this, there is bright blue sky outside the window, but big, fat flakes of snow are mysteriously floating around in the air. Interesting.

One of the most satisfying things about the winter months, particularly the later winter months when everything is all dirty and slushy is kicking off that frozen snow/mud/ice buildup that accumulates behind your tires on the running boards. I think shmeg is the appropriate word to use here. I walked out of the bank yesterday after depositing my meagre check and noticed that the old mercury sable had some pretty serious shmeg issues. I kicked at it and watched with an immense feeling of gratification as it fell to the snowy parking lot and broke apart. I drove off feeling much better about myself.

I also went to mass last night, as I missed Ash Wednesday services. Father Mower immediately capitalized on the guilt factor associated with my non-ashy forehead this week by announcing before mass that the three Ash Wednesday services were very well attended, indeed. For the Lenten season, the church has been cleared out of anything even remotely suggesting a festive mood. The overall effect is dark wood, dimly lit chandeliers (although we might just be trying to save on the energy bill), and a pretty severe swath of purple cloth behind every statue. Three shades of purple behind the crucifix. Needless to say, I was feeling quite somber as mass began.

And then I looked at the music. It was completely in Latin; dark, monotonous medieval chants our music director dug out of some crumbling European abbey. Music such as our normally happy little parish has never seen before. What with all the...darkness in the church and everyone singing in a dead language, I had to sporadically reassure myself that this was indeed the year 2005. Well done on creating the mood, music guy. I was feeling the pain of the forty days and nights in the desert. Or maybe it was the pain of four days without cheese. Thank god I didn't give up Cherry Coke!

And lastly, I'll leave you kids with a conundrum. When one's ex-boyfriend (with whom one is still friends but has not been romantically involved with for quite some time) asks one over to his house on 'Monday night' (also Valentine's Day) for dinner, champagne, hot tub and possibly a little PBR, what is one expected to think?

Talk amongst yourselves and get back to me, because I'm at a loss here.