Yesterday I titled my post “shameless post thief” to acknowledge that I was stealing my friend Mare‘s idea and completing a reading meme.  I received 10 trackbacks on the article – all by content thieves who display the writings of others as content on their pages in order to display advertising.  I’ve long since given up begging them to remove my content from their sites.  It just continues to happen.  What’s amusing is that all 10 of them left my post title in place but cut out my cute explanation of just who’s post i was theiving and why.  Ah, the joys of the Interweebs…

Last year I signed up for the 52 books in 52 weeks reading challenge and found myself passing the 100 book mark half way through the year.  Needless to say I gave up counting and listing the books I had read and just kept reading.

Today I dropped by Mare‘s place and found her reference to 2000 1001 books to read before you die.  I have a sneaking suspicion I’ll end up having read a number of them – and many more that never made the list – long before I’m 50.  I’d say 30 but that bus left long ago. I have no life and few shiny pieces of university granted papers (just one so far) but I’d challenge anyone who’d suggest I wasn’t well read.  We’ll just pretend that my current fixation with Military History and my on-going love affair with SciFi/Fantasy are equally valuable ways to spend my reading time.

I think I’m with Mare on the concept of creating my own list.  There were a number of books I would have included that are missing from this list.  Perhaps I’ve just spent too much time reading Canadian and Indian literature lately…or maybe I just have bad taste…

If you’re interested in the list it’s below the fold…  * represents the books I’ve already read.  I did have to refer to the books on my bookshelves to make sure I selected the correct ones.  There’s a number of books with similar (or the same titles) that I’ve read.  The double-check was to ensure I had the right books.  The joys of “author matching”.

Upperdate for the curious: I’ve ready 374 of the 1001 books on this list (37%)

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Yesterday was Father’s day and it nearly slipped by us unnoticed this year. Since dad passed in the fall of 2006 I really haven’t kept track of it anymore. I figure Drew should have to remember something since he left Mother’s day up to me. Probably explains why our mom’s received flowers and his dad got a late night phone call.

Come to think of it, I’m sure I graced dad with many late night phone calls wishing him happy Father’s day and assuring him that a card and/or present was in the mail. At least 50% of the time I’m sure the card actually made it into mailbox before the phone call was made.

For a non-father, Drew usually makes out quite well on Father’s day. A few years back he wanted a new lawnmower. We had completely forgotten that it was Father’s day and couldn’t figure out why the stores were so packed. We bought a new lawnmower and Drew happily toddled off through the yards testing it out. It wasn’t until a neighbour was showing off the tie he got from his 4 year old daughter (ooh, sparkly) that Drew realized what day it was.

We did it again this year.

I wanted some capris or shorts to wear over the summer. Most of my shorts aren’t appropriate to wear to work – silly dress code – so after I’d gotten sick and tired of working on my paper we hopped into the truck and headed off. Shopping therapy is always nice. Usually I don’t manage to find a lot that I like at prices I’m willing to pay so when I landed at the store with the giant SALE! signs in the window I was pretty excited. I managed to find 3 pairs of capris, 3 pairs of normal dress pants, and three shirts.

Drew’s eyes bugged out of his head when he paid the bill. Then he got his revenge.

He decided he wanted to stop into Moore’s to check out their suits. He has a few but wanted to increase his wardrobe. My mistake was thinking that he was in a browsing mood. Drew hates to shop but once he’s made up his mind to do so, he dives in feet first. One mortgage payment later we left the store with two suits, a macintosh, new dress shoes, and a shirt.

Remember those bugged out eyes when he paid my bill? It was less than a third of Drew’s. He didn’t even bat an eye when he paid his. He’s trying to tell me I got “the look” because he thought I’d brought my Interac card with me. He should know better. Besides, it’s not like the joint account magically has more $$ in it when we use my card instead of his…

Drew’s clothing selections are interesting. 60% of the time he wears a uniform. When he’s puttering around the house, he wears ratty jeans and t-shirts. I’m having problems prying them from his hands. To say he’s attached to them is the understatement of the year. I think he cried the last time I threw out one of his t-shirts. It was so filled with holes that it showed off more skin than it covered. You’d never know this is the same guy who likes to get dolled up in suits and ties and go out. Hell, he even owns his own Tux! And don’t get me started on the number of shined dress shoes that are in his closet. We counted once. He has 3x the number of shoes I do. Uses some silly excuse about being issued shoes by the gov’t…

What’s a little bit odd (to me anyway) is the fact that he has no real mid-range casual clothes. He used to wear golf shirts and khaki’s but stopped a few years back. Oh, you can catch him in a (slightly ratty) golf shirt paired with really fugly jeans on rare occasions. Really rare.

That’s my man. He’s got three looks; man-in-uniform, homeless bum, and businessman/mobster. Happy non-Father’s day to you.

We didn’t go to karaoke last night. I had a paper due and L, J and Drew weren’t in the mood. Since L and Drew are building a garage today (and tomorrow if they don’t finish), I don’t think either of them had any intentions of staying up late. The backyard gathering – started at L & J’s and moved to E & V’s around 10pm – was pretty dead by midnight. Having to work or handle school the next day tends to put a damper on the party spirit.

As the party was breaking up, one of the neighbours came over to borrow some DVDs. I’m not even sure if that’s legal anymore under the newly proposed copyright law. It’s not law yet so I guess I have a few more months to worry about it. In the meantime, we’ll continue to act like the neighbourhood video store and share our perfectly legal store bought purchased movies with our neighbours who want to watch them. I know. I used the evil share word. I just can’t see much of a difference between someone coming to watch the DVD at our house, on our TV, sitting on our couches, and eating our popcorn and someone borrowing the DVD, walking next door or across the alley, and watching the movie on their TV, sitting in their couches, and eating their own movie snacks.

Anywho. R picked out a few movies and headed up stairs. As he was leaving he left the door open and Bubba, our 10 year old blue point Siamese snuck out. She was lightening quick and I couldn’t catch her as she ran by me on the deck. Over an hour of panicked searching of the neighbourhood ensued. Running Walking up and down streets and alleys with flashlights calling “Bubba” got us no where. The evil man who let her out – by not shutting the door behind him – toddled home, brought Drew a flashlight, and then toddled back home once again. Apparently he didn’t think it was important to try and help us find our previously housebound cat.

It did end well though. In all our wanders in and out of the house while we were searching for Bubba, she managed to sneak by us once again. This time, it was to head back into the house and cuddle up on her cushion. We found her after I was saying her name in the kitchen while talking to Thanatos (yes, I talk to my cats). I said “Bubba” and immediately heard “meerow”. She has a very distinct meow. I called her name and kept following the “meerows” until I found her curled up on her favourite cushion in the basement.

Some days I just shouldn’t get out of bed.  I woke up this morning, did my standard ablutions, got dressed, and toddled off to the car to drive into work.  The morning drive was pretty uneventful and traffic seemed really light.  There are bonuses to school being out for the full-time students – traffic and parking most notably.

I was feeling pretty spiffy since I’d managed to find a nice little suit jacket to pair with my outfit today.  It dressed up my jeans nicely while still allowing me to enjoy the relaxed dress code over the summer months.  I was plotting out my day and dreaming of my first cup of Timmies. 

After meeting up with a co-worker on the sidewalk outside the parking garage, I noticed something very strange.  My pockets weren’t jingling.  I couldn’t hear my keys.  I did the mad dash pocket pat.  I put hands in empty pockets repeately.  In.  Out.  In.  Out.  As if by dint of repetition my keys would magically appear.  They didn’t.  My co-worker (bless her) and I trekked back up the stairs to my truck.  I had visions of keys sitting on my passenger seat roaming through my head.  I distinctly remembered locking my door when I exited the truck.  I always do.  As we approached my truck I knew it was far, far worse.  Not only had I locked my keys in my vehicle.  I’d locked my keys in my running vehicle.

Go ahead.  Get it out of your system.  Laugh it up.  Someday this will happen to you and I’ll be pointing and laughing with the rest of them.

I knew we had spare keys.  I knew exactly where those spare keys were.   They were attached to the hubby’s keyring.  I have his spare keys on mine.  Where was Drew?  On base.  At work.  For hours.  Not only did the driving world – or at least all drivers parking in the parkade this morning – have to know about my shame, but uniformed men and women were soon to discover my idiocy.  I know a few of them already suspected I was absentminded and slightly loony.  Now they have confirmation.

Today would be the day when I’d decided I didn’t need to bring a cell phone with me.  I had put it into my pocket this morning, had second thoughts, and decided that I should perhaps plug it in.  Too lazy to bring the power cord to work, I plugged my cell in at home.  My co-worker (double bless her) handed me her phone.  

How many people know the phone number for their local military base switchboard off the tops of their heads?  Yeah.  Me neither.  That’s why I have phone numbers stored in my cell’s contact list.  They’re not there to make me look popular.  I called 411 – dialing “0” gets you no where on a cell – and struggled through the NLU phone menu.  Idiot drivers racing through the parking lot made it hard to hear.  I’ll pretend that’s the reason I was offered the phone number for the Edmonton Infant Death Support Society (or something similar) when I asked for the number for CFB Edmonton Garrison.  Much button pushing ensued and I finally got to talk to a live body.  She kept offering me the phone number for Canadian Forces Recruiting.  I kept insisting I wanted Edmonton Garrison.  If I hadn’t been so stressed it might have been hilariously funny. 

When I got the number for the switchboard I waited on the line to talk to an operator.  I needed the extension for the area Drew works in.  If you don’t have that tracking a person down on base can be an exercise in futility.  It’s not like the MP’s will wander the base calling “Here Drewey Wooey.  Come on boy.  Here’s a good boy.”  Then, instead of patching me through, the operator hung up. I called the number I’d managed to piece together and landed at the Sgt’s desk.  Rather than passing the phone to Drew, he gave me Drew’s extension and hung up.  So there I was.  Standing in the parking lot with my truck running, lights on, and doors locked.  Calling Edmonton Garrison for the third time. 

Brrrriiiing.  Brrrriiiiing.

And then Drew’s voice was on the line.  Which meant I had to tell him what I’d done.  I really needed that spare key.  It couldn’t be helped.  I spilled my guts.  Drew asked where I was.  I told him.  He hung up on me before I could tell him which floor of the parking garage I was on.  Ah well. He’d find me when he arrived.  Depending on traffic, it’s a 20-45 minute drive to the college from Base. 

I waited.  Despite being patrolled by security guards, undesirables sometimes made their way through the parking garage.  Occasionally the air in the stairwells would be thick with dope smoke or a vehicle would be broken into.  Leaving a locked truck running just seemed like too much temptation to me.  So, after profusely thanking my co-worker for the loan of her phone and keeping me company I sent her on her way. And I waited. 

More of my co-workers drove by and witnessed my foolishness.  Some stopped to chat.  D, the last in the office before Drew arrived, promised that his lips were sealed and that he wouldn’t tell a soul.  I warned him it was all for naught.  Everyone else already knew.  *sigh*  At around 8:30am (so much for getting to work early this morning) my knight in not-so-shiny uniform arrived.  He switched his car off, handed me his keys.  I opened my door, got my keys, and walked back to him loudly begging me NOT to lock his keys in my truck.  Ha. Ha. Ha.  He’s such a funny guy.

I offered to buy him coffee.  He declined.  Some silly nonsense about having to get back to work as soon as possible.  Keys in hand, I headed for the office.  And forgot to stop for coffee.  It’s just going to be one of those days…