It's raining, it's boring...

Actually, it's a beautifully hot, sunny day outside. But it rained yesterday -- a big, beautiful thunderstorm with rain that fell in furious, heavy drops. So I decided to hang outside and get drenched. And no, nothing trite like dancing or singing. Just a good, old-fashioned soak in polluted rain.

Of course, the neighbours likely think I'm bordering on insane. (I'm not sure if they noticed me splashing in the road where the torrent of water makes a run for the sewers.) There was some vague referral to doing similar things when they were kids. I suspect it's sly way of pointing out my obvious immaturity, but I have one up on them.

I already know I'm immature. So there.

It's interesting talking to my neighbours. They're a family of four. Married, own their house, have two kids, brand new appliances, a minivan, etc. They keep a tidy lawn, and like to plan out the renovations for their house. They've even made an effort to know who lives on the street. Most unusual.

And they're only a few months older than me.

I, who rents an apartment, has student loans up the wazoo, am painfully broke and spent the weekend smuggling in liquor to as many venues at North By Northeast (annual indie music fest) as possible. I still eat Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip (scary chemical sugar powder, which you dip into with a little pink candy stick) , and when someone farts in the bathroom stall next to me, I think it's hilarious. Especially since women (myself included) try all sorts of nifty tricks to avoid that loud, embarrassing echo of passing wind into the potty.

I just find it interesting that there's this great, sweeping chasm between our lifestyles. It makes for some serious introspection when you consider the weird little paths your life makes. I could be a Mrs. (Insert Last Name Here) graciously welcoming guests into my home. And serving pate with a dry white wine. I would wear dresses, of course. And there'd be little fuzzy covers on the toilet seats.

Ick.

But my real coup de gras yesterday was a long, late night walk to Ashbridges Bay (one of the nicer beaches in the Greater Toronto Area) at 1 am. It was foggy, humid, dark and eerily quiet... save the odd person walking in the shadows with a dog or a cigarette.

Maybe it's not the safest place for a woman, but I've always believed that by playing it overly safe, you miss out on all the really cool moments in life.