I sort of figured that now would be about the time I should start bumping the below post down on the list. Should.
So. It's basically half-past midnight on Saturday morning now and I do have a whole load of what I consider to be entertaining stories to ramble about on here. We'll just go over one right now.
I think I forgot to announce it on here, but as of last Thursday my dad finally decided that he had to let me order novels from Borders online because my local branch doesn't carry the obscure books on the Tudors I so love. He was kind enough to announce to me at ten-thirty, when I was going to bed (that's right; I've been attempting to go to sleep prior to midnight lately), that there was a Borders coupon and if I wanted anything I should get it then. I immediately grabbed my computer and compiled my little list of all the things I wanted, and finally everything was good except the credit card number, which I had to fill in on the next page.
It was then that my Internet decided to commit suicide.
This actually happens a lot. See, apparently it is bad to have six computers hooked up to the same router and thus said router sporadically decides that someone isn't getting Internet anymore--it's like roulette. The best part is, it's just as terrible if two people are on as it is if five are on. This is a source of constant irritation to yours truly.
The only way to guarantee Internet access is to plant yourself in the middle of the living room floor, because we have a wire running underneath the floor from the router to the living room for such occasions. After around thirty minutes, I had finally finished the simple process we call online shopping, and then went to bed.
With Borders, though, you can't just get things shipped: if you want anything within a reasonable amount of time you pay for it, and in Ave!world a reasonable amount of time is three hours. And they can't do that. So I resigned myself to just waiting for 3-8 days--which, we all know, Borders, means six days minimum--and then getting free shipping.
Every day for the following week I came home and the first thing I did was ask, "Did they come in?" This turned out to be a source of confusion for everyone save me, seeing as they didn't really care about my books. At all. Unfortunately, that's not a punishable offense.
Except for Thursday. For some reason this week was all scrambled up in my head, and Tuesday was definitely Wednesday, Wednesday was at least a Tuesday, if not a Monday, and Thursday was totally Friday--only, they weren't. The best part was Friday was a half-day, which for some reason translates in my mind as: You don't have to do any homework. This is bad. Because then I do nothing.
So. Finally, it was like eight, and someone walked up to me with a box. I had totally forgotten about my books that day, which was probably good. While I was busy having a spaz attack, my mother informed me that they'd been there all day, but I ignored her. Spaz attacks tend to disorient you.
There are many, many ways to open a box, and they're all effective. For the most part. For some reason my brain decided that randomly hacking, stabbing, and chopping at the box would get it open not only efficiently but also in a timely manner and with no mess involved. So I did just that.
It should be easy to predict that something would go wrong. I'll just use the explanation I gave everyone on Skype:
". . . Borders finally sent my books. And I was all, "LOOK IT'S A BOX THERE ARE BOOKS IN HERE I WANT THEM." So then I attempted to rip it open. This failed. Then I decided that maybe, just maybe, randomly stabbing/cutting it with scissors would make the box open up faster. Then they slipped and I whacked myself in the head, which deterred me for about four seconds before I went back to stabbing the box. BUT I OPENED IT AND THERE ARE BOOKS AND THIS IS GOOD."
So basically I maimed myself slightly while whacking/stabbing/chopping at a cardboard box with scissors, all because there were books inside and for some reason it instantaneously became the most important thing in the world that I got those books that second.
In the end I got the box open and the throbbing red mark on my forehead was totally worth it. My parents and siblings are now busy questioning my mental stability, but whatever.
Books.
Does this prove that I spend far too much time obsessing over books? Crap.
--Ave
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