Just Five More Minutes

Owning a business that opens at 10:00 doesn't fit into my sleep schedule. (I'm sure a lot of you own businesses that open, or require you to be in the office/on site even earlier; or maybe you work a job that has you up at all hours of the morning inconsistently... unless, of course, you're a morning person, in which case you probably enjoy yourself... ... ... the point is, I don't want to hear it. This thread isn't about you, this is my sob-show so pipe down.)

If I had to list my top three favorite hobbies in life, the list would look something like this:
-Sleeping
-Reading
-Eating
(with a few doodles of left eyes including finely sculpted eyebrows, tree trunks, a series of cursive "L"s intertwined and a few hearts, deflated on the left side).

I have always been a heavy sleeper. Mum says, when I was an infant, she used to have to wake me up in the middle of the night for feedings, during most of which, I fell back to sleep. I never complained about nap time.

The thing is I always thought, and heard, that when I got older and had more responsibility, that I would be more apt to follow that old adage, early to bed, early to rise.

Bull. Crap.

I still love to sleep.

I set my alarm for 7:00 A.M. each night with the steadfast intention of rising when Kurt Cobain begins to sing (not literally, obviously; it's a ringtone, as I find actual alarm clocks to be morally offensive).
But I don't. Kurt starts singing and I roll over, in a haze, tap the screen to shut him up then press that horrible little button that resets the clock for 8:00 A.M.; at which time, Kurt will sing again, and again, and again, and yet again as I tap the snooze until 8:45.

If I'm being completely honest, this whole "responsible adulthood" thing really sucks a big one at times. When I was younger, I used to walk through the check-out with my Mum at the grocery store and stare longingly at the candy bars and dream of the day when I was old enough to earn my own money and could then buy any candy bar I wanted. And yeah, I can do that now (I could buy 2 if I wanted!); but I also have to look at the calories and deal with the nauseating guilt that follows. Kind of like (I'm removing this analogy; they might kick me off the board for it.)

Being a responsible adult is almost always synonymous with forced lucidity before noon; and I'm still waiting for the day when that equation doesn't sound so disgusting.

It's Not Like I Did It On Purpose!

(Originally Posted June 1st, 2012)


I find there are quite a few necessary evils in life. I could get political here, but I'm not going to. I want to highlight the evils I faced this morning; those being water and customers.
Blah, blah, blah, I hear you; customers aren't evil; they're a blessing. I agree, but I feel there are special circumstances and I'm going to plead my case.

Water: seemingly innocuous; quite healthy even...

(The spokespeople for the water campaigns are such liars.)

When you drink the recommended amount for the day, it makes you pee... a lot. Which, in and of itself, is not a bad thing; however, when introduced to the second evil, it becomes quite nefarious.

Enter Happy Customer:

Me: Whew; too much water! Off to the bathroom.

-door bell chimes-

Me: Oh crap. *smiles* Hi, how are you?!

Happy Customer: Just fine, and yourself?

Me: Better if I had had the chance to go pee *smiles* I'm great! Can I help you find anything? Please say, no, please say, no, please say...

Happy Customer: Yeah, I was wondering if you had "..." by "...".

Me: Oh god *smiles* I think I might; let me just check the inventory. Just cross your legs and try not to wiggle.

Me: Yes we do! I'll grab that for you and be right back! Go quickly, no sudden movements *smiles* Here you are.

Happy Customer: Well I think that's all I need today; how much?

Me: You can have it if I can just go pee! *smiles* That'll be $5.30. Thank you!

Happy Customer (who doesn't understand that my smile is so tight that my face hurts as well as my bladder and that I would gladly stab him in the shin with a spork if it meant I could just go to the bathroom!): You know my best friend's cousin's aunt knows the guy who wrote this book.

Me: I am going to die *smiles* Really? That's incredible!

Happy Customer: Oh yeah; they went to high school together... or was it middle school?

Me: Seriously, I'm about to die *smiles* Well, you know, tomato, tomahto.

Happy Customer: You know, I just can't remember. Let me call her and find out.

And then I pee in the floor and I'm standing there covered in my own shame and Happy Customer is no longer very happy and quickly makes an excuse as he runs out the door staring, horrified/mortified and I'm thinking, this is all your fault, you b@$#@&^!

And that is why Water and Customers are necessary evils.

(Most of that story was exaggerated because, really, writing it any other way would have been totally boring and you would have stopped reading 18 sentences ago.)

Because Nonsense Worked So Well For Dr. Seuss

 I've decided to start ending every sentence in an upward inflection. It seems to work for all the Kardashian offspring; I mean, their fame and fortune isn't based off any recognizable talent or intelligence so it must be the iconic way they end each and every statement as though they're asking a particularity perplexing question.

My Mum and I actually tried it last night. After watching an episode of the "Big Bang Theory" (which I don't feel ashamed for watching as it actually does contain a fair dose of wit) a preview/ad for "Keeping Up With The Kardashians" (god, save me; I'd much rather not) aired, in which one of the "K" girls intoned her concerns about her sister having questions about her paternity. I listened, with rapt attention and with no small measure of wonder as she deftly butchered the English language in less than 15 seconds. It was astounding! Every single sentence, each of which was a declarative statement, ended like this?
Like she wasn't really sure what she was saying?
Because, like, talking is really hard?
It would be, like, so much easier if she could just, like, text it?

...Yeah; it was that bad.

However, I find, if I completely empty my mind, it's much easier to achieve this linguistic effect. Which doesn't say much for the "K" sisters.

This is written in a fit of pique; as I sit and ponder the question of life, the universe and everything and why the hell these vacuous minded, Barbie alternatives have the following that they do. What have they done? What do they do? What is it that society so desperately needs that they seem to have endless supplies of? I am honestly perplexed!

Can someone, like, answer that question for me? Because, I, like, totally don't understand?

"My Goals Are Outrageous": A Highly Motivated, Lazy Person's Scapegoat.

Maybe I just set unrealistic, highly ideological, rainbows and unicorns, goals for myself; but I don't think that's it. I think I just suck at achieving them. Because I'm lazy... a procrastinator... too detail oriented?
...Nope; just lazy.
...And the alcohol probably doesn't help. Not like, hard liquor or anything, (no tequila shooters for me -tried that; did not turn out well), just a bottle of wine or two... or something.
Take for instance this wine stain on my floor next to my bed. I rolled over one night (as you do) and heard this tinkling sound (not like pee, tinkling; tinkling like the sound glass makes when you knock it over... at least that's what sound bubbles in all the comic strips say when they're depicting a glass falling over or when there's a wind chime out on the porch on a windy day... what was I talking  about...? Oh yeah; not pee tinkles)
So, I roll over and I hear the glass not peeing as I knock it over with my knee and I don't actually register what I've done until I wake up the next morning and there's a wine glass on it's side in my floor and a little bit of wine from the bottom of the glass soaked into the floor.

(Side Note: My wine glasses are not that tall. (What kind of woman do you think I am!?) When I say I hit the glass with my knee, I mean I rolled over on my pallet (because I fancy myself one of those minimalist, bohemian types... and I'm poor) and knocked over the glass which was sitting on the floor at perfect knee-knocking height.)

Moral to this story? Don't take your wine to bed with you... if you sleep on a bamboo pallet... and toss and turn a lot in your sleep.
OR
Make sure you drink all the wine in your glass before you pass out.

I started this post with a theme, a purpose... which I have forgotten. Hold on, let me go back and read and see if I can figure out where this was headed...
...
Right.

I went to a signing last week at the dreaded B&N in Buckhead. I hate B&N *whispers* Barnes and Noble *glares*. Not because of the competition factor; which they totally are. Never mind that my books are just as well organized, way cheaper, and the volunteers are all crazy sarcastic and will try to corrupt you with their infectious laughter, wit and snark... but I digress.
Going to Barnes and Noble is like going to Target and asking the salesperson in furniture what they know about Mission style furnishings and whether or not you can integrate them with your current, Modern Asian themed living room (which you can, by the way). They will either gape at you in horror as they call for security because they're pretty sure you've just propositioned them, or will shrug and say, "I dunno."
B&N employees don't read; at least not any of the ones I've had the pleasure of encountering. Plus, they think they're all that because they have a Starbucks for a cafe. You know what, Barnes and Nobel? I don't care! And Starbucks; your coffee is waaaaay too strong and always over-roasted and when I drink it, I get tummy-ache. (Just kidding Starbucks. While I do think your coffee is a little over-roasted, your hot chocolate pretty much kicks ass and your light blend is really quite lovely... plus walking up to the counter and ordering a Tall Blonde makes me feel naughty in the best possible way).
Anyway; I was at this signing at... that place, and while I was there, I found a few books that I have been looking for. They were freaking expensive!  I'm not going to tell you how much I spent on them (because it makes me nauseous) but just trust me when I say, the fact that it was a tax deduction did little to soothe the ache in my wallet. But what really sticks in my crawl (what does that phrase even mean? Seriously? I probably shouldn't use it if I'm not sure of its definition, especially if means something terribly dirty... have to save that stuff for the podcast...)? The fact that there were probably 100 or so other shoppers with stacks of books in the hands/bags/baskets. I'm watching these happy readers drop what has to be around $100, easy, on their purchases with no complaint, only happy smiles, and thinking, "What am I doing wrong?"

Is there something I should be doing? Or is it because I have all these crazy great ideas but I'm too lazy to implement them and the universe recognizes that and is all, "Well if you're gonna sit on your ass then so are we. Two can play this game, missy and let me tell you, we've been doing this a lot longer than you have and we know how it's done up in here!" (Though, in order for the Universe to be taken seriously in that threat, they would have to drop that last "r" when they say, "here"... but I don't know how to spell that so, just re-read it and imagine I did... I'll wait... ... ...See? Way more menacing.)

I've always thought of myself as a leader; a pro-active problem solver when faced with a challenge... maybe I've never really been challenged, though.
You know those moments, when you see where you've been, see where you are and see where you'll be, all in one frighteningly vivid moment; epiphanies, or watershed moments?  Yeah; that's what this is.

Until next time,
Peace and happy reading, all...

*Writer's Notes*
To those of you who love and/or work(-ed) for and /or know someone who works/worked for Barnes and Nobel (on re-reading this, I realized that sentence looks really confusing): that little rant was my own personal opinion (I was (grudgingly) impressed with the Buckhead location, actually).
Call me cold-hearted. I'll probably just shrug and agree with you.
---
I'm not much of a drinker. I think my personal record is like, two bottles over the course of a month.
But I do love my wine.
---
Also, the wine stain on the floor? Totally still there.

The Hunger Games: Admitting Defeat

So, I've been lent a copy of The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins. I know, I'm probably one of the last people in the United States to have picked it up but... it happens.

Sadly, I am unmoved by this national bestseller; so much so that this 374 page YA novel has sat on my pillow, undisturbed, for 5 days straight. I hate to say it but, I'm giving up on this one.

Ms. Collins has created an intriguing world; a dystopian society arisen from the ashes of a post-nuclear U.S.. I'm a sucker for dystopian fiction, as well any political criticism, thinly veiled or otherwise. And the thing is, I'm fairly certain that her novel will delve into political waters; the dangers of complete government control of a nation, the strength of the people, the will to unite and rebel.

But I don't care.

And that's my problem with this story. The plot, while, in theory, is something I should be drooling over, has failed to move me toward anything but complete and utter boredom. Told in first person, present tense, the story moves at a fast pace but does nothing to inspire feelings of fidelity for either (or any, for that matter) of the characters. I don't care if Katniss -the main character and narrator of the story- wins the Games. I don't care if she lives or dies. I don't care if the family she left back home in impoverished District 12 starve to death... I just don't care.
Turning each page is a chore; one that I'm am, unfortunately, going to drop like a bad habit.

That Is Why

A few days ago, a young lady came into the shoppe. She asked if I could find a book for her mother as she didn't read and wouldn't know where to begin.

I stared at her.

The conversation that followed went a little something like this:
Me: What do you mean, you don't read?"
Her: (shrugs) I dunno; I just don't really like to.
Me: Why not?
Her: Because it's kinda boring.
Me: You're doing it wrong.
Her: (stares)
Me: And besides, you cannot walk into a book shoppe and say thing like "I don't read" and "Reading is boring". That's grounds for being escorted out with your head hung in shame.
Her: (stares)
Me: (sighing) Alright, let's find something for you mum and then we'll find something for you.

So, I find a book for her mother; then:
Me: Now, let's find you something to read.
Her: I didn't come for a book.
Me: I didn't ask, I said let's find you something to read.
Her: Okay.
Me: Have you ever read anything that you really enjoyed.
Her: Not really.
Me: What do you watch on television?
Her: Umm... girl stuff?
Me: (nodding my head) That's good, that's a good start. What kind of girl stuff? Flower, fairy, fantasy girl stuff or dramatic, teenage angst girl stuff?
Her: I like MTV.
Me: Great!

So, I head toward teen fiction and pick up a novel from a lengthy series and hand it to her.
Me: Now, you're going to take this home. You're going to read it; all of it. Then you're going to bring it back and you're going to tell me about it, even if you don't like it. That way we can figure out what it is you like to read and go from there.
Her: (nodding) Okay.

She came back today. Brought the book in and said she'd started it last night and finished it today; she loved it and wanted to get the next one...

And that, is exactly why I do this. :)

Happy reading, everyone.
-Britaini

I Disagree, Scott Westerfield

I have some (well, several, actually) customers who are awesome in epic proportions. One of those epically awesome people is Danielle.
I mentioned to her that I had wanted to read The Forest Of Hands And Teeth by Carrie Ryan and she said she had them and would be happy to lend them to me.

Yay, books!

So, she drops them by and I bring them home and curl up with the first of them.

Let me preface this by saying, I am not a teen fiction reader. I think some people assume that because I own a book shoppe, I've read just about everything in existence.

I have not.
Nor do I want to.

My foray into teen lit consists of two titles: one, The Unbecoming Of Mara Dyre by Michelle Hodkin which was fantastic and two, a title which will remain unnamed as I run the risk of offending several people when I say it was the worst piece of tripe I've ever had the displeasure of wasting three minutes of my life on. I read 4 pages before chucking it across the room.
Yeah; it was that bad.
So; I sit down with The Forest... and take a look at the cover. The blurb on the front reads: A post apocalyptic romance of the first order, elegantly written from title to last line. -Scott Westerfield

I know of Scott Westerfield; he wrote an incredibly popular and very relevant series for teens, The Uglies, which was well received by its target audience and critics alike, and I think, "Let's do this."
I open to the first page and begin.

... ... ...
(An aside: I'm a lit snob. I admit this fact wholeheartedly and with very little shame. But it's the only thing I'm a snob about and I figure, if your going to be up your own @ss about something, it may as well be literature, right?
Right.
Moving on...)

It's a good story, I'll give Ms. Ryan that. Outside of the tiniest hint of teenage angst (which is to be expected in any teen lit title) the characters are believable if somewhat one dimensional, and the plot moves quickly and with quite a bit of suspense and mystery.
I'm not going to give a summary of the book or review it; that's not what I'm here to do, today, at least.
My point is that, while the story is good, it is enjoyable (it doesn't make me want to rip the pages out and use them to cut my eyes just so I don't have witness the abomination those damnable publishers are trying to spoon feed me, as was the case with aforementioned unnamed title), it lacks depth.
Ryan's words do an admirable job of painting a picture, she tells a fine story; but the words are flat, black lettering on a page, she has no voice. Where is this elegance Mr. Westerfield speaks of?
Ray Bradbury is elegant. D.H. Lawrence was elegant. H.P. Lovecraft was elegant. David Moody, with all his gore and violence, is elegant. Their words don't just tell a story, they create art. They are deep and meaningful; each one is delicious as it goes down. 
It's not a bad book. I will recommend it again and again because I've thoroughly enjoyed it; but elegant?
I'm sorry, Mr. Westerfield, but I call bull-#*!.

Until next time, happy reading...
-Britaini

A Wardrobe Full of Hats.

Hi, I'm Britaini; I'm the owner of an independent book shoppe. This is Britaini; she's my Tech girl. Over here is Britaini; she takes care of billing. That girl waaaaay over there in the corner is Britaini; she does all the ordering. This is Britaini, Human Resources. And Britaini, over there, is in charge of customer relations...

And on and on it goes.

I am not complaining. What I'm doing is marveling at those folks who do exactly what I'm doing at the outset; you know, the start-up people who have no help whatsoever! How, in god's name, do they do it?

I say this because I'm working on fliers for our Open House next month. And I, unfortunately, know next to nothing about computers and all their magical ways. But I figure, the best way to learn is to stumble through it until you figure it out, yeah? So, I sit here thinking, "boo-hoo-hoo" and "I'm an intelligent, independent young woman; I can do whatever I put my mind to", alternately; all the while I'm staring at my volunteer going, "I wouldn't be able to do any of this if it weren't for you!"
So, on the whole, very fortunate (I have a huge support staff; hard working volunteers -a.k.a. book junkies- and awesome customers -a.k.a. ...book junkies-), if only slightly stressed and somewhat prone to brief spells of self pity.

End of spiel. Back to the grind for me.

-Britaini

P.S.
Here's a little funny; I think we can all identify.  
Bernard Does His Taxes

Literature and Life

Evening, Ladies and Gents.

Tonight, I'd like to share with you my vision. 

I have a dream, a richly coloured, coffee and vanilla scented, comfortably furnished, artistically inclined dream.

Our bookstore (because it is ours; yours and mine) will be a haven for literature and its lovers. I see Readers sat in chairs, cup in hand and book across lap. I see children curled up with a pillow on the rug, reading to Mum and Dad. I see Poets contemplating while Romantics sigh. I hear Vivaldi's cello and Mose's fingers dancing across the keys while Sinatra croons. I see people, being.

Literature is more than just words on a page. It's not just stories about life; it's life itself. It's meat and marrow, flesh and blood, and every time I crack a spine, I fall in love all over again.

Share this dream with me. Lets fall in love together; let's fall into a book.

“Literature adds to reality, it does not simply describe it. It enriches the necessary competencies that daily life requires and provides; and in this respect, it irrigates the deserts that our lives have already become.” -C.S. Lewis

Peace and happy reading...

-Britaini

Book Clubs... which, incidentally, have quite a lot to do with Photobucket.

This past Monday, my mind was blown as I was expertly introduced to the wonder of Photobucket and Youtube as powerful, online marketing tools.

*angels sing:shock and awe*

Obviously, the awe overshadowed the the lesson as I don't seem to have actually retained anything useful. I'm pretty well left with the glowing certainty that using these two programmes will bring loads of shiny win into my cluttered little world but the shiny is just out of reach as I can't seem to remember how to reach it.

Bugger.

Anyway, all that to say; book clubs will be reappearing this May! There's a poll up on our Facebook page regarding timelines; I would be much obliged if you would pop over and click-clicky . There will be more information very soon; there would be more information right now, in the form of a glistening e-card with a fabulous (yet tastefully understated) slideshow... but my brain's a runny egg, so. *shrugs*

Goodnight, happy reading, best wishes and... all that.

-Britaini

Customer:"Those books, those books there, the leather bound ones..."
Bernard:"Yes, Dickens; the complete works of Charles Dickens."
Customer:"Are they real leather?"
Bernard: (cocks head to one side; stares) "They're real Dickens."

-Black Books

Floating

I am 25 years old, and the owner of an independent book shoppe.

*breath*

I am extremely grateful. 

For those of you who know us ("us" being the BW), you know I'd managed the store for quite a while before the transition to owner. But it's different now; outside the obvious, I have the strangest sensation of floating. Listing, aimlessly. That's not to say I don't have a goal; I do. I have a very clear picture of where I want us to go, where I want us to be, but... it's the getting there that can become a little overwhelming. 

I know what I need; a clear(er) plan. A time-table. I am not a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl. While I certainly take things in stride, I need a sense of definition.

So that is my goal, over the next five days. Sit down, sort out, schedule.

For those of you coming from the first blog, you will have no doubt noticed a distinct lack of sarcasm in this post but what can I say? It's twelve in the morning and I'm just, plain tired. I will, however, leave you with a quote I stole from someone famous:

"With all due respect to Lord Byron, there is no such thing as a Romantic Period."

Goodnight...