The Tell-Tale Bottom

It's funny when you move in with someone.  Suddenly you feel like you have to be on your best behavior all the time.  Even though you feel comfortable and confident around this person, you still feel like you have to put on your best show for them.

And then one day, you relax.  Your secret single behavior that you've been harbouring quietly pulls up anchor and floats up right between you and him.

You know what it's like (ok, well, if you've ever moved in with a boy, you know what it's like).  I moved in with the boy back in December.  I held my ladylike façade for as long as I could - and he was impressed!  I was dainty, polite, neat, tidy...I looked and smelled pretty.

Before I go much further, let me admit the horror to you - I, along with several of my family members, suffer from terrible, wretched flatulence.  Like, clear the room kind of flatulence.  And we're unclassy about it because we all think it's funny.  We're all grown adults who still laugh at farts.  That's right.  We're a bunch of five year olds giggling as the noises and smells coming from our posteriors.

So.  I finally relaxed.  And the rumbling started.  From my tummy to my tush, I couldn't keep it in any longer.  I mean, how many bellyaches did I have to endure?  Like Shrek says, "Better out than in, Donkey!"  That really is my firm belief.

The first few time I feigned such surprise that I could make such a noise.  Luckily, they were just an auditory offence, his olfactory senses were not affronted.  But soon he caught on. 

"I was not prepared for your farting," he said with such disappointment.

I giggled.

"Baby, you have no idea...."

It's only been about 4 months or so, and he still hasn't experience the full wrath of what could happen when I eat what I shouldn't eat.   Lucky for him. 

I wonder how long I can keep this up?  My sister seems to have accustomed her husband to the toils of tummy turbulence...though I suspect it's something he begrudgingly lives with...perhaps I'll ask her advice. She might say that when it gets too bad she just gasses him via a dutch oven until he passes out and then he can't complain. 

Or she might just say she open the windows.  Who knows.

The good news is that now he sometimes snickers at me when one pops out.  He's coming around.  One day he'll love me for my farts, I just know it.

You Know What Grinds My Gears???

What ever happened to the courtesy wave from drivers?  Am I suddenly of the age when I look back with nostalgia at better times, remembering the kind, pleasant ways of my neighbours and fellow citizens?

I don’t think I am in that age range yet where my heart sighs with memory.  But I really don’t understand when the simple ‘thank you’ gesture from one driver to another disappeared.  I could take a guess and say it’s a generation thing, young drivers don’t know this signal, but I promise you, it’s not just young people who aren’t waving.  Many people in my generation and above seem to have forgotten it too.

Growing up we were a travelling family.  Not like a traveling circus family, but just a family who happened to take a lot of road trips.  My parents were courteous drivers; I am proud of the fact that I learned many excellent driving skills from them.  Particularly the friendly wave.  (Perhaps I’ll tell you about the driving with a lead foot skill another time…)

Now, maybe it’s a small town thing.  Small town folks smile and wave at each other all the time.  It’s like we are on happy pills and are thrilled to see other people or something.  Imagine driving those back country roads, chugging along peacefully in the remote infrastructure of Bruce County when lo and behold!  Another driver!  Hallelujah!  We MUST smile and wave at them as they drive by.

No, I don’t think that is it.  My mom grew up in the city, and I spent most of my youth in the city, and my mom was a wavin’ driver then.  So extremely happy small town people is irrelevant to my concern.

I currently live in a reasonable neighbourhood in a reasonable mid-sized city.  My street is wide enough for street parking on one side.  Often times you have to pull to the side while the oncoming car drives around the parked car.  This is a classic moment of when the Thank You wave would come into play.  I’d guess that 9 times out of 10 there is no Thank You wave.  It’s a little disappointing.  I like to give the friendly wave, sometimes it’s met with a nod, though most times the driver just stares on ahead like my car and I don’t even exist.  We don’t even factor in as another player on the road.

It just grinds my gears.  Literally.  I take my foot off the clutch and jam the stick shift into second just to hear the crunch and squeal to make the oncoming, non-waving, zoned-out driver pay attention to me.

Kidding, kidding.  No one likes doing that.  Not even in aggressive road rage situations.

But really.  Let’s all take a moment and think of a few years ago when friendliness happened on the roadways all the time.  Wasn’t it nice?  Didn’t it make you feel nice?  I bet it did. 

So what’s the solution?  Maybe if I just keep smiling and waving others will get the point.  Or maybe I’ll grind my gears at people.  We’ll see.

Simple Pleasures

Last night when I was driving home from an evening out with one of my girlfriends, I was blessed with a glorious view of the moon.  It was a sliver of a crescent moon, dusted with gold and shades of early autumn, sunk low in the sky making it larger than life.

Moments such as that remind me that when life seems to be slipping through your hands there is always something to be thankful for.  Just when you think that you can't handle anything else, the beauty of nature steps up to say a graceful hello and brings a smile to your face.

Morning dew on flowers, an afternoon ripple in the river, or the twinkling blanket of stars above, all you have to do is open your eyes to the world around you for the daily reminder that life is better than you think.

*Moments such as these also make me wish I had a stellar camera handy! :)

Peace Out, Grandma, Peace Out

Two of the most wonderful people in my life are my grandparents.  I know, I know, everyone loves their grandparents - homemade cookies, hugs, cards with money in them, and lots of love.  But mine are different.  They really stepped up to bat and played a big part in my life. 

Some people only see their grandparents at Christmas and family events.  When I was a kid, it was common to see my grandparents at least once a week.  That's how much they enjoyed my company.  Or something of that sort.  It had nothing to do with the fact that we lived close to each other, my mom was a single mother for the most part, and we were their only grandchildren.  Nope.  It was because they liked to have me around them.  Ok fine, and my brother and my sister and my mom too.

It is with a very heavy heart that I will share with you that this terrific duo has been reduced to an uno.  My dear grandma woke up the other week and decided she'd had her fill of this world.  A few last words to grandpa, one big breath and she made her way to the other side.  I'm hoping that on the other side she has regained her wits and her Alzhiemer's has been left on this side.  I'd like to think that she can look after us all now, from her spot in Heaven, and not have to wonder who she is peering at.

My grandma taught me a lot of good things.  Some are trivial, some are ethical, and some are just plain ol' common sense.

1.  It's ok to be snooty.  Why hide it and feel awkward?  Being snooty makes you feel good.
2.  A cup of the old Rosie Lee will fix anything (that's Cockney for tea, for those who don't know).
3.  That using terms of endearment towards the ones you love really warms their hearts.  She used to call me Pet, Lover and Sugarbush.  Sugarbush is my favourite, sometimes I call my niece Olivia that :)
4.  It's important to be presentable, as you never know who is looking.  A clean shirt, tidy hair, and a smile go a long way.
5.  If it's not gold, it's not worth it.  Enough said.
6.  If you can't say anything nice at all...tell someone else behind closed doors.  HA!!!  Grandma was famous for that one!
7.  Be sure to keep those who mean the most to you nearby, you never know when you'll need them or when they will need you.
8.  Always have cookies on hand - they go perfectly with the Rosie Lee.
9.  Spending a little more money on something for better quality just makes sense.
Last, but not least...
10. "You've got a tongue in your head, use it."  Be proud of who you are, stand up for yourself and what you believe in and don't let others take advantage of you.  If you can't speak up for yourself, you can't expect someone else too.

The best Grandparents on the planet!

Oh Grandma, you're the best Grandma I could have ever asked for.  I'm lucky to have had you in my life for 32 years.  Sure hope you're enjoying Heaven.  Remember, you can find your sisters up there and gossip all you want, but try not to trashtalk Jesus.  He's not up for that kind of stuff.

Milk and Honey

It has recently come to my attention that my apartment is somewhat 'cluttered.'  Defiantly, I say that my apartment is so tiny the only way it could look is cluttered.  Storage space does not exist.  My attempts at making my own storage space only adds to the clutter.  Tall shelving units with prettily patterned boxes contain this, that, and other, but are still a distraction to the eye.

In all of my random bibs and bobs, I've acquired something new.  A boyfriend.  I know, I know, it's quite exciting.  This new boyfriend has a house all to himself.  A house with cupboards, closets, drawers...reasonable places for reasonable (and unreasonable) items.  His house is clutter free.  We spend most of our time at his house, spacious as it is.

The boy is so clutter free, even his kitchen cabinets and fridge are sparce.  Imagine my chagrin on a Sunday morning when all I want is a decent cup of tea and there is no milk in the fridge, no sugar in the bowl.  Bless his sweet soul, he bought me Earl Grey tea, which I can happily manage without the milk and sugar.  Being that he is not a tea drinker, he failed to notice the label that said "Decaffinated."  So I packed up a little bag of Tetley and stashed it in his cupboard.  Tetley is my go-to tea.  I've been drinking it since the wee age of 3, when my grandma would make a milky cup just for me.  Tetley without milk is unfathomable to me.

He always apologizes profusely for the lack of milk.  I tell him it's ok, as I groggily stumble to the couch and daydream of caffine. 

I have to wonder at his shopping plan.  Without fail, Sunday is his shopping day.  He's usually out of food by Friday.  My shopping days are sporatically placed, as I zip over to the grocery store when I can and as needed.  My fridge never has a lack of milk, my sugar bowl is not empty. 

In fact, my fridge has items that can be thrown together to make a meal, at pretty much all times.  It may not be the most amazing meal of your life, but a meal I can make.

The cluttered conversation comes up - he says he does not like clutter, I defend my teeny apartment brimming to the ceiling. 

He says "Even your fridge is cluttered!!"

*silence ensues with a death stare*

I say "It's called I have food."

*no comment from the boyfriend*

 Clutter may be a visual distraction, clutter may be a little too much of hanging onto things.  But clutter in the fridge keeps me happy.  And if I may, my fridge is organized in a tidy manner...you can find most things in just a moment.

Book It

According to my list, I read 15 books last year. I won't say that is impressive because I know there are many who read much faster than I. However, I will say that in review of the list, it was a delightful selection which I thoroughly enjoyed most of - which is impressive. I even had a few surprises in there that I was not expecting to like so much. A couple disappointers, but it was bound to happen, right?

Fingers crossed that my selections this year are just as worthy. I've started with Book of Negroes. If you haven't picked it up yet...wow, you need to. Amazing book. I don't usually go on so much about a book, but this one deserves the praise it gets! That Heather, whoever she is, she has some good picks.

I'm a little neurotic about finishing what I start, even when I don't like it. There was one that has recieved immense buzz (guess which one!!!) and everyone loves it. Well...I thought it was a little lacking. Limited character development, not enough attention to creating a visualization of the setting and characters for the reader, and mediocre writing style. I can see how it would make for an amazing movie, but for a reader like me...not so much. I was lent the book, along with the second in the series. So of course I feel obliged to read the second. Even though I am sure I won't enjoy it. But it's like there is an imaginary person holding a gun to my head saying 'read this book or I'll shoot.' Actually, it's more like 'read this book or you'll be immensely curious forever to know what the book was about since it's sitting on your bookshelf right now and if you just give it back you'll be annoyed with yourself that you didn't read it. Even though you know you won't be thrilled by it.' Or something to that effect. You know what I mean, right??

So I've started off the year with a bang of the book, I'll dip to a mediocre one, and then hopefully I'll swing back up to the good stuff!

A Year in Review

To Number 1:

Thank you for reintroducing myself to myself. I had forgotten. Also, thank you for introducing me to Malbec wines.

To Number 2:

Thank you for reminding me of simple activities that can bring me inner peace. I had been missin' that fishin'.

To Number 3:

Thank you for letting me be me. And for teaching me the trick to napping. I am now a napping whore who naps on the weekends all the time. It's delightful.

Fingers crossed that next year there is only a Number 1. And that I will not be inspired to write a silly little year in review to remind myself that more than 1 is ok, even if it's not ideal.

I meant for this to sound nice, not annoyed. I think I diverted from my intent.

Opps.

My Favourite Driving Technique

I wouldn't say that I am a terrific driver, but I'm certainly not a bad driver. Perhaps I feel that I am a better driver than many people out there on the road.

I would definitely say that I am a confident driver.

I would also say that I am a driver who happens to experience road rage on the odd occasion. And by odd occasion I mean quite often. *averted gaze*

Yesterday as I was driving to work, the car behind me was driving precariously close to my tail end. So close, in fact, that I could determine the colour of the driver's eyeshadow by looking my rear view mirror. As we encroached a small town I dropped my speed accordingly, as did the driver behind me.

Yet she did not ease off. My road rage started to simmer at the surface. I muttered at her to get off my tail. Obviously, she did not hear me asking her to give some space between us. I tapped my brakes a couple times, in the hope that this little signal would relay the message.

No such luck.

The simmer turned to boil.

I pursed my lips. I flared my nostrils.

I employed my favourite driving technique for tailgaters.

I slammed on my brakes enough to decrease my speed 20 kms/hr in an flash.

Tee hee.

I saw the look of surprise cross the face of the driver behind me as she came even closer to my tail lights, her eyes widen with panic at the thought of hitting me.

I sped back up to my 55 kms/hr, and watched her slow her pace, growing the gap between us to a more than reasonable distance.

Sigh. My road rage started to subside. I happily motored on.

It's a great trick, I tell ya. Of course, I'm sure one day it will backfire on me and I'll actually get rear ended, but until then...it's so much fun to see those faces of shock in my rear view mirror!

Since when is 12 the magic number?

I heard on the radio the other week that the average North American woman has 12 relationships before she gets married.

Excellent.

Seven down, five to go. I'm more than halfway there now. Score for me.

*rolls eyes*


I'm hoping this definition of relationship includes these little blips of 'relationships' that I tend to find myself involved in. You know, the ones that last only a couple months, where you're not sure if the guy is your boyfriend or not.

Otherwise I'm two down, and ten to go. Man, I'll be like 70 by the time I get married. Can't wait. I think I'll just marry myself. Send out little cards saying I'm registered at shoe stores and makeup counters, and buy myself a nice dress. Throw a party for me and me. It will be a good time. You should come.

*with sarcasm dripping from my fingertips, I hit the 'publish post' button...*

The Rural Compromise

Throughout my wanderings across Southwestern Ontario, as I am sure you have realised, I have landed myself in both urban and rural places to live.

As I currently live in an urban centre (not Toronto...don't worry, I won't put myself through that again!), I still find that I yearn for the small town loveliness. (Just like when I lived in the small town, I yearned for the city. It's like I just can't be satisfied. Pfft.) Well, I may have recently found a good compromise. Live in the city, but work in the small town. I know, I know, most people do this the other way around. I like to be different, what can I say??

It's only been a few weeks of the switch up with work, but it's off to an excellent start. I spend my mornings driving through the countryside, enjoying the horse paddocks to the right, and the patches of forest on the left. Traffic is minimal, a tractor or two on the road to slow us down, but that's about it. I mean, it's not as ideal as my two minute roll to work when I was working at the city office, but I really can't complain.

One of the projects I am working on right now is setting up an event. This really defines why I love small towns. I stroll on into the Legion to scout out their hall as a potential venue. As I look around the hall, an older gentleman walks through. He stops.

"You looking to get married here?" he asks me.

A little startled at the question, I hastily answer "Uh, no, sir."

He raises his eyebrows in wonderment as to why I am there.

I think quick. "Can't find anyone to agree yet!" I exclaimed, whilst snapping my fingers and doing the classic finger gun.

He chuckles and carries on to the bar side.

See, in a small town, this is a funny, friendly old man. In the city...he would be classified as a creepy old man.

Small town charm seeps into everyone. You just can't help it.

Sleep Tight

I am 31 and a half. Recently I've taken to sleeping with my teddy bear again. He's 30 and a half. We've been in it together for the long haul. But seriously. Like I am physically falling asleep with my teddy bear tucked up in the crook of my arm. What am I, 5??

What the hell is up with that???

Ten Years

It's hard to believe that it has been nearly 10 whole years since 9/11. Less than a month away now.

I'm reading a book right now and there is a reference to one of the characters working in the south tower of the World Trade Towers - it's just 1999 for them. As I was reading it, I wondered if it was a pre-emptive hint that this character was going to be taken out of the story, because I know what is coming along in just two years for them.

I remember the first time I experienced 9/11 to be woven into pop culture. I can't even remember what book I was reading, but I was half way through it and there it was. September 11 on the news and the characters in the book were stunned, speechless, at a loss what to do.

I had to put the book down and I walked away from it for a couple days. I didn't like that it had found it's way into contemporary fiction. I didn't like that such horrific reality was now accepted reality in the world we live in. That I had to read fake people were experiencing the real thing we did.

I guess 10 years down the road it's still as fresh as it was then, but it's a real part of the everyday now.

Eight Arms to Hold You

So I've been finding a rather high number of spiders in my apartment this past while. Really, I live in a basement apartment, so what can I expect? I am generally ok with spiders, they don't give me the heebie jeebies, and I don't desire to squash them every time I see them.

I pretend that spiders know what I am saying to them. I tell them we have an agreement. You stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours. Don't scuttle across the living room floor when the lights are on, and don't creep up the legs of the bed to where I am sleeping. Up until last week, this understanding, as far as I was concerned, had been met.

Once or twice over the past few months I had spotted a huge mother of a spider zip along the floor when the lights were on. Big and black and hairy (ok, I am am making the hairy part up) and fast like lightening.

Maybe it looked like this. (There are too many spider pictures to choose from, and not enough time.) I'd say it was less brown and more black.

Anyways, point being, the big spider broke the rules, but since it quickly dashed under the bookshelf it was safe.

My crazy thinking makes me have weird notions. Some spiders, well I don't mind them at all. You know those smaller ones, with the yellowish bodies and spindly legs, and they generally stay up along the ceiling corners? They don't seem to want to bring any harm at all, so when I see them, I tell them to scoot off to where I can't see them. I don't mind sharing my living space with them.

But these big guys who are so obvious in their whereabouts...not so much. I had noticed a little yellow spindly spider had taken up residence in the bathroom. She had started a web in a corner beside my standing cupboard. I had a notion to be a homewrecker, but decided to let it be. Really, what was the harm? Two days later I notice that another spider - big ol' spider - had taken over the web. The little one was no where to be seen!!! What? Spider homicide?? I was irked that this big spider had bullied the little spider out of it's home OR that it killed it. Yikes. The world of the arachnids is a brutal one. I reflected in my heart and only found a stone cold answer. Yup. I did away with it. All I could think of was it was big and it was going to get me somehow.

Imagine my chagrin when the very next day I am blow drying my hair and I spotted an even bigger spider!!! This was the mother of all spiders!!!! You know on Harry Potter, the big spider Aragog...yeah, we're talking big here. Ok, obviously not that big. But a big spider on the terms of a house spider in Canada. It's body might have been equivalent to the length of a nickel, but more oblong. Ick. My cold heart told me what to do. All I could think about was this big ol' spider having free reign of my apartment and running all over. I took care of business.

I pulled aside my laundry basket, tissue in hand (that's right, I'm tough, I can handle the killings with a kleenex) and got to task. As I move the basket further to make sure that there wasn't another huge mofo waiting for me I see this wee little one come running out in a jagged little path.

My heart panged for a moment. What if I just killed it's mother!?!?!? This spider who really wasn't going to do me any harm who just lost it's life because I'm a nut has little babies who now have to grow up without a mom.

Uhhh...and then I remembered oh right, we're talking about spiders here. I don't think they have the same bond I have with my mom. And for Pete's sake, if there is one baby there is bound to be a hundred. Crap. That's a lot of spider killing coming my way.

Why can't they just listen and stay out of sight?

Can't Buy Me Love (And Happy Mother's Day!!)

It's been a good nine hours since the words were uttered, but I am still appalled. Today I attended a conference with prominent speakers from the Canadian business world. They discussed integrity, passion, motivation, self confidence. The things that would make you a great entrepreneur. My intention of attending was to gain some insights into networking. A little study I'm doing. Understanding the nuances of relationship building, of networking, of remembering things about a gazillion people. You know the stuff I'm talking about.

It seemed like a good place to be. These people in the room were network hungry. And apparently, many of them were money hungry. I understand that the point of the business world is to generate money, to get a little green in your pocket to make your life a little easier. I know there are people out there who think money really makes the world go 'round and that money makes you a better person. I just didn't expect to hear one of the presenters say that. That's right, SAY THAT. Not insinuate that. He actually said that having wealth made him a better parent.

Excuse me!?!?!?!?

It was the most ignorant, asinine, self inflated thing I have ever heard someone say. To over two thousand people in an audience. I mean, yes, I agree that having money can alleviate certain hard situations and open the door of some opportunity. But make you a better parent? I don't think so. Life is what you make it, with or without money. Would I say that if my mother had been rich she'd have been a better mother? Of course not. I think the fact that she experienced hardships and struggled made her a strong woman who set an excellent example of integrity for her children.

Money shmoney. What does he know? I bet his mother didn't raise him to think that. Mine certainly didn't. The audacity to actually say that money makes you a better person. Pfft.

Mom, I think you are a better parent for not having money. Thank you for instilling good morals into my being!

In person or bust.

The continuing trend of online shopping just irks me. In what I am sure is not surprising news to you, I like going out to buy things. Much like I enjoy going to the bank in person, I enjoy going to the store in person. I want to hold the item in my hands before making a purchase decision. I want to check out the packaging, open it up if I can; I want to see it first. And on top of that, I want to get out of my apartment and have a little excursion in order to make the purchase, and see a friendly face or two.

As much as I love Chapter's, I also hate that I will come across a book that I want, only to discover it is not in stock in any of the nearby Chapter's. Meaning I should buy it online. But you know what??? I don't want to buy it online. So I'd rather not buy it at all.

Take that, online shopping. I'm not relenting. I'd rather suffer and be uninformed about my topic of interest. That's right. Self induced ignorance just to make my point. I'm that kind of person. An in-person kind of person.

Hindsight is more than 20/20. It's like Superman vision.

It's interesting. In November I felt that I could once again reassemble myself to the full glory of completeness. Getting my footing back has certainly made headway for that progress, I'm pleased to announce. I can't express properly the delight I arrive at now when I feel myself becoming excited about doing things that in the past couple years I felt I could do with or without. The indifference hung over me like a saturated cloud ready to burst, but now the brisk breeze of pleasure is gently ushering it away. At the time, I didn't really see what was going on. I just knew that a part of me was taking a nap, all curled up in a warm duvet with 600 thread count sheets, and wasn't so keen on waking up. No one offered to wake me up for dinner though. A mild tap on the shoulder here and there, but nothing to really rouse me. I slept way past midnight. I remember saying to my close friends "I think I've lost my funny." I kept feeling that way but wasn't so sure what to do about it. That should have been my red flag. They still laughed at my jokes and my silly antics, because, let's be honest here, I'm always funny, though sometimes to a much lesser degree. Their laughter was, and will always be music in my soul. It helps to keep me going. I kind of felt like I was just going through the motions of my life. But I did not ever address the worry. I just kept going and told myself I'd get myself back on track. Perhaps I hid things pretty well too. Smiling when I should, laughing as I could, and running away every chance I had to not draw attention. And then November came. I finally realized I needed to do something. I don't really know if anyone gets it, if anyone understands that collecting myself and being on my own again and having all of my things in the land of Melissa put in the right spots makes me feel good, makes me feel like me. But it does. Notably, the first three months of this year were hilarious and fun. I know that I would not have been able to enjoy myself quite so much if I hadn't realized last fall that I needed to collect myself up and put me back together. Regardless of anything, I am just so happy to know that I was me, one hundred percent me, for the first time in a long time. That is what I call progress. That is the glue that is binding me together. Knowing that I still exist. *Apologies for the serious and cryptic nature of this post. Very out of the ordinary, I know! *Son of a crap! Why won't this format into proper paragraphs!!!! Pfft. Here I felt all nice and mellow from writing this post, and now the anger of poor formatting makes my blood boil!!!! Kidding. Mostly... ;)

Farewell Dinner

As I graciously transition from 30 to 31, I was inspired to treat myself to a delectable dinner I have not indulged in for quite some time.

I poured myself a glass of red wine. A nice 2009 Malbec.

Sorted out Moulin Rouge from my DVD collection

Sighed dreamily over Ewan McGregor

I toasted up a few slices of ciabatta, spread on a nice creamy goat cheese and topped it off with smoked salmon.

So good...I ate too much.

Barely had room for my Petite Four!

Just. So. Delicious.

Goodbye 30. You were Spectacular Spectacular. No words in the vernacular can describe this great event. You'll be dumb with wonderment.

Every year....

Remember when I was about to turn 27? Impending doom and bull elephants and all that?

Yeah. And now 31 is just days away.

The good news is that now I don't drink nearly so much beer. If you can actually call that good news.

Pfft.

My Addiction

Well. I found myself at Chapters again today. I really should not be allowed to go in there. I just can't help it though. Chapters is to me what an opiate dealer is to Keith Richards. Ok, maybe that was mean and a little extreme. But you get the gist. I am a bibliophile. After an hour and a half of browsing and sipping on my Starbucks, I had four books tucked under my arm and a few funny little clearance rack items.

A little too much. I needed to reconsider.

You know those people who wander around a public space in their own little word and act like no one else is around? Well, that can be me. In this moment, it was me. Like a seven year old trying to make a decision, I found a clear space on the floor and laid out all the items in front of me. Crouching down, I put my coffee aside and gently touched each book, each item. As if a simple touch was going to determine it's worth. I picked each one up and read the relevant information.

Sigh. Michael Ondaatje. I adore his writing. Goes in the purchase list.

Ella. Good ol' Ella. I don't own any Ella. 50 songs for $10. Now that's a deal.

Velveteen Rabbit for James. Well, it's an Easter present, so of course I should get it now. I mean, if I don't buy it now, I'll buy him something else later. Might as well be this.

The Glass Castle. I've been itching to read this for months!!

Are you there God? It's me, Margaret. I mean, c'mon. How could I not? It will be a youthful inspiration.

I hummed and hawed with my final decisions. Nothing went back on the shelves.

As I walked towards the bank of cashiers, I claimed ownership of my addiction. I thought about how much this was going to cost me. I thought about how many times I have been in Chapters over the past few months. I kept telling myself in the past that I didn't have a problem. That I should not sign up for an iRewards card, it wasn't worth it. For a fleeting moment a light shone down on me that sang a heavenly tune confirming that this addiction is ok, and an iRewards card is something useful, not something to scoff at every time the cashier asks me if I want one. I approached the till, and like an AA member, I said, "I'm Melissa, and I buy too many books. I'd like an iRewards card, please."

After saving a nice $18, I arrived at home and pulled my goodies out of the bag. I thought about which one I was going to read next. I am currently working my way through Doctor Zhivago. I sat in front of my bookshelf and pulled out the book I've already designated as my next read. I skimmed over other titles and realized I had others on there that I had forgotten about. Huh. Interesting. Including the new ones, there are seven. Oy. I have a problem. My goal now is to read them all and get them taken care of. I will not sweep them under the rug.

I am not a speedy reader. I want to absorb each word, get caught in the beauty of the scene of the author has painted with lyrical words. I want to connect to the characters and know them inside out. I like to curl up in bed with my book and have a relaxing moment. I am, however, pretty excited about these seven books, so I just might pick up the pace...excuse me now, if you will, I must go and read.

A Simple Transaction

I blog. I facebook. I email. I am LinkedIn. I love the internet for many things. I do not, however, love it for banking and other personal things that could secrete my life's savings.

I am that girl who loves going to the bank. Face to face banking will never be replaced in my opinion. Who doesn't love bank tellers? They are always so friendly. And when you keep going to the same bank, you get to know these ladies (and the few men) and it's just plain nice. Going to the bank is warm and fuzzy.

Every trip to the bank reveals that I am not the only one who loves real life banking. (Though I note that it's usually me and a bunch of old folks, but that's besides the point.) I stand in line waiting for my turn to arrive. I sway a little to the music in my head, or hum to the radio playing in the building. Overall, it's a peaceful activity for me.

Until I am in a rush. Like yesterday. My lunch was chalk full of errands that needed to be run. The most important errand was picking up lunch for my growling belly. What can I say, my priorities revolve around food? I had decided to swing by the Italian deli for a delectable dish, but knew I had to be there by 12:30 in order to get back to my desk in time for my 1:00 appointment.

With only one person in front of me, I figured this would not be an issue. Until a few minutes later when I started to 'accidentally eavesdrop' on the people up at the teller. Wow. They were telling her their life story. And she was soaking it up like a good romance novel. (Is there such a thing? A good romance novel. Maybe I used the wrong example.) She was soaking it up like a good Timothy Findley novel. (Much better!). Crap. I looked at the time. 12:16. Still had to go to the other bank AND go to Shopper's Drug Mart AND drive up to the deli.

The woman in front of me had about 4 different bank books with her. She was here for some serious business. The other teller opened and I made my way to the front of the line. Life story still going on to my left, serious banking going on to my right. 12:20. My tummy growled angrily at me.

Sigh. Depression sank. I was not going to get the tremendously tasty lunch I had hoped for.

A third teller opened up her station and called me over. Can I tell you that she was the most pleasant lady? We joked around, she told me granddaughter was moving down here for school and she was excited. We shared tidbits of positive information in a timely and efficient manner. My banking was complete. It was both a functional and jovial banking transaction.

This, my fellow bankgoers, is how you do in-person banking. Be respectful of the line behind you! We all have places to be, but we shouldn't have to suffer just because we actually like going to the bank and you are a chattypants!!! Keep your chit chat limited to the transaction time. These people behind the counters are professionals. They know how it rolls. Just follow their lead, exchange your pleasantries and get out of the way.

Simple as that.

Even though I had to suffer through potato wedges and chicken bites for lunch from the Valu-Mart, I still love the bank...