Also, since I'm making up rules, let's remember not to give single people stupid advice that starts out in a story of how they "caught" the lucky other person. It's different for every single human being on earth, what makes anyone think it'd be the same for someone else??

Let's remember as a rule when we're lucky enough to get married and have kids this one important thing: don't tell non-pregnant, non-kid-having people stuff they don't care about and can't relate to.

It's boring blah blah blah. Or a horror story that will turn us off for sure.

I'm reading a book about finding the love of your life. It's silly and I am enjoying it immensely. It's the kind of drivel you'd expect and it's completely moronic and yet totally common sense advice. The first chapter deals with eliminating the seven most prevalent causes of faulty mate selection. It was pedestrian, so I'll spare you.

In the second chapter, it recommended forming a mental image of your future spouse. One of the points to consider is intelligence. "No one wants to marry someone well below them in intelligence. But you may not want to marry a genius either. Sometimes, a potential mate is too intelligent. Or maybe he is smart in ways that make him a bad match for you. What kind of intelligence do you want your future mate to have?"

Another point is appearance. "While it would be foolish to base your decision too heavily on appearance, your individual tastes should be considered when formulating the image of your perfect person. You must settle on your own preferences... Determine a look you will be pleased with."

Other points to consider were ambition, chemistry, spirituality, character, creativity authenticity, and others, all discussed in nauseating detail.

The kicker was that to start off this lame chapter the author wrote:
"So my challenge to you is to become all that you are capable of becoming. At the same time I encourage you to look squarely at yourself and appraise your overall attractiveness accurately. But remember this: It's probably best to search for someone who seems to be a little above you -- and then to try with all you have to become the person who will be attractive to that individual."

In a nutshell the deal to getting yourself mated up is -- find someone you're attracted to, find out what kinds of people they're attracted to, (as far as appearance and personality) then become the person that they would be attracted to, forgoing your own personality and changing your appearance to be as little like yourself as possible, thereby basing your entire relationship on fraudulent evidence of yourself.

Library Romance -- I want to make up a story and submit it, tee hee!

Actually... reflecting upon it, I'm sad that working in libraries nothing like that has happened to me. Sort of. Well, it's not like I work in a traditional library or with regular library patrons. Good thing too, since some homeless people that hang out in regular libraries all day. And it's kind of embarrassing to be flirting with the library patrons in my job, since it's the same 150 people that are in the company and I'd have to see them all the time. (Not that it's stopped me...)

Things I think you should not do

You should not name a baby girl Berry. Or worse yet, Berri.

Or a boy Leslie or Ashley. I just think you shouldn't.

The Office

I watched the second season of The Office, the BBC comedy that everyone is talking about. I had so much anxiety about the situation that I nearly had to turn it off.

It hits too close to home.

I didn't want to know

To start off this update, some information about me: I'm usually a bear in the morning -- but I'm fairly civil unless spoken to. I generally don't like people on busses or at bus stops, although they usually give me ample material to laugh and write about.

Today I get out to my bus stop and the one guy I actually don't mind saying "good morning" to is already standing there. Usually we say "good morning" to each other and then he gives me a brief weather report. He is a Newfie and fixated on weather reports. I'm not sure where he gets these weather reports because they all contain forecasts of rain. I am pretty sure he doesn't like sun and suffers from bad-news-glee. That concludes our limited conversation and I can go back to sleeping with my eyes open, standing up, waiting for the bus.

Anyhow, today I said to him: "Good morning."
He pokes his finger into his nose and says "I've got a pimple right under my nose, and it's driving me nuts!!"

Found two quarters today!

I always figured I had a gift for finding dimes... everywhere I go I normally find dimes. I guess they're kind of thin and they are the smallest of change so they could easily fall out of people's pockets. But then discussing superstitions at lunch one day someone said "see a penny, pick it up, then all day you'll have good luck. Oh but never pick up a dime if you find it on the street." And instead of saying why, everyone agreed and nodded and continued the conversation. I interrupted and wanted to know why but no one would tell me.

You know what? That's fine. Don't tell me and I'll continue to pick up everyone's dimes everywhere I go. I'm raking in the dough, 10 cents at a time!

Bus fun

Another day on the bus, more people that smell like urine.

And a funny poem on the morning bus. See it here.

Choir practice is not cancelled

I've been so excited because choir practice was cancelled this week... I told everyone I know.

Then I got an email: "There seems to be some confusion about whether or not there is practice this Tuesday (July 6) - as I mentioned at last week's practice, there will be a practice this week. I would really appreciate it if you could make it."

Poop.

Found: One American Quarter

As I was picking up my friend to take her to the airport early this morning. And that's like a buck seventy-five Canadian! Woot!

The Yeti Chair

I stumbled in to work this morning, still half bemused by sleep and lack of caffeine, to find a long (really long), thick (really thick), black hair (really ugly) sitting in front of my monitor. Immediately I controlled the retch impulse and fought back rising panic while I tried to get the hair off my stuff and into the trash.

After I had disposed of it I had a flashback to my first day of work.

It happened like this: I was introduced to coworkers and shown to my cubicle. Only to find the Yeti had been turned into a chair and banished to Edmonton, Alberta, living my cube. Removing the hair required a pair of scissors and a certain amount of company time. It was like shearing a sheep -- every couple of days I'd have to do it again because it seemed to grow out of the stuffing.

Stinky bus people (still bug me)

There's an awful person on the morning bus of a certain ethnicity who seems to have stomach problems. I say -- "it seems" and "awful" only because I'm fairly certain that the occasional smells of putrid gasses seem to emanate from this one person, quite awfully so. By "occasional" I mean regularly frequently, maybe every two minutes or so.

Today this person sat directly behind me and not only proceeded to emit gasses but eat carrots and chew with an open mouth for the entire ride.

I know!!

I mean, really! Carrots for breakfast?? What was this person thinking!?

Not to be too girly or anything, but I bought a lipstick. Never have worn lipstick before. It's not pink and it's quite dramatic.

I happened to have scratched myself under the eye while sleeping. I look like I punched myself in the face. Luckily my hair looks ok.

The average person loses between 100 and 200 hairs from their head every day. And I have started worrying about this.

I gave up my library card a long, long time ago, partially because it disgusted me to be reading a book and to find someone else's hair in the book. Especially if it was a stupid book. The other reasons I gave up my card had something to do with my inability to return books on time and my unwillingness to read a bestseller after 34 people ahead of me on the waiting list had all read it. By the time I get books from the library, someone usually has smeared chocolate cake into the margins, slobbered all over the corners while flipping pages, and dropped it in the bath. (Ok, ok, so I have more issues than just hair... but nobody should ever lick their finger to turn a page. Ever. Especially not with a book for public use.)

Anyhow, back to my hair phobia. Recently, on the bus, a woman with long dark hair sat down in front of me. I noted that she had filthy, greasy, dirty hair. I further noted that one single hair was hanging out a little bit further than the rest... and for the next five minutes I was mesmerized watching this hair grow longer and longer until finally, with a sudden lurch of the bus, it was deposited into my lap. I had to fight an instant gag reflex.

Today, again on the bus, I had my eyes closed and one strand of someone's hair flew into my face. I think the lady next to me thought I was crazy --flapping and waving my arms around and pulling at my nose -- going "pffft! bbbbbffffffffft!! pfffftt!"

The saddest part about still being single and all your good friends marrying is the fact that your secrets will no longer be, well... secret. No matter how intensely private you think a matter is it will eventually come out of your best friend's husband's mouth most likely in an inopportune moment, and invariably in a public place.

Ich bin ein Berliner!

Speaking of identifying persons of ethnicity, today at the bus stop there was a man who was German. Without a doubt.

How, do you ask, do I know he was German? Was it the German-style haircut -- short on the bottom and longer over the thinning top? Was it the funny German-style pull-over-the-head pullover with the stand-up collar? Was it the cream coloured brand-new Levi Red Tab jeans? Was it the fact that his face was so angular that not only his nose came to a point, but his jawbone came to a point and his chin came to even more of a point? His ice-cold light blue eyes? The way he could sleep anywhere, even on a hot, bumpy, smelly bus? The way he wore his backpack?

Anyone of those things may have tipped me off, however all combined it was like wearing a flag, "Jawohl, Ich bin ein German!"

If I see him tomorrow I'll confirm it.

To my faithful reader: Thanks for checking. Feel free to give me that virtual kick in the pants every once in a while.

Tomorrow is the longest day of the year. Somehow with my knees knocking together out at the bus stop in the mornings I don't feel very summery.