Rich in Love

It seems the recession is affecting women's taste in escapist fantasy. Men who are filthy rich have always been popular fare but I found this list of today's top selling Harlequin romance novels and it's very telling. It features one millionaire, three billionaires, but not one single cowboy! (Unless Valentino is a cowboy. I'm going to assume he's not.) Sure, cowboys are a sexy treat when times are good, but when the economy's in the crapper every girl wants herself a proper billionaire.

1. The Sicilian Boss's Mistress
2. The Greek Millionaire's Secret Child
3. Billionaire Extraordinaire
4. Valentino's Love-Child
5. The Ruthless Billionaire's Virgin
6. The Tycoon's Rebel Bride
7. The Moretti Arrangement
8. Billionaire Doctor, Ordinary Nurse
9. The Maverick's Greek Island Mistress
10.Temperatures Rising

Number 8 on the list, "Billionaire Doctor, Ordinary Nurse" is by the same author as last month's bestseller "Spanish Doctor, Pregnant Nurse". Maybe I could get a job at Harlequin going through books changing the word Spanish to Billionaire, and Pregnant to Ordinary.

"The Ruthless Billionaire's Virgin"? How could that not be good?

Shorty Doesn't Live Here Anymore

It seems my nine month ordeal is nearly over. On Saturday Shorty and girl Shorty packed their bags and the landlord came to collect his keys. Tomorrow Shorty returns to pick up the rest of his belongings. When he leaves, I call the landlord who sends someone to change all the locks. I never thought I'd see this day. I sure will miss the little scamp.

Shorty got Served

Two Sheriffs stopped by today to serve Shorty his Notice to Vacate orders. It's about time! He has to out by Sunday. Shorty told me he intends to comply with the orders. I'll believe it when I see it.

Story developing...

Dueling Pyros

Shorty update: He's still here.

He tried to burn the house down yesterday. The good news is we now know the smoke detectors work. The bad news is he broke my toaster, although that was a completely unrelated incident. The fire started when he tried to cook french fries in a pot on the stove. Not to be outdone, I left my straightening iron on all day while I was at work. There were no injuries.

But that was yesterday. Today brought a whole new chapter in the Shorty saga. It had already been a crazy morning and I was trying to get ready for work. When I came out of the bathroom, there were two policemen in the hallway. "Ma'am did you know your front door is open?" I did not know that, but it didn't surprise me. Just last week I had gone upstairs around midnight and found the front door open, not just unlocked, but wide open. I looked around but there was no one in sight. I'm way beyond caring about such trifles. There's not much point in locking your front door when the kind of people you're trying to keep out have keys.

The police had shown up as a result of the morning's activities, for which I was only partially responsible. I was still asleep when I heard the landlord come by and started pounding on Shorty's door. After a round of yelling, he announced he was going to enter the room and throw Shorty out. Then I heard him fumbling with some keys. He tried about seven different keys unsuccessfully and then started cursing under his breath. Since he can't do anything right, I was forced to enter the fray, discreetly opening my door and handing him the correct key which, as the previous tenant of that room, I had held on to for just such occasions. I ducked back into my room, as the landlord burst in on Shorty and his lady. More yelling and some shoving followed. In case this story isn't suspenseful enough, it's helpful to know that Shorty's girlfriend is prone to seizures brought on by stressful situations. And in case this story isn't trashy enough, it's helpful to know that she was mostly naked at the time. The fight didn't last long. Likely the sight of Mrs. Shorty's semi-nude, drug-ravaged body caused the landlord to recoil and flee.

When the police showed up, I assumed the landlord had finally decided to do something about this crazy situation, but no, it was Shorty who called the police to report that he had just been assaulted. I cooperated with the investigation by providing the landlord's phone number and a phone to call him on. I was really embarrassed that the police were going to see how messy my room was since I had to go in there to retrieve my phone. Not that there was evidence of any arrestable offences, but they wouldn't be able to help but judge the occupant of such a disaster area. Fortunately, the officer stuck to questions like "How long have you lived here?" instead of "Is that any empty cottage cheese container on top of that pile of dirty laundry?" as I dug through my purse. While the hot cop used my phone to call the landlord, the other cop listened to Shorty's tale of abuse and discrimination. From the side of the conversation I heard, I'm beginning to suspect my landlord is even more unscrupulous than I thought. He denied most things, didn't have any answers for simple questions, and refused to come back to the house. I hoped the cute officer would ask to jot down my number so he could "follow up", but he didn't.

In the end, nothing was resolved, no charges were laid, and no deviants were evicted. On a positive note, Shorty still doesn't seem to suspect me of plotting against him, even describing me to the police as "a nice girl". I'm pretty sure nice girls don't live in places like this.

You're a Shining Star

It's awards season at Walmart. Nominations are now being collected for the coveted Shining Star Award which rewards excellence in customer service and not getting fired. Rumours have been circulating that this year's winner will have their photo taken and then the photo will be taped to a star cut out of yellow construction paper. If the budget allows, the star will have glitter on it. God, I want it so bad I can taste it! The walls of the staff lounge are plastered with dozens of glowing recommendations and believe it or not, there's not a single one for me! Obviously my boss has been going through the nominations and throwing out all of mine. She simply refuses to let me shine. Until my nominations start rolling in, I have been reading obsessively what makes my chosen co-workers sooooo special. A common phrase in many of the nominator's testimonials is "goes above and beyond". No one can tell me I don't go above and beyond! How many times have I been working in the lingerie department when an old lady comes up to me and says, "I need you to help me find a certain bra." I am very polite, "And which bra is that?"
"This one" and they hoist their shirt up. If, by some miracle, I am able to stare long enough to identify the bra they're wearing and then find it in the store, I still have to deal with the inevitable "be a dear and check what size I'm wearing". I am not equipped with tongs or a long stick or anything to retrieve these measurements. Feeling up seniors = "above and beyond". If someone asks me to check the size on their underwear, I stand behind them, poke them with a hanger and just guess.

"Team player" also apparently describes many of the nominees. I'm sure I must have, at some point, described myself as a team player to get this job. I may have even believed it was true. But in reality, I once refused to cover for the door greeter because it's cold by the door, even though she's 73 and needed to take her pills.

It's okay. I don't want their stupid Shining Star Award anyway. No, I'm serious. I really don't.


According to Walmart, there are Five Principles of Apparel. As a fashion sales associate, I should know what they are and apply them to my work. I even have a badge that lists all the principles and snaps conveniently behind my name tag. I've actually only used the badge once- to pick broccoli out of my teeth, but I guess I must have skimmed over the words because something my boss said the other day sounded familiar. She said, "Kathleen, has anyone ever taught you about The Color Story?". Showing a Color Story - it was Principle #4 on my almost totally useless badge. If she was surprised to hear that I hadn't managed to pick up this very basic information over the course of two and a half years she hid it well. As a ten year Walmart management veteran she's naturally very practiced in dealing with incompetence and apathy.

She started out in the women's junior section showing me how the shirts along the wall alternate between purple and green and then how each rack showcases these colors on the ends, purple, green, purple, green.
"Ok, purple, green, purple, green. Got it."
"Good"
"So what's The Story?"
"That's it. That's The Color Story."
Now maybe I should have known better than to expect anything more. But when I hear "story" I'm expecting a little drama, a plotline at the very least. I'm no English major, oh wait, yes I am, and so I think I know a story when I hear one. And purple, green, purple, green is not a story.
"So...it's really more of a color scheme than a color story."
"Yes. A color scheme or a color story."
This didn't sit well with me at all. So...

Quiet and reflective, Purple tended to go unnoticed. That is, until the day Green came along. Purple and Green had much in common and complemented each other beautifully. They fell easily in love.

Purple's mother, Red was horrified when she found out about Purple's relationship with Green. She demanded Purple stop seeing him immediately. This only made Purple want him more.

Purple and Green had been seeing each other for some time when she visited his home for the first time and was introduced to his parents, Blue and Yellow. When Red heard about this meeting, she sat Purple down and told her they needed to have a talk.

"Purple, before you were born I lead a very colorful life. I left home very young because I clashed with my folks. I wanted to escape. I think I tried every drug in the spectrum...it's not important now. But I got mixed up with a lot of different characters, including Green's father. Purple, there's no easy way to tell you this. Blue is your father."
"But that means..."
"Yes. Green is your brother."

That's a color story.

25 things

Most people did this on Facebook but there are too many people on Facebook who I don't want knowing anything about me. So here's twenty-five things you may not know about me:

1. I'm allergic to chocolate.
2. I'm named after a woman who used to live in our house. She carved her name, Kathleen Randall along with the year she moved in, 1884 in a window in the living room. When I was 12, I broke the window by accident with a tennis ball. I got in trouble.
3. I think my hair always looks really good or really, really bad.
4. When I lived in England, I pretended to be a Methodist for six months because I really liked the people I met at church.
5. A co-worker paid me to write an English essay for her. We got a B+.
6. I won't watch scary movies.
7. When I put a piece of intense gum in my mouth, I always sneeze twice.
8. I owe a lot in overdue library fines.
9. I don't want a job.
10. I'm a pretty good scrapbooker.
11. As a child I couldn't handle kids who wanted to play with Barbie dolls and baby dolls together. You can't do that!
12. I have to go to New Zealand before November 2009, or I will lose $960.
13. By the time I was 18, I had driven over a hundred different cars.
14. I only own one CD -The Beach Boys. I love The Beach Boys.
15. I'm scared of dogs.
16. The most stressful job I've ever had was wedding photographer. I was 16 at the time and had no idea what I was doing.
17. For the most part, I don't understand poetry.
18. I learned to hold a pencil properly before I learned to walk.
19. I think I'm the only one of my siblings who looks anything like our parents.
20. I like going to the dentist.
21. Someday I'd like to meet the Australian penpal I wrote to from 1993 to 2000.
22. Most of my dreams are still set in either my childhood home, church, or the beach behind my house.
23. I only ever went skiing because I liked having hot chocolate by the fire in the lodge. I never much cared for the skiing part.
24. I hate inspirational sayings and books like Chicken Soup for the Soul.
25. I really wish I could have some chocolate right now.

Trash Day

So not a great start to 2009. I spent the entire first day of the new year in darkness. The power was out in Bayfield for 23 hours. Compared to other people we were in pretty good shape. We had a wood stove and a fireplace. We had a battery-powered radio. We had a kerosene lamp, lots of candles and flashlights for every family member. We had lots of board games... It was the single longest day of my life. My family is great, but I was never so happy to have to go back to Wal-mart. Had the buses not been running, I'd have hitchhiked back to Halifax.

My brother sent pictures of his holiday adventures in New Zealand, which caused me to briefly reconsider joining him there. Over Christmas he went skydiving, hiked on a glacier, and helped build a house for Habitat for Humanity. I watched a bunch of Road to Avonlea reruns and ate two boxes of chocolates.

When I did get back to Halifax there was no heat upstairs so the bathroom and kitchen were absolutely freezing. I had to wear my winter jacket and hat to the bathroom. I let the shower run hot for ten minutes to warm up the room before even going in. This disregard for conservation went against everything David Suzuki ever taught me but it was really, really cold. The situation has since been resolved, but only after four days and two calls to the landlord.

Tomorrow is Trash Day. I hope to take out the trash. And by "trash" I mean Shorty, and by "take out" I mean wave good-bye to from the front step. Shorty has a date with the Tenancy Board tomorrow and I'm hoping it doesn't go his way. I don't really know what a Tenancy Board is but I'm told they may be able to get rid of our pest problem. The landlord seems pretty intent on getting rid of him, so fingers crossed. Chances are Shorty won't be coming home happy. I'm bracing myself for a day of cursing, yelling, and stealing the likes of which I haven't witnessed even at Wal-mart. Just two months ago, there was seven people living in this house. Now only the three toughest/craziest remain. The third roommate, the NSCAD student has had it easy because she has been gone for the last month. She returned last Monday from Christmas break and her greeting to me was "Is there a crack ho living in the basement?". Now, I understand her point of view; there is a crack ho living in the basement and that's definitely an important topic but she could have opened with "How are you?" or "Did you have a nice Christmas?". Whatever. Shorty's cracked-out lady friend seems to have moved in and while she seems docile enough, I am keeping all the sharp knives locked in my room, just in case.