Lost in a bookstore

I have an addiction. I'll admit it. I can't get enough. I treat them badly while I make love to their beautiful, dry creases. Flip it over to get a taste of what's on the other side. Mmm...

Books.

If I find a new bookstore then I have to go in. I have no choice! If I'm with other people I'll try my best to be quick about it. Just a browse. A bit of a perusal. Probably I'll find at least one book that calls out to me. It tells me it needs me. I know that I need it, as well.

I'll buy this book and put it into an ever expanding pile. These piles have been growing for years. I'm out of bookshelves and our apartment already looks like a pitiable library of I'll-read-that-soon-I-swear. I can't read nearly as fast as I can buy and there is truly some sort of psychological condition that affects me.

So bookstores...

I get lost in them. In fact, I got lost in one today. I finished French class and went to meet Anna for a "Hebrew lesson" and some homemade goodies.

(As well as a movie called Sex Tape with Jason Segel and Cameron Diaz. It was ridiculous and hilarious, but made even better by the fact that is was "in Hebrew.")

After this movie, I left and began my trek to the subway. On the way, I discovered...

You guessed it.

A BOOKSTORE!

I had one hour before it closed and I thought,

"Yes! I can do this! I won't spend money and I'll only stay for a few minutes so I can make it home in time to pick up kitty litter."

45 minutes later I realized that I had gotten lost in a bookstore once again! All the beautiful, written treasures sucked me into their world. I realized I had an armful of books and so chose the ones I really thought I needed. I turned to leave, but...

OMG! I was literally lost in this literary labyrinth of  libros lovingly lighting my life. ;)

I had completely forgotten the location of the stairs until I realized I was standing beside them, separated by a wall. Feeling like an idiot, I went downstairs, bought my books, and left.

Errr...I tried to leave.

I actually just bumped into a wall I thought was the door.

Now I'm just arriving home and looking forward to sleeping in tomorrow.

Moral:
When you get lost in a bookstore...don't actually get lost in a bookstore. And most importantly, when you find your way out...use the door; it's easier to open than the wall.

Pseudo-ethnic salespersons

After work last night, I decided to walk through the mall on my way home. There was an unconventionally attractive man with a strange accent handing out samples at one of the new stores.

I always take free stuff. Always. I make Chris pretend that he is buying his cologne for the first time so he can get the free duffel bag and samples. The reality is he has been buying this same cologne for at least 6 years.

Anyhoo...

I was sucked into the sales ploy nd allowed this strange, foreign man to buff the nail on the middle finger of my right hand.

"Ohll nahtoorell," he says with his strange accent, "Where you are frohm?"

"Me? Oh. Ummm...New York," I reply completely confused by the relevance of this question.

"Ahhh! De beeg ceetee? Ohllwehs I ehm wantingh to go der."

I am not actually from NYC, but I figure Buffalo is the second biggest city and it IS a CITY in New York. So yes...I confirm my origins as NYC and tell him he absolutely must go.

Of course, my question is:

"Where are you from? You have a very interesting accent."

"Eetahlee!"

"Ahhh! Sono studente d'italiano!!! Perché abiti qui?" I so fabulously respond.

"Ohhh...daht ees eetahleeahn? I don't speak de lehnguage. I wahs born der but I grew ahp een Greece."

"Καταπληκτικό! Μαθαίνω ελληνικά," I reply excitedly.

He just kind of does a nervous giggle and says, "where you learn dese lehnguage?"

I tell him I'm a student and he just looks at me funny and continues his sales pitch. This all ends with me taking my free samples of all-natural soap and him giving me his card which said:

Liam.

That was it. He was obviously a Canadian guy putting on a fake accent.

Walking away I give a smile and say, "γειά σου!"

He just smiles and grabs a hold of his next xenophile victim.

Now, I'm left with 2 free samples, lingual-disappointment, and a really shiny nail on the middle finger of my right hand.

There are 3 morals to this story:

1- learn to just say "no" and don't fall victim to the allure of a pretty accent. This is especially true when the accent doesn't sound familiar at all. If you can't even come close to placing it then chances are it is fake.

2 - if you're going to pretend to be from another country you should probably learn a few key phrases in that language.

3 - if someone offers to buff one of your nails you should tell them it is all or none! My other nails are looking extra awful.

1 month

Today was a truly lovely day; no complaints. 

I slept in a whole hour and then crawled out of bed into a bright, cool, beautiful autumn day. My hair was tousled and I had a pimple beside my nose, but guess what...

I gave less than two shits. 

Today was my day off (!!!) and I had no reason to look good for anyone. No school. No work. No grocery shopping. No laundry. AND (!!!) the dishes were done. *HUGE SMILE*

I studied some school stuff lazily while watching a bit of TV and drinking my coffee. Mr. Darcy 

(as shown below)

was chewing on my notes beside me and making me crazy. The fan was on low by the window making my feet cold which is pleasantly uncomfortable. 

Chris (^^^the guy up there^^^) came home early came home from work and we went to the theatre (insert British accent) and saw The Last Witch Hunter which was a pretty decent Vin Diesel movie. We came home and I made some dinner. I sat back down to my notes and bad TV and Chris got on WoW. 

Seriously, a lovely day!

Well, then Chris went to bed. I was starting to get frustrated with some awful astronomy notes. So I went to Wal-Mart. I was wearing these exact same sweatpants, but I think I wore them better.

I grabbed my usual sugar-free chocolates and wandered the store while eating them.

I paid for my empty package.

Then I went to get some tea.

 

This is a picture of DAVIDsTEA...with a really awkward David.

I grabbed a mint tea because I just scarfed down an entire package of sugar free chocolates. In case you have never had sugar free chocolate, there is a disclaimer on the bag saying it can have laxative-like effects. 

Anyhoo...

wandering the mall with my mint tea and a package of salad for later, I decided to take a quick trip into Urban Outfitters*. Today was its grand opening and since the mall was closing in 15 minutes I figured I could wander a few minutes and not have to deal with a swarm of people. Whilst wandering, I came across a few things:

-cassette player (remind me to tell you a story about that later)

-flasks disguised as tampons

-those ugly socks from when I was little that went up to your knee and had those awful red and/or blue stripes

-a Christmas sweater with the words "Merry Christmas You Filthy Animal" (you may remember this as one of the Home Alone scenes)

A guy who was no older than 20 picked up the sweater and laughed. He discussed buying it with a young lady who I can only assume was his girlfriend. Judging from that discussion, neither of them had a clue about the origin of this phrase.

This was the beginning...

I suddenly felt old. This is not the first time I have felt old, and probably not the last. The difference this time is I suddenly started giggling and I couldn't stop. I was overwhelmed. It was like that feeling you get as a child when you have just discovered a secret and you feel so excited because you know something no one else does. Simultaneously, however, I felt a weight. I felt a heavy discomfort that I could only describe as an intense feeling of nostalgia for something that I couldn't quite grasp.

I left the store and thought...

Wait! What day is it!?

I picked up my phone and looked at the date.

October 29.

Precisely one month before my birthday. My thirtieth birthday.

I grabbed my chocolate and I blew that popsicle stand.

Arriving home I still had this feeling and couldn't get rid of that ridiculous grin.

Here's the point I'm trying to make:

Thirty is a big deal. People keep telling me it isn't, but it is. Thirty is the age when you finally feel a detachment from your childhood. Now, this isn't necessarily a bad thing and I can't say I'm sad about it, but it is a big deal. I feel utterly cut-off from this current generation of hipsters and LGBTQ* activists. I feel kind of irrelevant. 

But...

The amazing thing about realizing your irrelevance is that you finally feel free from all of those AWFUL cultural/societal constraints. I didn't care that I was at the mall in sweatpants and I didn't care that I had a pimple the size of Belarus on my face. I didn't care that I don't have a pair D & G glasses.

So, here I am...

High as a kite and praising myself for the foresight to buy that salad and chocolate.

High as a kite and pondering my new-found freedom.

High as a kite and apparently starting a blog...