Tobogganing

Went to Ben Lomond on Thursday with K, M and J. It was SO much fun! We went there to go tobogganing – I'm not quite game enough for skiing. It was M's idea, and she insisted that we all take a day off work to go. That particular part certainly didn't disappoint me – work is awful at the moment, so I was glad to get away. We borrowed M's mum's Land Rover and hired chains to put on the tyres. K and I bought some waterproof gear and thermals, then we were set. Yay! I was excited. I don't usually let myself get excited before an event, just so I can avoid disappointment in case it doesn't happen for some reason, but I was excited this time.

We arrived at the top of the mountain at about midday. I'd heard horror stories about Jacob's Ladder, but it wasn't that bad. I mean, it's a freaky road, but it's pretty wide, and there are railings on the corners, plus J is a very safe driver, so it was okay. We put on all our gear and waddled up to the shop to hire the toboggans. All the toboggans had names, and were in bright fluoro colours. I ended up with a bright pink toboggan named Brad. The lady behind the counter suggested that maybe Brad was a bit confused. I laughed. I'd never considered that a toboggan could be confused about its/his/her sexuality. Maybe having a girl riding him all day might clear things up for him.

Tobogganing was GREAT! We started on the weiner's slope, but soon gained confidence and moved to a better slope further down. There was tons of snow – I'd never seen so much snow in my whole life. Tobogganing wasn't that hard, but you were pretty much at the mercy of the slope – none of us managed to figure out how to steer the damn things, so we just held on and hoped for the best. I seemed to go a bit further than the others, maybe because I was the smallest. K definitely crashed his toboggan the most. He kept trying to go over jumps, and just end up axing himself. At one stage, we went around the corner and decided to try a very steep slope. It was fantastic the first few times, but the last time was interesting. A pile of snow had been building up about halfway down, probably from our footprints. The last time I went down, I hit the pile, went sailing through the air, and landed on my back with a thud. Cartoon birds flew around my head. Brad was nowhere to be seen – when the going got tough, he'd buggered off. I eventually spied him, cowering behind a bush. Pfft. What a wimp.

We went to the pub/café thing for lunch, after going to the drying room and toilets. That was an ordeal in itself – removing fifty layers and putting them back on again isn't easy. While I was zipping myself all watertight again, a sticker on the toilet cistern caught my eye. It said something like, "Please do not flush oil, fat, milk, paint, chemicals or harmful substances down this toilet. Launceston's water supply starts here!" Well! Launceston's water supply starts at the toilets at Ben Lomond? I felt both proud and disgusted that I'd just made a contribution to Launceston's water supply. It occurred to me that I could even be drinking my contribution by the time I got home.

After lunch and a few more runs down the hill, we decided to build a snowman. Well at least I decided to build a snowman – J and I put in all the hard yards, and we'd just got him to a decent size and I was about to go find him some stick arms, when suddenly everyone else wanted to put their two cents worth in. Looking back, the whole process was pretty funny, and seemed to reflect our different personalities perfectly – K was furrowing his brow in concentration as he painstakingly sculpted an arm out of snow. I was whining about how I didn't want snow arms for him, I wanted stick arms, and it was MY snowman, and now he'd come and taken over, and I didn't want snow arms, I wanted stick arms, and why wasn't he listening to me? J was hopping around with a grin on his face, trying to find an opportunity to knock the whole thing over when nobody was watching. M was sitting a little bit away from the rest of us, humming to herself, sculpting a smaller 'lady friend' for our big snowman, complete with intricate facial features and boobs. Then she set to work on the big snowman, and made his head look like a penis. So the snowman ended up with one snow arm, a penis for a head, and two sticks that would have been arms lying at his base. Oh well – it'll look intriguing to anyone else who gives it more than a passing glance I guess.

It started snowing pretty heavily after that, and got really windy, and we were all knackered, so we called it a day. I had the best time though. I felt so free, sliding down the hill on Brad. K and I were pretty sore the next day though. It was worth it! For one whole day, all my worries were gone.

Poos

Have been very unwell this last week. I'm not entirely sure of the difference between a cold and the flu, but if this was a cold, it was a killer mutant crazy one. I haven't felt so horrible in a long, long time. Normally I can drug myself up and just get on with things, but this had me flat on my back for nearly a week. It couldn't have come at a worse time, work-wise. I had so much to do this week, heaps of end of financial year and payroll stuff, and my boss was away all week so I was hoping to get it all done and dusted before he came back. No such luck – it's all still sitting there waiting for me, along with next week's work of course. Cry. Oh well. At least I got to watch Judge Judy. Judge Judy rocks.

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I love Pods. Those little wafer shell chocolate things – you can get Mars, Snickers, Dove, and maybe one other sort, I can't remember. My favourites are the Snickers ones. Not sure why, because I hate Snickers bars. Anyway, I was eating some Pods when I went to visit M & J the other day. I met Ted at the door, and offered him one. He looked at the bag I was holding out, and raised his eyebrow. "What are Poos?" he asked. I grinned. "They're not Poos! They're Pods!" He took the bag and turned it around so I could see the front. I laughed and laughed – I'd managed to open the bag so that the top of the 'D' had been cut off, so it really did look like I was eating a bag of Poos. Hahaha! Poos.

Needless to say, he still ate a handful. Can't have been too put off by the thought of eating excrement in a crispy wafer shell.

Disco Fingers

COULD IT BE ANY MORE FREAKIN COLD IN LAUNCESTON? Why didn't I just go the whole hog and move to Antarctica? Riding a motorbike to work in the morning is the pits in weather like this. I must look a sight to anyone waiting at the lights in the morning… hunched over the handlebars like a giant black foetus, the only sign of life being a puff of frosty air being emitted from beneath my visor every couple of seconds. I even walk to the post office to get the mail with my bike jacket and snowman pants still on. I get a few funny looks from the usual pantyhose-clad, high-heel-wearing, makeup-smeared office girls that usually show up there at that time of morning. They might look more 'shaggable-secretary' than me, but at least I'm warm.

I have heat grips on Gus, which helps a bit. Since it's been cold, I've noticed a strange riding habit of mine – on each hand I have three fingers and thumb firmly wrapped around the grips, but my index fingers stick out in front, pointing the way, like I'm some sort of deranged disco rider. I'd never noticed these stray digits before – now that it's freezing, all the rest of my fingers are nicely warmed by the heat grips, except for those two, protruding as though I'm some sort of human forklift. "Which way is that scooter going?" I can sense pedestrians thinking as I ride past. "That way! Straight ahead for me!" my fingers reply, removing all doubt from their minds. This inadvertent riding style of mine also has the potential to cause conflict whilst waiting at traffic lights. I can picture it – I'm at the front of the queue, waiting to take off. Across the intersection, the guy in the car facing me sees my wayward fingers. He looks confused at first, then agitated. "Me?" he mouths from behind the wheel. "Yes. YOU" reply my fingers menacingly. Before I know it, we're having fisticuffs in the middle of the intersection in Launceston peak hour traffic. The potential for this sort of misunderstanding is very real indeed. I'm just not sure what I can do about it.

Hmm. I'm sitting here, at nine o'clock on a Friday night, eating grated cheese and writing about my fingers. What a pathetic life I lead… bwahahaha.

Movies

Spent a fair bit of time watching DVDs this past weekend. I really don't enjoy movies that much, so it was a bit of a rare thing for me. It was day one of my period… felt like someone was repeatedly punching me in the uterus and kicking me in the vagina all at once. Amidst all that phantom pummelling of the reproductive organs, I thought a weekend on the couch was well deserved. Thought y'all might like a menstrual update there.

Went and hired Kenny, the one about the guy who manages a portaloo company. It was so good! I've heard some poo colloquialisms in my time, but "mud banana" is a new one on me. I laughed and laughed. What a great guy. I just wanted to take him out for a coffee and tell him what a fantastic job he was doing. He was treated like crap (and covered in it) over and over, but never lost his positive outlook. What a legend. I'd recommend this movie to anyone.

I got a free weekly movie with Kenny. Of course, I didn't know about the free weekly thing until I'd picked out my overnight movie, stood in line at the counter, and slowly inched my way to the front of the queue. I plonked the DVD on the counter, beaming with pride over the speed of my decision, thinking the transaction would soon be over and I could be on my way home. The video man beamed back. "We have an offer on at the moment, one free weekly with every overnight hired!" "Great!" I said, inwardly ambivalent – torn between marvelling at the generous offer, and frustrated at having to choose another movie when I thought I was finished with all that choosing business. I was soon to realise that it was all an evil ploy to get people to hire lame movies that you wouldn't normally watch. Went to select my weekly, as the video man watched me browse. Felt rather hurried. I like to either take my time choosing a movie, or know exactly what I want to hire, and get in and out as quickly as possible. I was after the quick option that day. Yet there I was, having to choose another film – with the added pressure of the video man waiting for me to make my selection, so he could go back to whatever it is video men do when they aren't serving customers. I hastily grabbed the first half decent looking movie on the shelf, and made my way back to the counter, hoping that spontaneity would pay off in this instance.

It didn't. The movie I selected was The Stepford Wives. Worst. Movie. EVER. Take my advice – don't even waste your time looking at the cover, let alone picking it up and reading the back of it, let alone (heaven forbid) actually hiring it. I cannot overemphasise how incredibly lame this movie is. Don't EVER watch it. It would be an hour and a half of your life completely wasted. Gone forever. You'll never get it back. In fact, don't even read this paragraph about me telling you how lame it is. Even reading about how crap it is would be a waste of your life. Writing about how crap it is is like wasting that hour and a half all over again. So I'll stop now before any more precious minutes go swirling down the drain of time, never to return.

Yumour, I'm Using Yumour

Received some negative feedback about this blog via email recently. Seeing as it's about my blog, and this is my blog, I thought I'd post it here. This is pretty much it, slightly edited to remove any identifying information:

"Hey old digger

I must admit Bec (I'll be honest, because you like honesty) the majority of your blog is very sad and ugly, (apart from your hilarious 99 points).

I hope you get the part as well for the play you auditioned for, because if you do, I'm going to invite every single pastor in town to come along and critique your performance with ruthless honesty and bee-in-their-bonnet sensationalism. :-)

You do realise you can actually stay at home on Sundays; instead of pulling apart the very thing people selflessly and servant-heartedly give their lives to, even if it is a touch mundane, robotic and cliché. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for dramatic change in the life of churches, but I'm passionate about finding answers, not sitting there like a fricken goose and pointing the finger. Crap like this (I'm being honest) doesn't help anyone. Find some answers, make a difference, and your blog will be worth reading.

There is me being brutally honest, and I await your brutally honest response.

PS: I thoroughly enjoyed catching up with you guys; loved the house."

Well. Gutted was not the word. This email affected me more than I care to reveal – mainly because it was a friend that wrote it. I can handle this sort of criticism from someone I barely know, because they don't know me, where I'm coming from, or the heart and humour behind what I write. But this person does, which is why it came as such a shock. This was my eventual reply:

"Hi

I enjoyed hanging out with you too. It was great to catch up, and I especially enjoyed the discussions we had on church, some of the issues, and how things could be done better. I felt that we shared similar views on a lot of things, and I had no doubt that you heard my heart with regard to it all. That is why when I read your response to my blog, I was utterly astounded. Totally blown away. I shared the link with you because I felt certain that you would know where I was coming from. Your knee-jerk reaction to what I have written indicates that you have taken everything I have written about the church as some sort of personal attack, directed at you and everything you stand for. Perhaps if you read my blog from oldest entry to newest, keeping in mind what you already know about me and where I'm at, then you wouldn't have been quite so scathing in your correspondence.

I can't believe I even have to explain to you that it is FAR from my intention to personally attack ANYONE. The things I have written about my church experiences of late are simply satire, and were in NO way written with the intention of 'bagging out' or having a go at any of the people I have alluded to. I assumed that anyone who knew me well would know that I have total respect for the genuine attitudes of those who lead or are otherwise involved in churches. My entries are not personal attacks, nor do I believe that I am "pointing the finger". Rather, I seek to emphasise how ridiculous 'corporate Christianity' can seem to outsiders to the church. Having a few years away from church involvement has given me a perspective on the goings-on that I didn't have while I was a part of it all. I appreciate that someone like yourself, who is heavily involved, wouldn't really notice a lot of the things that someone who was 'unchurched' might - being in the midst of it all makes it hard to see these things. But I wouldn't have shared my writing with you if I didn't think you would at least see the humour in what I had written. Have you really lost the ability to laugh at yourself and your surroundings? I wouldn't have thought so by some of the comments you yourself made after the service we attended. Now I'm not so sure.

As I am attempting to explain, my observations were NEVER intended to be construed as personal attacks against anyone who is in there having a go. Take the 'Happy Clappers' blog as a case in point. I have no doubt that the lady on the welcoming committee who greeted us at the door was a lovely, genuine person, who really desired to serve God by being involved in that way. But the often over-enthusiastic approach of church welcomers can be rather annoying, especially to newcomers - I used this one experience to identify with this perception. The lady that night simply represented welcoming committees all over the world. Since I don't know her from a bar of soap, I thought this would have been obvious. Likewise, the guy that got up and spoke about growth said nothing that endorsed nicking people from other congregations, and I never meant to imply that that's what he meant. I simply used his illustration to highlight what I believe is a commonly held misconception - that numbers of attendees equals a healthy church. You and I both know this is not the case. My intention was not to highlight any personality faults in these two people, but rather to make light of common perceptions in general. I thought you would realise that.

As for "the majority of my blog [being] very sad and ugly", I am assuming that before you would make such a statement, you would have thought it only fair to read the whole thing, and are therefore commenting on my blog as a whole. Since only twenty five percent of my blog is about church experiences, then I can assume that you find my entries about Valentine's Day, swimming, work, moving, Gavin, finding a frog and my many introspective musings "sad and ugly". This hurts me more than you would believe. I have tried for the first time in my life to 'bare all' with regards to my thoughts and feelings on things, writing about where I am at right now, even thought it might not be where I want to end up. And you, a friend I've had for over half my life, who I thought would understand me as much as anyone could, thinks that the contents of my heart are sad and ugly. Maybe you're right - maybe I am sad and ugly inside. All I am trying to do is represent myself as sincerely as possible, right here in this very stage of my life. I hope that life gets better, and I hope my perspective on things improves. It is not my intention to stay stagnant, or to go backwards. But I'm NOT about to pretend that I'm not in the place I am, and I would think it fake to wait until I'm in a good place before I let people see what's inside of me. MANY people feel down, negative, cynical, all those so-called 'bad' emotions. It is my hope that those people can relate to some of what I am saying, and perhaps follow my journey as things improve for me. It is likely that you will encounter many "sad and ugly" people on your journey in life. I just hope that you show those people more empathy than you have shown me in your email.

Though you may not see it, I am on a journey of "finding answers" and "making a difference". I thought I made that clear in our conversations the other day. I'm not sure where I'm supposed to start looking for these answers, or how someone like me could make a difference. But I hoped my blog would be a record of that journey, if nothing else. I'm not interested in leaving out the bad bits. I'm not trying to say that my blog is God-inspired. Nor do I think he is opposed to what I say. The premise is pretty simple really - just someone trying to share where they're at in an honest way. Perhaps you're right - maybe church isn't for me. Maybe I should stay home on Sundays and forget the whole thing. I was hoping to find somewhere that accepted me 'warts and all', but to be honest, I'm starting to wonder if any such place exists. I refuse to pretend to have it all together just for the sake of being positive. In my experience, this only alienates those who might not be at a great place in their lives. I'd prefer to get alongside them.

I have waited a few days before replying in order to try to be as objective as possible in my reply, rather than blurt out the first thing that came into my head after reading your email. Replying out of anger or hurt feelings doesn't help anyone. That's not to say that I'm not still hurt or angry, because it's probably fairly obvious that I am. Criticism is always hard to take, but I can honestly say that I gave your email a lot of consideration before I decided what to write in response. Also, if you have decided to show other people my blog, and they feel the same way you do, then I would ask you to please show them this response so that I can at least have the chance to explain where I'm coming from. If you are willing, I would also like to use your email and my response in a blog entry (with any identifying information removed of course), just in case anyone else reads it who might misinterpret the things I have written. The last thing I want to do is hurt anyone.

Feel free to respond to this, but to be honest, if your response is going to be more of the same, I'd rather not hear it. I'm sure you'd agree that the last thing I need is to absorb more negativity into my life, especially after what has been one of the most trying couple of weeks I have had in quite some time.

Rebecca"

Received a response the next day, apologising for the hurtful comments, and explaining a bit about where my friend was coming from – frustrated with church in a lot of ways, but trying desperately to find a solution to the things that are seen as problems. I can understand this. My comments on church goings-on are honestly not meant as attacks – just observations from an old cynic who is tired of the role-play and would really love to genuinely connect with God without all the bells and whistles that seem to accompany it these days. I'm sick to death of hoo-hah. For a long time, it prevented me from attending church at all. But I'm a people person, and I really miss that about being a part of a church – connecting with people afterwards makes a boring service worth attending. So these little blogs of mine are written to help me get through it without going insane. I write them for ME. I'm rapt that others consider them worth reading. But if nobody else read what I wrote, I'd write it anyway.

I guess I wanted to post this discourse for the benefit of anyone else who might read my blog and consider it "sad and ugly". If that's what you think, and you don't know me in person, then I don't give a shit what you think. But if you do know me in person and you think that, then I just want you to know that I'm sorry if anything I've written has hurt you in any way. I'm not sorry for writing it though. And I'm not about to stop either. I like to write. I like to be honest about how I feel, seeing as it will all be hollered from some dude's rooftop one day anyway. But I am sorry if you have taken it personally. It was not intended that way. I'm just a person on a journey, like everyone else. A person who feels sad and ugly and depressed and worthless sometimes.

But I try to look for things that make me happy. Like that frog in the yard. He made me happy. I might go outside and look for him again. I need more frog-finding moments in my life.

The Real Deal

Went to a church service like none I've ever been to this morning. The service was held in the foyer section, much to mine and K's surprise – we were hoping to slink in to a back pew somewhere, unnoticed. Instead, we walked straight into a room full of people. Hung around near the entrance for a while, before we realised that was a dumb spot to stand for a couple of new people trying to blend in – we accidentally became the welcoming team for a few minutes there. Quickly went to find a seat at one of the tables in case someone tried to pin a 'Hi, I'm Rebecca!' badge on my front, and sign me up to chair the welcoming team's committee meetings on the penultimate Tuesday of every month.

While we were waiting for the service to start, I flicked through a church bulletin I'd found on the table in front of me. Most of it was the usual yada yada – what's on this week, tithe targets, praise and prayer points, and the ubiquitous hall of fame on the back cover. But there was one article that particularly caught my eye. I hope the author doesn't mind if I copy the article here. This is what it said:

"Is This A Sign Of A Dying Church???

I write this editorial with a heavy heart, burdened with a sense that all is not well in [this church]. Take a look around and count how many of you are here in church today? Where have all the others gone? Why are they not here?

I cannot try to offer reasons for their absences except that I can only hope that they have not chosen to miss church for some trivial excuses. This does not detract from the fact that our pews are getting emptier each week, and if this is not a worrying sight, then be prepared to see a sign on the door of church one Sunday saying: "No Church Today Due to Insufficient Numbers, Please Go & Do Church Somewhere Else!" Are we prepared for this to happen? There are already signs of this happening on long weekend Sundays, when everyone supposedly goes away?

I will confess that I have been rather disillusioned by what has been talked about in church over the past few weeks. I was not impressed by a visiting speaker telling me that church is no longer sacred, and we should be thinking "Outreach, Outreach, Outreach!" While I acknowledge that as Christians, we should not be an exclusive group and shun the non-believers, I take offence to the suggestion that it is better to outreach than to attend church on Sunday. If that is the case, I shall be looking for a nice shady tree in a park next Sunday, bringing a large picnic rug and lunch, and inviting some stranger in the park to come share my rug, my lunch & do "outreach". "Nothing wrong with that", I hear some of you remark, but the bottom-line here is not all of us are cut out to do outreach, or want to do outreach. Some of us prefer to come to church to worship the Lord, be inspired, motivated, and encouraged by a Biblical message and cherish our time of being able to be in the Lord's temple. After all, is not the church the "Body of Christ"?

What are you getting out of church these days? Have you made your thoughts or expectations known to the Elders, your Home Group, your spouse, your fellow brother or sister in church? Or will you just slip quietly away to another church to find more meaningful worship & hope things will improve at [this church]? Are you losing your church before your very eyes? Can you afford not to say or do anything and let [this church] meet her inevitable demise? I sensed that these are troubled times at [this church]…

(Disclaimer: Views expressed in this editorial are not necessarily a representation of the views of other members in [this church]. This editorial is meant to generate discussion, reflection, and quiet meditation before the Lord.) – EDITOR"

Felt a bit like a rabbit that had accidentally hopped onto a shooting range. Didn't have much time to contemplate the article before a guy with a microphone started ahem-ing and shuffling papers up the front. Didn't hear much of what he said for the first few minutes, because all I could think about was his ENORMOUS BEARD. I've never seen a beard that big. Soon snapped out of my beard fixation when I realised that he was introducing what was to be a very serious time of discussion.

Pastor Beard went on to outline some feedback he'd been getting from people in the church lately, and told us he was about to set a few things straight. He drew a diagram on the white board that looked like this:

He explained that he believed that most Christians had a tendency to separate the different components of their lives into sections – work, church, God, family, marriage, social life, etc. It wasn't often that the components intersected. Church and God in particular are not often seen as having anything in common with the world, but rather as a refuge from it. Then he drew a different diagram, one that looked like this:

The dark grey area, he explained, was the goal – that was the ideal place to be. He urged the congregation to view their lives holistically, and not in separate, irreconcilable sections. He wasn't saying to embrace the world, but rather accept that we are all a part of it, and to see all aspects of our lives as a part of our walk with God, and not just the churchy stuff. He said that in Australia, one thousand churches a year close down. If the church didn't change their mindset sooner rather than later, then there wouldn't be a church left at all. Pastor Beard then opened the subject up for discussion. All sorts of opinions were aired. A lot of people wholeheartedly agreed with him. Others leaned more towards the aforementioned newsletter article, seemingly more worried about what they were or weren't "getting out of church". People got fired up. Discussions were had. After about an hour, everyone prayed in groups and then had some lunch together.

This was all very interesting as an outsider. The thing that struck me the most about the whole thing was that this church (or the pastor at least) wasn't afraid to admit, even in the presence of visitors, that things weren't as great as they could be. Nobody was pretending that things were perfect. Nobody seemed afraid to be themselves, or to say what they thought. Some might have seen it as division in the ranks – I saw it as a place where it was okay to be where you were at. It made me want to be a part of it. Mainly because the thing that puts me off church the most are the people/congregations that pretend they have it all together. I don't want to be a part of a church that has it all together! I'd only come along and wreck it. The sort of service that I attended today was, in my opinion, the real thing. People being vulnerable. Leadership being vulnerable. Not pretending to know all the answers, but willing to be open to whatever those answers might be. Sign me up, I say. Am I climbing aboard a sinking ship? I'm not sure. I guess time will tell.

Eurobeat

I just did something a little bit gay. I auditioned for a musical called Eurobeat, based on the Eurovision song contest. I saw it in the paper on Saturday and thought, "what the hell?" Might be fun. Something to amuse myself, and maybe meet some people around this one horse town. So I hopped on Gus in the freezing cold and headed to Newstead College where the auditions were being held.

It was the kind of audition where you just bowl up, fill in a form about great works you've done in the past, and wait until your group of people is called. I filled in the form, and sat on the floor, trying to blend in with the wall. There were probably about thirty people in the waiting area, the vast majority of which were teenage girls. So there was nothing to look at besides acres of ass cleavage and bad mullets. Oh, and the occasional archetypical gay guy minced past, laughing gaily over his shoulder at some dry witticism spouted by the archetypical gay guy's best friend – the Outgoing Overweight Female. Everyone seemed to know someone else, except me. Waiting was pretty boring. But it amused me to find that even though it's been years since I've been involved in musical theatre, the kinds of people they draw obviously haven't changed a bit.

I went in with the third group of people, and the first thing we did was learned a simple dance routine. I felt like an elephant. But I had fun all the same. Then they made us sing one by one. I sang my favourite song to sing at the moment, At Last – the Eva version. I sounded like an elephant. But I had fun all the same. I don't think I was outrageous enough, though. Everyone else I auditioned with was trying to outdo each other in outrageousness. One lady even slunk on the floor like a snake as she sang her prepared song. I think she was trying to look sultry. I guess if there was a male snake in the room, it might have felt turned on.

There's something both demoralising and empowering about doing all these things by myself. I really want to meet people, so I'm trying to not be scared and just get out there and do stuff, even when nobody I know wants to come with me. But nobody ever wants to talk to the person who's sitting alone. It's heaps easier to meet people when you're already with people that you know. So you can't win – it's like having to ring up to get the phone connected. But at the same time, I wasn't as nervous tonight as I thought I'd be – I guess I just figured that nobody knew me, so I had nothing to lose.

I probably won't get a part. But maybe I will! The director mentioned that there might be some nudity involved for some of the parts. If I land a part, I hope I get to flash my boobs.

Happy Clappers

Wasn't going to go to church on Sunday, but ended up there anyway. Not that I got dragged kicking and screaming mind you, but I sort of tagged along with someone else before I really realised what I was doing. It was one of those churches that everyone knows because of the guy who runs it, but it's still got some token ambiguous Christian-sounding name (usually with the word 'life' in it somewhere). You say to someone, "I went to Launceston Life Church on the weekend". Blank stare. "Um, you know, Joey Jo Jo Shabadoo's church". Instantly, their eyes brighten with recognition. And of course, they'll have a highly thought out opinion already prepared about Joey Jo Jo Shabadoo's church, even if they've never been there themselves.

• Walked in slightly late, to a packed auditorium. Was greeted at the door by a middle aged woman, who crinkled her eyes right on cue, and put on her best 'full 'o joy' expression. Then, quick as a flash, my tonsils nearly got a paper cut courtesy of a church bulletin being rammed down my throat. Welcome to church! Had I been before? No? Well, I'd better have a contact card then! More paper ammunition headed straight for my face. I ducked just in time and went to find a seat. Like, contact cards are like, so 2006.
• All the seats were taken, dammit. Suggested joining the throng of people on stage. We probably would have blended into the crowd up there quite nicely. A bit too much jumping/boob bouncing for my liking though. Chose some seats in the back row instead. Ended up sitting behind a young kid who looked like a frog, who stared at me through the whole service.
  
• My highlight was the power going off during a Powerpoint presentation. Felt like standing up and prophesying that it was God's way of showing people not to have boring slide shows in their church services. But then I remembered I wasn't wearing a hat, so I thought I'd better not.
• Went to find the toilet (snuck out while every head was bowed and every eye closed, with everyone locked in the shampoo position). Accidentally walked into the kid's church room instead. They were playing some lame follow the leader game. Exited the room just in time to hear one kid whine, "what's the point of this stupid game?" Felt like taking the kid aside and telling her to get used to it – that she'd probably be lamenting those very words for the rest of her churchgoing life.
• I'm struggling to think of an object, person or concept that didn't receive a round of applause at some time during the service. Give the Lord a round of applause. Give the band a round of applause. Give the kids going to kid's church a round of applause. Give that last round of applause a round of applause. Sat on my hands obstinately, in case they developed a life of their own.
• At one point, someone spiritual instructed us to lift our hands towards the front to pray for something or other. Grabbed K's arms and lifted them right up for him, making them do a muppet dance. Ha ha.
• Learned that growing is about numbers. And not even numbers of new converts – just numbers of people attending. Well, that doesn't sound so hard! Why not just go and flog a whole heap of existing Christians from other churches? That would be the easy way to do it. Besides, those Christians probably weren't being used or fulfilled in their church anyway. Surely it's the best thing for everyone.
• There was cake at the end! Triple brownie points for food. It was nice cake too. Got talking to some people we know, and ended up being some of the last to leave – not sure how that happened, but I don't want it to happen again. Don't wanna look too keen… keep em guessing, I say.

Not big on the concert style service, myself. It was kind of like, "sorry God, can we chat later? I don't want to miss anything". But the pastor is a genuine guy, so I really hope it all goes well for him. It's just not my thing/cup of tea/scene. 2 Joy Gems. **

Like Minded People

Today at work we decided it was Casual Clothes for No Cause Day. We'd all had a pretty tiring week, so we thought an informal day was in order. What a difference it made! I was happy all day. I was comfortable, and I felt like myself. Lunch time rolled around, and I suggested we grab some pizzas to share, instead of our usual trek down to Mike's Country Kitchen (who, incidentally, make roast lamb rolls that are almost as good as the ones at the Fairway Coffee Lounge in Devonport). We got three Pizza Hut pizzas, and they were really nice. Everyone told me what a great idea it was to get pizza. I felt useful. Yay for today!

I got a text message in the afternoon from the girl I met at The Church That My Boss Goes To, asking if I wanted to come and hang out at the pub with a bunch of "like minded people". The same girl had invited me to a prayer meeting a couple of weeks ago. I really wanted to go to the prayer meeting, not to pray, but to hang out with "like minded people" (even though the term "like minded people" is totally wanky). But I didn't end up going. I don't think I'm ready for prayer meetings yet. There are too many things that happen in them that annoy me. Like people who go "mmm. Mmm" in agreement every five seconds. I want to smash 'em. And people who rock back and forth. What's the deal with that? And the other people, apart from me, who pray with their eyes open. You constantly find yourself catching their eye, and then it's all awkward, coz you were supposed to be talking to God, and instead you're looking at some random dude across the room. It's very off-putting. And people who say "Lord" a million times, as though God doesn't realise they're praying to him… or perhaps to remind themselves that that's who they're praying to. And people who tell you the facts of a situation WHILE THEY'RE PRAYING… as though God doesn't know what's going on! "Lord, we come before you Lord, just to ask, Lord, that you will look after Bob, Lord. Lord, Bob is going through a rough time at the moment, Lord, what with his wife going into hospital last night after breaking her leg, Lord. ("mmm. Mmm.") Lord, we ask that you would be with the children, Lord, as they are being looked after by the next door neighbours, Lord, who are going through issues of their own, Lord…" blah blah blah. And someone's always got to clap the end of the meeting. It's not over until someone claps. Eyes open – everyone looks at each other blearily, stretching – "Amen!" CLAP. Aaargh!

No, I'm definitely not ready for prayer meetings.

Anyway, we went to the pub. It was really cool – we met some great people. Like minded people even. I chatted to the girl I'd met, and another girl that I recognised from Ulverstone. And I gave a guy my phone number (ooh err) and he's going to call me to see if I want to be a part of a Bible-talking-about group thingie. Better blow the dust off it if I'm gonna be a part of something like that!

Gotta go now. There's a show on SBS called "Turn Me On: The History of the Vibrator". Time for watching a bit of SBS soft porn with K.

99 Things About Me

I don't like those forward things that you see in your inbox at least once a week. So I made up my own. If you don't like it, I don't care.

1. My name is Rebecca Claire.
2. Apparently, I came very close to being called Jessica. Ugh.
3. I play the alto saxophone.
4. I play the drums too, but I'm not very good.
5. My first job was at McDonalds when I was 15.
6. I worked in a service station for 8 years.
7. I have also worked as a cook in an Italian restaurant, as a singing tutor, and making handmade paper products.
8. I am scared of wasps.
9. I never loved anyone until I met K.
10. When I was a kid, I wanted to be an author.
11. I suffer from anxiety.
12. I have been married for nearly seven years.
13. K and I never dated. We went from friends to engaged.
14. I have a black cat called Ezzie.
15. I have never been drunk.
16. I hate being cold. I feel the cold easily.
17. I think jewellery is a waste of money.
18. I believe the world is less than ten thousand years old.
19. I love to sing. I wish I did it more often.
20. I have a birthmark shaped like Australia on my neck. It has Tasmania and everything!
21. I am an exhibitionist. Wanna see my boobs?
22. I never, EVER want to have children.
23. I cry a lot.
24. I went to Uni but didn't complete a degree. I want to go back to Uni one day.
25. I have a sister and a brother. I am the eldest child.
26. I prefer slippers to shoes.
27. I lost my virginity when I was 15.
28. I hate Mother's Day. I'm not a fan of Christmas either.
29. I love my job. It stresses me out, but I still love it.
30. I like to draw, but I haven't done it in ages. People kept asking me to draw things, and it eventually killed my desire to do it.
31. I loved school. I got great marks.
32. I'm supposed to wear contact lenses, but I don't.
33. I love anything peppermint.
34. Birds make me happy. Especially galahs and cockatoos. I hate to see birds in cages.
35. I'm not very polite. I rub people up the wrong way. I alternate between being devastated by this, and not giving a shit.
36. I think films are boring.
37. I ride a scooter called Gus.
38. Music I like includes Lauryn Hill, Billy Joel, Me First and the Gimme Gimmes, Eva Cassidy, Pete Murray, Darren Hanlon, Dave Brubeck, Jack Johnson and Roxette.
39. I think it's boring when people tell me what music they like.
40. It's even more boring when they tell me about dreams they've had.
41. I'm a glass half empty kind of person. So sue me.
42. Colourful things make me happy.
43. I talk in my sleep.
44. K has never bought me flowers. Flowers are a waste of money, and belong in the garden. Whose dumb idea was it to pick them and bring them inside anyway?
45. I'm not interested in travelling whatsoever.
46. My parents divorced when I was 12.
47. I left home when I was 15.
48. I have compassion for animals, but very little compassion for humans.
49. I seem to get on better with males than I do with females.
50. I'm highly strung and don't cope with stress very well at all. I don't think I'm a very strong person.
    
51. I'd like to get a tattoo one day, but I probably won't.
52. I had braces in my mid twenties, and have more teeth with fillings than without.
53. I like sunbaking naked.
54. I've never felt like I fitted in anywhere. That's such an emo thing to say.
55. I have a Game Boy.
56. I think global warming is a load of crap.
57. Before I met God, I was considering a career as a prostitute. Not that I was a slut or anything – I was emotionally dead anyway, and I thought it would pay a lot for little effort.
58. When I'm old I want to live in an old people's home.
59. I like to swear. Fuck shit bugger.
60. Plants don't tend to live very long under my care.
61. I can do this thing where if I have two objects that are identical but are different colours (like lollies, or pen lids, etc), I can mix them up, put one in each hand, and I can tell what colour is in which hand without looking. I don't know how.
62. I hate marshmallows.
63. I'm damn lazy and I hate exercising.
64. I love Indian food – the hotter the better.
65. I had my ears pierced when I was six, but haven't worn earrings since high school.
66. I'm a spelling Nazi.
67. When I get home after work, the first thing I do is put on my slippers, my favourite fleecy trousers and a stripy thermal top. I usually take my bra off too.
68. I feel like I do most of the housework, and it annoys me.
69. I can't sleep with my mouth closed.
70. Rattles in cars drive me nuts.
71. I'm a night person.
72. I hate cooking. I'd eat out every night if I could.
73. I'm not afraid of people.
74. I won $100 in a poster competition when I was in Grade 6.
75. I love to drink tea. Black, no sugar. My current favourite is Chai. I carry teabags in my handbag so that when I go to cafés, That way, I only have to get a cup of boiling water and it doesn't cost me anything.
76. I don't like sleeping away from home.
77. Sometimes I know things have happened without anyone telling me.
78. I'm scared that life is passing me by, and I'm missing out on some big opportunity or something, and that I won't fulfil my purpose on earth. I have no idea what that purpose might be, or if there even is one.
79. I have big tired looking bags under my eyes that are there and have always been there no matter how much sleep I get.
80. I have never broken a bone.
81. I can raise one eyebrow.
82. Sometimes I wish I was dead.
83. I never cry in movies.
84. I've been singing in the Burnie Christmas Carols for five years.
85. I don't like people shortening my name.
    
86. I love K, but I still find other guys attractive.
87. I once played a lead role in a musical.
88. I wear Sunflowers perfume every day.
89. I used to be a singer in a band. It was fun while it lasted.
90. One day I want to write a book.
91. I am very critical of myself and others.
92. I smoke sometimes. Rarely.
93. Every time I have a cup of tea, I get a new cup out of the cupboard.
94. After I got married, I put on six kilos. I now weigh 54 kilos.
95. I have a terrible long term memory.
96. I can keep a secret.
    
97. I like to break into dilapidated buildings and explore them.
98. I really want people to like me and enjoy being in my company. But only people that I like. The rest can bite me.
99. I have no strong dreams, visions, desires or passions in life.

I would have had 100 things, but the number 100 was too big and so the text didn't line up with all the rest, and that bugged me. I can't remember what it was that I deleted. Probably just more bullshit.

Time Warp

Man I had a crap week last week. I cried at work three days out of five. Go me. On Tuesday I cried three times. Two of those times were about the same thing. I don't even remember what it was now! It was obviously pretty life threatening. My poor male co-workers. Ha ha ha.

K and I went to church last night. It's slowly starting to dawn on me that I am probably never going to find a church whose service I enjoy. The main reason for this is because they are all so BORING ("it's not me, it's you"). You take a group of perfectly nice people, all shapes and sizes, all sorts of different personalities, chuck em in a church service, and WHAM – instant homogenisation. What are people afraid of? Enjoying their lives? Being themselves? Heaven forbid! I'm not entirely sure why I'm even going. Why am I? Something is compelling me to. Not sure why, but heck, I'll run with it. At least it gives me something to write about.

We ended up going to City Life Christian Community Life Family Life Church (name homogenised to protect true identity). This church was randomly selected by means of having the most boring ad in the paper. And is brought to you by the number six. Man's number. Bwahahahaha.

• Opening the front door quietly, K and I were hoping to be able to sneak into a back row relatively unnoticed. Upon entering the auditorium, we snuck into a back row all right, but unnoticed we were not – being two of only nine people in the entire room kinda makes you stand out, visitor or not.
• As we perched on our turquoise plastic school chairs, I felt like I'd entered some sort of time warp. So much so that I half expected archaeologists, complete with film crew, to come tiptoeing onto the stage, whispering, "folks, here we have a perfectly preserved room AND congregation, untouched for some thirty years. Note the orange and brown paint on the walls, middle aged members resplendent in period attire of acid wash jeans, sneakers and fleecy jumpers with collars. And here's a delightful specimen – a mural of what appears to be the Lord, looking serene whilst leaning on a shepherd's crook, gazing out over the city". The mural was a talking point between K and I – he insisted the white blobs in the distance were houses. I was sure they were sheep. They had to be sheep; otherwise the whole shepherd theme would have been a little redundant, surely.
• A guy up the front was singing when we arrived. As soon as the song stopped, he practically broke into a run, skidding to a halt in front of us. A bit out of breath, but trying to look nonchalant, he thrust his hand towards ours, introducing himself. "So, you're visiting this evening?" he asked. I replied, "No, we've been coming here every Sunday for years." A bit mean perhaps, but surely it was obvious to Freddy's blind goldfish that we were visitors. Luckily, he got the joke. He then explained how the service was going to be run. Twice. A few songs, cup of coffee, a bit of a yak, then another coffee. Got it.
• The songs practically creaked with old age. All of them were about spiritual warfare, and all of them were from no later than 1987. Rise up, call on the fire of the Spirit, because he's the lion of the tribe of Judah, break down the strongholds, that kind of thing. I'm standing there, mumbling "Fear not [clap-clap-clap] for I am with you, says the Lo-orrd" in a half-arsed sort of fashion. K leans over to me and whispers, "At least, he was in 1984!"
• At coffee time, a friendly looking chap ambled over to us and introduced himself as the pastor. Thus followed a fifteen minute conversation full of more awkward silences and bored fidgeting than I'd ever experienced. I guess he hadn't exercised the gift of welcoming visitors for a while. After a riveting five minutes discussing the weather we've been having lately, isn't it crazy, yada yada, I asked him what the white blobs were in the mural. "Houses" he replied, looking more than a little ashamed of being a pastor of a church that had a mural on the wall such as this one. "But they're all white! I thought they were sheep" said I. "No, that's a sheep" he said, pointing to another blob a bit lower down. One sheep? What's the point of shepherding one sheep? Besides, it looked more like a cow to me.
• The sermon was next. I slept through it, albeit sitting bolt upright with my eyes open. The topic was "Six realities you should know". The six realities were; 1. God's word. 2. Righteousness. 3. Our freedom. 4. Indwelling of the Holy Spirit. 5. New creation, and 6. Name of Jesus. I would never have remembered these in a million years if K hadn't observed that the acronym for these six points was GROINN. Snaps for City Life Christian Community Life Family Life Church for reclaiming a normally taboo area of the body for the purposes of a sermon, even if it was unintentional. Don't let the devil have all the fun body parts, folks – use them to illustrate your point! Now when life gets me down, I'll just think of GROINN and it's bound to brighten my day.
• Rather than go in for Round Two of Coffee and Small Talk, K and I opted to sidle out the door. Eyes to the ground, look like you have to be somewhere, that type of thing.

This service reminded me of a CD that you've played over and over and over and over. Perhaps you once quite liked the album, but it's probably had one too many plays, so all the fun has gone out of it and it just annoys you now. Time for a new CD, guys! 2 Joy Gems. **

Pity Party

Tonight after work, I walked down to where Gus was parked with a big grin on my face. I'm not sure why, but I just felt really happy. I'd gotten a lot done at work, I was on my way home, and I was going to spend the evening with K. I grinned the whole way home, thinking about how much I loved riding Gus, how much I loved living in Launceston, how the air smelled nice, and how I was going to cook one of K's favourites for tea.

Then I rode up the driveway, and saw an empty space where our car is usually parked. My heart sank. I realised K was at work. Again. I thought he had the night off, but I was wrong. So I went inside and nuked a microwave dinner and sat on my BFA in front of the computer all night, doing nothing in particular. Sulking, mainly.

K texted me and asked how my night was going, and I poured out my pathetic story to him. He suggested I go and visit someone - put in the effort, surprise a friend, that sort of thing. But why doesn't anyone ever put in the effort with ME? I feel like I'm always the person who organises to meet up with people. If I don't arrange to see friends, then I'd never see them. Don't my friends ever sit around and think, "Gee, I haven't caught up with Rebecca in a while. I might pop around and see what she's up to!" I guess not, because it never happens. I mustn't be a very nice person to be around. I thought I was nice. Well, sometimes at least. Maybe I was wrong.

There are easier things in life than being a nice person. Nailing jelly to a tree, for instance.

Still Shopping

I only went to a morning service today. And I didn't go to church at all last Sunday. I know, I know, form an orderly queue in the 'recommitments' section, while every head is bowed and every eye is closed. Hell, going spasmodically has got to be better than not going at all, some might say.

Today's church was randomly selected by means of being the church that my boss goes to. I'm aware that I'm treading on dangerous ground here – If I hate it, I'll either have to lie and say it was great, which I'm not very good at doing, or tell him how much it sucked, which will hurt his feelings. Or get me sacked. But if I like it and want to go back, then that means I'll be going to my boss's church. Hmm. He's invited me along a few times though, so I thought I'd get it over and done with on a day that I knew he wouldn't be there.

• Nobody tried to grope me at the door this time, which is always a good sign. But that was probably because I was walking to find a seat as fast as my little legs could carry me after my last experience.
• There appeared to be three main age categories – ninety, forty five, and twelve.
• The building was nice, but the auditorium had an unnecessarily high ceiling. Plus, it was back to front – behind me was a beautiful view of bushland through huge floor to ceiling windows. In front of me was the stage, framed by some ugly panel board. I was tempted to turn all the seats around. Or my seat at least. Maybe start a trend.
• The unnecessarily high ceiling had those radiant panel heaters on it. Great idea, I thought, if you're SIX METRES TALL. It was FREEZING in there. I hate being cold.
• There was a very annoying child sitting in front of me. Yap yap yap, I wanna go outside and kick my ball, I don't wanna go to Sunday School, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I need to go to the toilet, and so on. I wanted to pick him up by the back of the hair and give him something to complain about. Communion came around, and upon seeing the loaf of bread, the annoying kid whinged about being hungry. So the lady next to him broke off a big bit and shoved it in his mouth (probably more for five seconds of peace than for concern about his nutritional welfare). Then the juice came around, and whaddya know? He was suddenly thirsty. But the lady drew the line at the juice – "No, you CAN'T have any of that!" she exclaimed, shocked at the mere thought. It puzzled me to think that the body of Christ could be shoved in a whining child's gob to shut him up, but the juice was evidently nothing to be trifled with.
• The musicians showed the enthusiasm of a bowl of socks. Not that I blame them – "The Best of Hillsong 1995" was probably a great album, but I didn't feel it terribly necessary to relive it note for note twelve years later. In fact, the service up until the end of the songs was the spiritual equivalent of chewing on a dry Salada. At one point, a forty year old woman wearing pigtails got up and gave a monotone mini-sermon about how we should be worshipping. I think I dozed off halfway through, but I'm pretty sure her main thrust was the promotion of the raising of hands. During the next song, she raised her arms as if to say "See? It's not so bad!" However, everyone else's arms remained superglued to the sides of their tweed jackets. It kinda reminded me of the nerd at the footy who tries to start a Mexican wave, but it doesn't catch on.
• Then the sermon began, given by a visiting speaker named Darren. It was actually one of the best sermons I've heard in a long time. And not because he was a particularly gifted speaker, or because the spirit of the Lord was moving mightily through his mere human form, hallelujah-amen, but because everything he said was the truth. He spoke about how seventy something percent of Australians claim to be spiritual, or believe in God or a higher power, yet only nine percent attended church regularly. Then he said, "And I don't blame them, to be honest with you". I was grinning from ear to ear. He spoke about how people don't want to come and sit in a cold, boring service for a quarter of their weekend every week, and that if we didn't start meeting people where they're at, then it'll be too late before we know it – God would start taking it to the streets. I felt like applauding. However, I'm fairly sure I was the only one – the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees, and I'm sure it wasn't just because of the lame heaters. I guess people don't like being told they're doing a crappy job of something. My favourite bit was when he was trying to illustrate the point of God not being all harsh and condemning, and how he made things for us to enjoy in life. I believe his actual quote was, "For example, God made orgasms". The oxygen levels in the room suddenly depleted to accommodate the collective gasp of the congregation. Preach it, brother!
• After the service, a girl came up and introduced herself to me, and we got chatting about the whole 'church really blows' thing. She doesn't attend church very often, and I really enjoyed talking to her as we had similar views on things. We swapped numbers, and I hope I see her again on my Gulliver's travels.

Hard to rate this one I had to take into consideration the dreary service versus the fantastic sermon, keeping in mind that it was a visiting speaker, so I can assume that the usual sermons at that church are not quite up to that standard. But everyone was really nice, and nobody seemed fake at all. And that's the main thing. So 3 Joy Gems. ***

Gavin's Progress

I got an update on Gavin recently.

A couple of weeks ago, he opened his eyes and smiled at his partner in recognition! He still can't talk and is recovering from another operation on his skull, but he is communicating by squeezing people's hands.

I was so happy to hear that. It means that he's still Gavin, and that he'll get better.

A Lemon

It occurs to me that the reason I don't appear to have any sort of solid purpose for being on the earth is because the reason I am on the earth in the first place is no longer valid.

I was born because my parents believed that having me would bring them fulfilment in some way. This did not happen. They now lead their own lives, doing their own things with their own new families. So seeing as my original purpose for being born no longer exists, and probably never did, I guess I'm just destined to live out my years, trying to have as little negative impact as possible until I die. I don't feel deserving of good things happening to me, as I don't believe I'm really 'earning' them, because I have not and never will achieve my original purpose. I shouldn't really be here – I was born under a misconception.

Something in the back of my mind is saying that this is a lie, that I do have a purpose for being here, that I have as much right as anyone else to exist and be happy. I think this is due to sitting in church for a number of years, listening to the 'God has a plan and a purpose for your life' drum being beaten. I'm not saying that's not the case, it could well be. It just hasn't shown itself to be true for me as yet. So I can only draw the aforementioned conclusion.

It's kinda like the guy who really loves apricots, and goes out to the nursery to buy an apricot tree to plant in their backyard. As the tree grows and becomes established, its first fruit reveals an error on the nursery's behalf – the tree is not an apricot tree after all, but a lemon tree. The man is disappointed. Nevertheless, it would be foolish to rip the tree out now. Instead, he leaves the lemon tree alone, occasionally picking a lemon to put on pancakes, or giving them away to other people who might like lemons. It's not a bad tree. It has its good points. But it's not what the man intended it to be.

The lemon tree produces lemons that some people find useful. But if it had never been planted in the first place, those people could have sourced those lemons from somewhere else. In fact, they might have even planted their own lemon tree, if they loved lemons so much. Therefore, by being mistakenly planted, this lemon tree might be taking up a spot that could have been filled by another, more wanted lemon tree. That lemon tree will now never have a chance at life, and all because of a tree that was mistakenly planted.

The thing that sucks the most about it is that it's not the lemon tree's fault. He didn't ask to be planted. He would have loved to have been the chosen tree, but he wasn't. It was someone else's mistake, but he has to live with the consequences.

Supermarket Christian

I went to two churches on Sunday. How spiritual am I!

First impressions count, so here they are:

Morning Church

(randomly selected by means of being the closest church to my house. I'm quite lazy really. No, really, I am. We can hear their services as clear as a bell from our deck, so I thought I'd go and see what all the hoo-hah was about).

• There was no sign telling me where the entrance was, so I kinda had to lurk around like a flasher in the bushes and wait for someone else to go in before I knew where to go.
• The person I'd followed inside got groped at the door by a lady on the 'welcoming team'. Avoiding the welcoming team was like running the gauntlet – the team consisted of about five people, all staring at me intently as they shook my hand and clapped me on the shoulder. My hand was sticky by the end of it. I was annoyed. I'd just washed my hands! I'm a bit OC about these things.
• I'd found a seat and was reflecting on the fact that having a sticky hand was getting off pretty lightly really, and that it could have been a lot worse, when an eighty five thousand year old man came up and mauled me welcomingly. I'm struggling to think of a part of my body that didn't come into contact with his hands. I'm scared of old men and paranoid about being touched by strangers, so by the time I'd had my hair ruffled, my back slapped, my shoulder petted and my cheek kissed, I was ready to run out the door. Instead, I sat there and thought of England.
• I sat one seat away from a girl around my age, who soon introduced herself and invited me to move across and sit next to her so that I didn't look like I was by myself. I told her that it was appropriate really, seeing as I was by myself. She laughed and patted the seat next to her. I thought I'd better cut her some slack. She turned out to be really nice and ended up being my tour guide for the morning.
• The worship team consisted of two rhythm guitarists who were also singing (one guy and one girl), a bass player and a drummer. They all looked around 20 years old. The drummer was really good, and kept me interested in the songs. Even the song they played continuously for 25 minutes. The songs were simple and the musicians were skilled. I didn't not like it.
• There were two teenage boys sitting directly behind me who saw the songs as an opportunity to catch up on what had been happening during the week at the top of their lungs. I turned around a couple of times and glared at them in an 'I-know-I'm-just-visiting-but-you're-really-giving-me-the-shits' sort of way, but that didn't seem to do anything. I will consider adding them to my list of people I'd like to punch instead.
• The people in this church seem big on reproducing. There were offspring everywhere. Erk. Generally they seemed fairly well behaved. Just as well… (thumps palm with fist)
• During the slow 'reflecting-on-your-walk-with-God' part of the worship (aka "What Should I Cook For Lunch?", some guy got up and said that he "sensed" that some people in the congregation had a "word to bring". Well, it was a race to the front! There were evidently some very keen prophets in this church. Most of it was the usual unmemorable white noise, but one lady had a 'word' about peas. I laughed. I liked hearing about peas.
• The first 20 minutes of the sermon were really good. The last 20 minutes probably were as well, but I'll never know because my concentration span simply does not last that long. It was about trees. Peas and trees – an interesting theme for the day.
• After the service (and the ensuing relief that the seemingly eternal tree sermon had finally reached its zenith), my new friend took me to the morning tea area and got me a drink. I chatted to lots of people, and I still remember their names. Everyone was really friendly, and I didn't loathe the service, so I reckon I'll return for a second go.

All in all, 4 Joy Gems ****

Evening Church

(randomly selected from The Examiner on Saturday, 14^th April 2007 (ibid. et al ad nauseum), for having a name that starts with 'Z')

• This church wins the prize for being one of the largest church building I have ever attended. It was seriously huge. The service was held in a kind of stadium thingie, and there were other buildings with cafés, museums, all sorts of stuff. Massive churches seem all the rage these days. I don't understand the attraction myself.
  
• I saw about five people I knew within the first ten minutes of arriving. Then, I was introduced to someone I had never met in my life, and they said to me "you must be Carly's sister!" Harrumph.
• Everyone seemed pretty friendly. The four of us found a seat. Then WHAM! The music started. It was so loud, I could feel my hair blowing backwards with the force of the noise. A little kid had his fingers in his ears – it seemed like a great idea to me. I would have done the same if I wasn't worried about appearing rude. The worship lasted around 45 minutes, and in that time they played three songs. The second song was about dancing, and I swear the tap water in that neighbourhood must contain amphetamines, because the four of us were the ONLY ones in the entire building not dancing like lunatics. EVERYONE danced like it was coffee day at kindergarten for the entire length of the song. Then, they cracked out the banners. The friend to the left of me was laughing into his chest. I thought the dancing song had gone for an eternity, but I soon took that thought back when the next song started – they sang one line in the song for about half an hour. ONE LINE! HALF AN HOUR! I really wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not.
• Right, I thought to myself, this church could still redeem itself in my eyes – it's sermon time. We were informed that we would be watching the eleventh video in a series of twelve. Two words in that sentence rang alarm bells for me straight away – 'video' and 'series'. Yawn-o-rama. But no, I chastised myself, don't be cynical all your cynical life, you cynic. Give it a chance. Well – half an hour later, after being shouted at and belittled by an American televangelist style preacher about how we would receive TENFOLD if only we would give away all our money, preferably to his God ordained ministry (which grossed $120 million last year, praise the Lord), and that really, none of us gave nearly as much as we should be, and that God SEES this, and we should be giving offerings over and above our tithe, which should go to the STOREHOUSE (everybody say "storehouse") which is the local church, but the offerings should be given in PARTNERSHIP (everybody say "partnership"), preferably to his ministry, and could everyone give the Lord a half-hearted round of applause, hallelujah – all four of us walked out. We just couldn't take any more.

One good thing came from attending that church – the four of us went out for a meal afterwards and picked it to bits, which led to a really great chat about all sorts of stuff. It was worth sitting through an hour of 'Banner Betty and the Hearing Loss Posse meets Mr Shouty' to have that outing afterwards.

The people were friendly, and they were genuinely trying hard to build a great church. So I won't be totally heartless. 1 Joy Gem *

Gavin

My friend Gavin was in a car accident a few weeks ago. I clicked on The Advocate website one morning, and read an article about a car crash in Forth the night before. As I read about the person involved - 39 year old man from Wilmot with a white Barina - I was filled with dread. Surely there couldn't be too many people who would fit that description. So even though it was early in the morning, I decided to ring him up to make sure that he was okay.

His partner answered the phone, and I could tell by her voice that Gavin was the one who had been in the accident. She was frantic. They'd flown him to the Royal Hobart Hospital the night before, and he'd had emergency surgery to relieve the pressure in his head. His head injuries were very serious, and he was in a critical condition. The doctors were putting him in an induced coma until they could assess the damage. And that's all she knew.

Now, around four weeks on, I'm really none the wiser. I tried calling the hospital, but they wouldn't tell me anything about how he was doing because I wasn't a family member. They said if I wanted to know anything then I'd have to call his partner. But I don't have her mobile number, and I'm assuming she's in Hobart with Gavin rather than at home in Wilmot. So I sent a card for him, and put a note in it for his partner, asking her to give me a call with some news. I still haven't heard from her, which isn't unusual I guess, as she must have a lot on her plate at the moment.

Eventually I found out from someone who was talking to someone who called Gavin's partner that he is out of his coma, but still isn't responding a lot, and it appears that he is paralysed down one side. I really, really hope he recovers. He's such a great person, who has such an appreciation for life. It's just not right.

Get well soon, Gavin. I'm thinking of you.

Gus Got a Note

I've been parking Gus in the laneway behind our building at work. Despite all the 'no parking' signs about the place, I haven't been booked because it appears to be privately owned. However, I got a little note on Gus a couple of days ago, saying "Could you please leave this space free, as we have deliveries daily".

Now I don't know where to park! The minimum for the multi storey car parks in Launceston is $4 a day, which might not seem much to some city folk, but to someone used to having free parking at work, it's a damn nuisance. I thought about parking in the same laneway and just moving Gus up a few metres, but I don't want to annoy anyone. But as my boss rightly said, "it's not their laneway either". So what should I do… try and find the author of the note to see if they'd mind if I parked somewhere else? Park there anyway? Pay $4 a day? Rah. I can't be bothered dealing with it.

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K found a frog on our driveway tonight, and ran inside to get me so that I could see him. He was brown and fat. He could hardly even lift his little tummy onto a rock he was trying to climb on. I've never seen a frog that fat before. He made me happy. I'm happy that a frog lives in our yard.

Killer

Last weekend was all over the place. I'm usually very organised, so when I knew I had to play a gig in Burnie, I thought I'd make the most of the trip and go to the old house to do a bit of cleaning. Two birds with one stone and all that. Rachel said she loved cleaning and was keen to help – I was grateful, even though it meant she was a FREAK – I mean, who likes cleaning? Seriously? It's gotta be the most unrewarding job in the world. If you write a book, it stays written. If you paint a picture, it stays painted. If you clean a toilet, someone's just gonna crap in it again. Regardless, I was pleased to have another set of hands helping me.

I was determined to be ready on time – Rachel was coming at 9:30 to pick me up, I had to be ready for my gig as well as having all the cleaning stuff sorted out to take with us. It wasn't until we were pulling in the driveway of the old house that I remembered the dream I'd had the night before – the awful, terrible dream, where I'd forgotten to ask K for the key to the old house, as I'd already given my key to the real estate. But the dream was TRUE! I had forgotten the key! I never forget things like that, but man I felt like a dickhead having to tell Rachel that I didn't have a key to get in.

After a few phone calls to the real estate, and several failed attempts to break in on our own (that place is Fort Knox, I tell ya), we managed to get inside and make a start. I finished the bathroom, and decided that I was going to clean all the shelves in the house next. After being fairly involved with one set of shelves in the main bedroom, I stood back to admire my work. The fact that I'd had my head right in the cupboard meant that I wasn't at quite the right angle to see the massive huntsman spider that was sitting under the very shelf I'd just been cleaning. Argh! I'm not normally that bothered by spiders (I mean, I wouldn't marry one or anything, but I'm not really scared of them), but this one took me completely by surprise. My first instinct was to seek out the insect spray and give him a good coating. As soon as I had done that, I felt terrible. Huntsmen take an ETERNITY to die, and I had to watch him staggering around, clinging onto life, trying to get away from the invisible poison that had already sealed his fate. I was torn – should I scoop him up and put him outside, and hope that the fresh air would revive him? Should I stomp on him and end his suffering? No, I couldn't do that – I'd feel his bones crunching under my shoe, and that would be worse. Instead, I decided that the most humane thing to do would be to finish what I'd started and engulf him in a second coat of the stuff. He stumbled around like a drunk at closing time. It broke my heart. Eventually, he fell on his back, curled up his legs and died.

I felt extremely guilty. Why hadn't I just left him in the cupboard? It's not like he was bothering anyone, it was an empty house. Why did I have to kill him? He might have had a family to support. He might have had his whole little life ahead of him. And I killed him for no reason. I deeply regretted doing it – I wish I had never spotted him.

My reaction to all this puzzled me – I can sit and watch ads about the starving children in Ethiopia and feel absolutely nothing towards them, but I can't kill a spider without feeling heartbroken. Is there something wrong with me? Nobody else would have cared about killing a spider, would they? I care more about animals than I do about most people. I don't know why it is so, but there it is.

I'm sorry, little spider. :-(

So Long, North West Coast

It was my last day at work in the Devonport office today. I kept doing that thing where everything you do all day, you think "this is the last time I'll make a coffee at this sink" or "I'll never sit at this desk again". I will certainly miss working in that office, but that doesn't mean I'm unhappy with my decision to move. Now that the company I work for has moved into a new building, it's a fair bit different than the old place. We are now sharing the building with a bunch of other people, which means there was a lot more activity going on around me, which made it hard to concentrate this week. I definitely think the move is for the best.

While I was tidying up loose ends, I got to thinking about leaving – not just the office, but the North West Coast in general. This has been my home for most of my life, and there's a lot I'll miss about it.

The things I'll miss about living in Ulverstone are:

• Living five minutes walk from the beach
• Walking the streets of a night with K, peering into people's windows
• Going for bicycle rides through Fairway Park to see the galahs
• Our friendly next door neighbours, and the neighbourhood in general
• Not having to maintain a garden
• Not having to pay for parking
• Being close to friends and commitments in Burnie and Devonport

The things I'll miss about Devonport are:

• The roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge
• Um…
• Have I said the roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge?
• The nice lady at the post office hatch who remembers my PO box number without me having to tell her
• The roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge

The things I WON'T miss about Devonport are:

• Having to put my motorbike gear on just to go out for five minutes, because nothing is within walking distance from the office
• Not being able to find a parking spot. Ever.
• Having to park somewhere to go to the bank and post office, then ride up the road and park again to go to Kmart and the supermarket, then ride up the road AGAIN to run errands in the Fourways
• The shitty roads that desperately need resurfacing
• How every street is a main street
• Random weirdos coming up to me wanting to have lengthy discussions about my scooter when I'm in a hurry

The things I'm looking forward to about living and working in Launceston are:

• HARI'S CURRY!
• Living in the same city as many of our good friends, and not having to drive an hour and a half to get home after hanging out with them
• NOT having to put my motorbike gear on just to go out for five minutes, because EVERYTHING is within walking distance from the office
• Knowing whether or not my boss is ignoring me on MSN, because I'll be able to see him
• Living close to the Trevallyn Reserve and the Cataract Gorge
• Living in our own house again, that we can modify as we see fit
• Having a crack at gardening
• Going on journeys with Gus to new places
• Maxing out the Myer card
• Finding a church that I feel I could belong to

Well, time to move on. Thanks, North West Coast - I have many fond memories.