There's A First Time For Everything...

There's many things I'd like to do. This is one of them. I suppose we'll have to wait and see if I actually accomplish something here. It'll be something new and exciting for a while, which makes it easier. Hopefully, when the novelty wears off, habit will take over since some things get easier with time. Here we go.

Tomorrow, I head off to Vancouver and Victoria for 5 days or so. The primary reason is to see Coldplay (one of my top 6 favourite bands ever), but I'm just looking forward to getting away for a while. I can't say life has been monotonous and that this vacation will be a break from boredom. Watching the roller coaster that is my bank account has been thrilling enough. Moving out is expensive, and I had only just finished paying off various debt before calling 3344 Boulton Rd home. Money is definitely one of the things that really stresses me out. People say money can't buy happiness. I dunno about that. I can sincerely tell you that I feel waaay better knowing I have money to blow on traveling, friends, or heck..just to pay for University. So while I'll probably penny pinch the whole time I'm in BC, i'll be glad to know that i'm unable to pick up extra shifts, work more overtime, or have to wake up super early to catch the train to work. Time to relax!

I'll keep this short, but end with an good story.

I'm stackin' appples in Safeway, and an 50 year old man comes up to me and says, "Do you know what Gruyere is?"

"No...and we don't carry it in produce."

"I think it's a kind of cheese. My wife sent me here to shop for dinner ingredients."

That's the general trend with older guys alone in the store. They are lost, confused, and feel vulnerable. It's pretty funny how few guys can accurately label things like green onions and turnips. I smile, "OK, well it'll probably be down in the Deli with the other fancy cheeses..." and we proceed to walk to the far end of the store in search of these fancy cheeses. The entire time we walk, he complains about how his wife makes such complicated meals and how she's so picky about the ingredients. I politely nod and chuckle, find him a chunk of Gruyere, and decide to stop biting my tongue. "Hey, man. You should be thankful she cooks at all for you. At least she's not making macaroni and cheese, right?"

He squints at the block of cheese in his hand and shakes it in the air. "That's the thing," he says, "She IS making macaroni and cheese."