Summer Lesson #4: Never borrow books from anyone you want to remain friends with.

I'm reading a book right now that was lent to me by a friend who is a one of those people. You know those people, the sort of people who cannot read a book once the spine of it has been broken, the sort of people who have can't be friends with someone who dog-ears pages*. These people are the true Book Enthusiasts among us, because they care just as much about the state of the book itself as they do about the story the book holds. Me, I am not a book enthusiast. I don't care if the pages of the book I'm reading have been replaced with bits of used toilet paper, because it's the story I'm after. And because I don't care, I am terrified by the people who do care, because a Book Enthusiast will inevitably be someone whom I a) want to be friends with and b) has a pristine collection of books I really want to read and can't find at the library.

Lesson #3: Always define your terms, or you might end up insinuating your girlfriend dresses like a slutty referee in her spare time.

When I was in grade 12, I had the misguided notion that I needed an extracurricular activity and I chose debating. I chose debating because 1) my english teacher loved me and loved debating and wanted these things to go together and I enjoy being adored, and 2) my friend (the one I showered with bits of shark skeleton) and I had once gone to a debate where the winner was a particularly attractive fast talking young man and we both agreed that we were more likely to get laid if we were exactly like him. This led to the most horrible debating experience I've ever had, where it was our job to define the term 'violence' and we managed to form a loophole where rape and spousal abuse were not included in the term 'violence' and ended up having to debate in favour of sexual assault.

Summer Lesson #2: Don't believe anything you learned in grade 5 biology.

When I was 10, my family moved to a reservation in South Dakota for a 3-year term with Habitat for Humanity, and I was enrolled in a Catholic school there. I've never actually asked my parents why they decided on Catholic school; I can only assume that it was because the other alternative was a public school of some notoriety*. I had never realized that my brand of Christianity was not the only one, and so from the moment I entered Religion class and was handed a rosary, I started learning all sorts of things I had not bargained for.

Summer Lesson#1: If it's meant for your genitals, it will cost more

I have decided to compile a list of things I have learned this summer. The first lesson I will share with you is something that I learned just today, less than an hour ago, when I wandered into our upstairs bathroom and discovered that there is now an extra razor in the bathroom.

I have this theory that my brother probably shaves because he doesn't have very much facial hair, but I've never come across a razor in that bathroom other than my own, which is cute and pastel green and white and is a Schick Quattro (for women!!).The thing that floored me (yet is probably a no-brainer to most other people) was that Ben's razor is the exact same kind as mine, save for the fact that it is black and silver and goes under the testosterone-injected name of Schick Titanium.

I would just like to add...

I would just like to add that, since my post about the Plenty of Fish Seduction Trifecta, the amount of traffic to my site linked from google searches for 'shirtless fireman with kitten' have increased exponentially (as in there's been at least one).

In which I try to interview a city councillor and spend 5 hours in the hospital instead

Continuing the series on my Increasingly Dangerous Tuesday Activities:

I woke up Tuesday morning and realized I had absolutely no pressing engagements of any kind, so I decided to donate blood. Blood donation can be somewhat of an all-day affair for me, so I try to save it for a day when my schedule is completely clear. 10 minutes after I made my appointment at CBS for noon, I got a call from Harvey Smith, whom I've been hounding all week to give me an interview about eco-friendly house renovations, saying that I could come and interview him at 2pm that day.

The Changing Trends of Fishing

During that short phase last week when I was convinced someone was going to kill me (see previous post), I had the idea to get my mind off things by resorting to the age-old tactic of surfing Plenty of Fish for the most impressive attractive personality combo pic, aka something that I until recently referred to as the Seduction Trifecta.

The Revenge of the Taturday Friend

As you may recall*, several weeks ago I had a visit from my Taturday friend, an incredibly innebriated man who showed up on a Tuesday morning (my version of Saturday) and tried to break the door down in search of a woman named Kristin. In the end I was victorious and he was in jail, but apparently that experience has imprinted in me the idea that anyone knocking at my door intends on breaking my door down. Fast-forward three weeks. I'm house-sitting at a friend's house. I'm all alone. It's 3:30 in the morning. I am awakened by a very desperate knocking at the door.

Sleeping with the Monster-Cat

For the last week or so, I've been cat-sitting for some friends of mine. I've hung out at the house often enough, and so I was fairly well-acquainted with Emmerson the Giant, a cat larger than most dogs I know*. I can't remember exactly what breed of cat Emmerson is, but I believe it's a cousin to the Raccuma, a cross between a raccoon and a puma; of course, he's inherited the feral instincts of neither of these wild ancestral creatures. His behaviour most often resembles that of a large space-foam pillow, and I would use him as one on a more regular basis if it weren't for the fact that his fur behaves more like spider-web than any hair I've ever seen. What I'm trying to say here is that this cat is huge and weird. But taking care of a gigantic space-foam pillow cat covered in spiderweb hair, while strange, doesn't actually sound that hard. And it isn't, as long as you don't try to sleep in the house.

A day without pens

On Wednesday, I woke up and realized that today was the day that I could begin registering for courses at the prestigious university I attend. I excitedly logged on to WebAdvisor and prepared myself for the satisfying moment when I could press the ‘register’ button on the three courses I’d picked out almost a month beforehand. And then I remembered that pesky little honours permission form that I have had to fill out 3 times in the past year and a half, and yet always forget I need. Damn that form.