How to Live the Best Fake Life You Can Imagine

So the other day I wander into the Salvation Army.  Why?  Because it’s across the street from where I work.  And because I’m looking for some props for a photo shoot.  Ok.  And because I’m poor.  Why do our conversations always consist of you making me feel like crap?

Anyway, WHY I went there isn’t what’s important Inspector Gadget.  As I’m strolling around and sifting through the ginormous pile of other people’s crap, I am taken aback by the smell of mildew and grandmas.  I started to walk over to the book section, just to see if i could find some good looking books, and what happened next was completely out of my control;  thus, I do not take responsibility whatsoever.  [much like with everything in my life]

So I’m standing there staring at a huge wall of books and so I start doing what any person such as myself would do: peeling off all the sleeves to see if there are any books that match the colors in my living room and/or office area (they’re only a buck, and how can you ever have enough?).  In case I haven’t mentioned it, I collect books.  No, not antique ones, or special ones, or limited editions – just ones that match my color scheme.   I don’t actually read them, so much as I  admire them on my shelves and let them give the impression to all the world that I am mind-blowingly intelligent.  Because in all actuality, I hate to read.  And queue the following conversation between you and I:

you:  but, wait, weren’t you an English major?

me:  why, yes.  yes i was.

you: isn’t that kind of a weird choice of major for someone who doesn’t like to read?

me:  why yes.  yes it is.

you:  so how did you get through that if you hate to read?

me:  well, first I used cliffs notes and then i just quit.

you: oh.  so this all goes back to you being a loser then?

me:  wait, what?  how are you cutting me down again? this is a hypothetical conversation!

Alright, so to recap:  I like pretty books to put on my pretty shelves for my big, fat, fake life.  okay?  I can’t get enough.  So as I’m browsing the books, this man comes running down the ramp and says “wow, $0.10 a book today, can’t beat that huh?”  To which my response was “you’ve GOT to be kidding me!”  No.  folks, this was no joke.  Immediately, I started stockpiling them.   As I am racing to tear off every book sleeve possible before they closed, i am distracted by the following conversation between him and I:

book man:  find anything interesting?

me:  uh not really.  i mean, i really don’t care what they say.

book man:  (takes out a little gadget and scans a book)  well, i’m actually in the book business.  I sell used books.  This one is worth $94.00.  Anything I can help you find?

me:  well, I’m just looking for certain colors.  I only need them for my fake life.

book man:  (just laughing hysterically and sort of staring in awe)

me:  ( after ten minutes of conversation and filling up TWO carts of books) ….well, I think this is all I can fit in my car, but i got some really good ones.

book man:  well good.  good for you.  it was nice meeting you.  you are a very unique and interesting woman. 

….And when i got home I sorted all 52 books into piles by color on my ottoman and sat down on my couch to stare at the victory I had just won.  As I was staring, I realized that now my own living room had acquired the smell of mildew and grandmas.  But it was worth it, all $5.41.

12 thoughts on “How to Live the Best Fake Life You Can Imagine

    • haha. actually. he wasn’t. he was WAY older than me. I know that doesn’t mean anything, but it crossed my mind at first and so i paid close attention. i can usually tell when a guy is hitting on me.

  1. Nah, honey, he was hitting on you. Dirty old man. He was looking for arm candy and thought you’d bite when he said he owned his own book store. That was supposed to make you think antiques, museums, gala events, ball gowns, MONEY, and being on the evening news with your debutante daughter in 20 years. DOM’s don’t care how old you are, as long as you have a nice ass. I’m glad you’re smarter than that. You go girl, for having some morals, that’s what.

  2. Pingback: Restless Heart: A Charming Tale Of Wasted Time | Blunt Delivery

  3. When I was at university there was a little pub that my friends and I used to go in that had a fake gravitas bookself decor that I suspect was similar to the design you was after in this account. One ferociously boring night after the 5th game of ‘wallet’ that month………my eyes leading an escape charge for my souls refuge landed on the aforememtioned bookshelf. Being an inquisitive type and slightly psychotic in terms of regular social behaviour (I had the cape on…………is he joking or not?………..those bloody English)I picked the book nearest to me and decided to read the first few pages aloud to my friends in the most ridiculous Shakespearean accent you’ve ever heard. Think Dick Van Dyke standing in for Jean Luc-Picard. I accept diagnosis murder so back off if any offence caused but check his Cockney accent in Mary Poppins. Oh dear, can’t dance your way out of that one…. ANYWAY, this event grew steadily over the 3 years and became quite a night come the final chapter. There were tears of sadness, tears of joy, tears of irony, tears of alcohol of people just itching to not be invloved……….and in a sense, tears for fears on the stereo, only in the sense that they weren’t. It wasn’t the 1980’s after all. The book was a purple coloured hardback called the bible or something……no wait……..there were no lions……..but there were owls. It was called the owl taxi and a bit of a thriller if I remember rightly……..people had theories I remember that for sure. Some centered on a Jamacian accent I used to throw in for no reason. So what’s the point to this. Well, I’ve done the same Ms. Blunt, (crikey not in a James Blunt sense I hope) and it reminds me of the phrase that ‘the young get given books, the middle ones buy books and the old READ books.’ Not totally true but if you can bond with someone over an event as nonsensical as this you may find some of lifes more curious wisdom come to you through a forgotton book whose uniqueness makes you take notice…. Or pad out some lame nights taking the pee pee.

    • Ok, first of all winston… you’re from Britain? I did not know this. Where at, exactly? I was over there for awhile going to college at Regents.

      Anyway, I hate James Blunt with a fiery passion. And I never read books. There are very few that can hold my attention. I guess I spend too much time writing. And yes, it is hard for me to dissect some of what you’re saying, given the language barrier and all. haha.

  4. Pingback: You Big, Fat, Fake Smart Person | Blunt Delivery

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.