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I know business transactions don’t always work out fairly for all parties involved, but I recently spent more than $60 at a bar without getting the slightest bit drunk. I mean not even tipsy, and I’m a lightweight. Although I downed multiple drinks, including a shot of tequila, my buzz remained just out of reach the entire evening, gradually emptying my wallet and forcing me to preserve my funds by retiring at 11 p.m. Why did I not simply hop on over to another bar? The apprehension about paying a cover charge, and the stubborn sense that the Vancouver bar scene would not get any more of my money. Some bars are notorious for watering down their drinks, but getting nothing in the way of a thrill after spending more than $60 seems excessive and downright cruel. I don’t drink to quench my thirst, so shelling out money for cover, drinks, food, and tips with a very clear memory of my cash slowly draining, is not cool. – Parsimonious pint
Our summer weather has so far been erratic in the extreme, sometimes bringing sunshine, other times showing why people love to make jokes about “Raincouver.” To be honest, I don’t really mind this flip-flopping. Sure, consistency has its appeal, particularly when it comes to shifting from a rainproof wardrobe to tan-conducive clothing, and remaining in limbo is not ideal. Still, I really don’t mind when it cools down and starts to pour. My reasons are many-fold, including the fact that I love to snuggle up on the couch with a book, some DVDs, and a hot cup of tea, but my main—and entirely superficial—reason is this: I like to have a break from shaving my legs. It’s not a huge issue, and I do enjoy having smooth-as-a-baby’s-bottom legs, but the days when I can lounge around in sweatpants with calves resembling a rainforest are the days I cherish in the hot, short-sporting months. – One rainy wish
I’m extremely proud of my collection of books and the shelves that house them. I’ve collected many volumes over the years, which I read, reread, and stockpile for future reference. What annoyed me recently was seeing the update of a Facebook friend, posting a picture of their fat stack of newly purchased books—including the works of Irvine Welsh, Sylvia Path, Nabokov, and other blatantly impressive authors—and asserting that “sometimes you need a challenge in bed.” There’s nothing wrong with reading these authors. I include their work in my list of books I want to read. It becomes exasperating, though, when the reader clearly isn’t reading solely for the purpose of these writers’ words, but to display their own literary chops. I ooh and ah over other people’s bookshelves and compare my collection, feeling genuinely inferior when I see stacks of Hemingway, Dante, Dickens, and Whitman. I stop feeling inferior as soon as it’s clear that person is trying to impress me. Read your books like a normal person and simply be impressive, don’t show it off. – Shelf-esteem issues