Driving the car into work, while environmentally insensitive of me, allows me the freedom to do things I just can’t do on a scooter. For example:

• Wear a short (ish) skirt without worrying that I’m flashing everyone on the bridge
• Wear mascara without going blind when the wind makes my eyes tear up and things run and sting
• Hair ornaments – it is nigh on impossible to be cranky when you’ve got sequins in your hair
• Music! I don’t listen to music while scooting, but in the car I can crank up the tunes and sing passionately of love and fisting
• Dress like a sassy school marm

I don’t know what I’m going to do when scooting season is over. It seems beyond foolish to pay $85 a month to park when I can’t ride, yet there’s a 30-day notice clause for canceling my parking pass – and then what do I do in the spring? Jump through the hoops all over again? Probably. I could use the no-scooting time to look at other lots in the area; I take up so little room perhaps I could find cheaper parking elsewhere.
I’m going to have to get up a lot earlier, too. Transit chaps my ass in terrible ways – the idea of paying $7.50 a day to take 45 minutes to get to and from work is just alien and wrong to me. I don’t know why I’m such a princess about transit; millions of people take it every day and they certainly don’t make it sound like they’re being forced to rub elbows with peasants .. which, truthfully, is part of the problem. Damn peasants; always smelling like dung and manual labour.

I officially Give Up on bathing suits. Granted, I spent a total of 20 minutes looking for one – but still, I give up. Last night in Walmart (I know, I know) I found a rack of clearance suity things, and grabbed an approximation of my size. I didn’t bother trying them on, because I was with boys with a known lack of patience for womanly lycra. I was pretty sure about the size of my bottom, but it was my top half that causes the most angst. Sure enough, when I got home I discovered the $5 bottom fit perfectly – but neither of the two tops were mighty enough to contain the almighty power of my spectacular bosom. I’m going to return the two tops and I’ve come to A Decision about my need for ocean decency: I’ll wear the bottom with a tank top and bra. There is no swimming gear on this planet strong enough to contain my breasts, and I am not bragging – these fuckers are huge, and everything I’ve ever tried on makes me feel exposed and saggy. I will sacrifice one of my many bras by removing the underwire – it would suck to have my boobs rust – and designate a reasonably modest tank top as swimming wear. That way I can still be confident that my boobs will remain covered and contained while I dunk myself in the ocean. I am very crafty when I need to be.

Of course, I could just go to Wreck Beach instead and let everything hang out.

Next year maybe I’ll try looking for a suit before the season ends, and see if I can’t find something made of mithril or adamantium.