Monday, March 29, 2010

Division of Territory

Monday, March 29, 2010

This weekend I decided to pick through my bookshelf and swap out some of the trashy paperbacks for other trashy paperbacks at ye olde local chain of used book shoppes.

I have a large collection of books. It may not be as large as yours, but keep in mind that I live in a 600 square foot apartment with a man who has a significant collection of probably close to 1000 dvds and blurays that must be displayed at all times. The perimeter of our living room is lined with shelving for our various forms of media.

My friends have a gorgeous bookcase in their living room. Not a smutty paperback in sight. It's all hardbound books filled with worldy knowledge, classical tales and impressive learnings. They are well-educated, brilliant people, who are smart enough to hide their trashy pulp in the basement.
 
 I, on the other hand, have a ramshackle collection of vampire smut, CanLit, cookbooks, old favourites and romantic brain candy on full public display. Curating a book collection seems like something I'd do, to show off just the 'impressive' books and convince everyone that I'm well-read, but for the time being, I'm short on space and high on smut.

So it's off to the used book exchange I go.

I packed up two large bags full of books, dropped them in my trunk and trekked over to the nearest Fair's Fair, the Inglewood location.

Or rather, I intended to go to the Inglewood location.

When you end a relationship, you go through the awkward division of assets. Friends, furniture, cd's, sweatshirts - anything that may have been purchased jointly or shared and swapped during the time you were dating gets divided up, bargained over, or lost forever to the custody gods. I've only been in one significant relationship - the one I'm currently in - but I've dated a lot of dudes who were either nice enough, but missing something, or were not nice at all.

When you date someone and then break up with someone and then want to spend the rest of your earthly existence avoiding that someone, you take extreme measures.

This includes avoiding entire neighbourhoods. For me, I got Kensington. I got the theatre district, the McNally Robinson that is now closed, and the coffee shop Higher Ground. He got comic book stores, the side of Kensington Rd west of Crowchild Trail, and Inglewood.

I turned off the main road to pull into the used book store parking lot, when I realized that the used book store is directly across the street from said dude's apartment. Or at the very least, where he used to live. Whatever. Several years have passed, he probably doesn't even remember my name because I was mighty insignificant in his life story, and I still break out in an angry, angsty sweat.

I panicked. I was unable to make a left hand turn, there was a train coming, there were people honking. I panicked, and instead of turning into the stupid book store parking lot, I zipped straight ahead, took a roughly 70 block detour to a different used book store, and exchanged my smut.

Even though I have NO interest in this dude, and I only "dated" said individual for a matter of weeks, and I'm blissfully happy in my current relationship - I have absolutely no desire to run into said ex.

Especially lugging around roughly 20 lbs of romance novels.

3 comments:

Lady Rose said...

hmmmm...if only said bookshelf wasn't an Ikea classic. And we slipped in a couple of 'graphic novels' to try and balance out our hoity-toityness!

Re: running into the ex...maybe it would be a good thing. Like you would see him and be like 'oh yeah, you. huh' and that would be it.

Meg said...

Your hoity-toit is so appealing, though!

re:re: yeah, you're right. I'm pretty sure it would be a great moment of "oh. right." and a carry on!

Lady Rose said...

You would not believe the bookshelf we saw tonight! It takes our hoity-toit to a whole new level. We're staying there for the next couple of days so I'll get a photo. Perhaps I will pose in front of it with an expression of sadness that I have been out-hoityed and toityed.