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Walmart (or, for that matter, any store with a name ending in ‘mart) is one of my least favourite places on earth. Sure, you can buy plenty of things plenty cheap there, but the average IQ of customers in the store has more to do with my shoe size than anything else.

Since i hate the place so much, we were obliged to spend an hour there. To Walmart’s credit i found such wonderful things as cheap dishes, more giant tupperware bins (i think i’m developing a fetish), and a towel hook for the door. I was typically miserable the whole time we spent there, except for while walking out to the car. I plan to be miserable until Saturday, when i move into the apartment for real. Sadly, there will be no way for you to bask in the satisfied glow i’ll be giving off until next friday when my phone service gets turned on, at which point i’m quite sure i’ll be miserable again. After all, it doesn’t take much.

My mother and i stood befuddled as we stared at the bath-window.

“We can’t hang blinds, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Silence.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“Couldn’t we just hang a shower curtain? You know, from that rod there.”

“I suppose, but it couldn’t be a sheer one. It’d have to be opaque.”

“Yes, i was thinking that.”

“We ought to go to Walmart and look for one.”

“::shudder::

The bathroom in our new apartment is rather small, with a sink and a toilet directly to your left when you enter, and a radiator on the right close enough to warm your knees while you’re on the toilet. The bathtub is a part of both side walls and the back wall of the bathroom, which happens to be the front wall of the apartment building. And, for some inexplicable reason, there is a window looking in over my tub.

I hadn’t been to this apartment too many times, but had seen identical ones in the same building, so this morning when we arrived i had already described the general setup but was having trouble recalling where the phone jacks and closets were. However, i remembered an abundance of windows. Many, many windows. Seven in all, as it turned out, contained in two rooms.

And, of course, one in the bathtub.

The middle window of the third floor of 3604 Spring Garden street is done up in sea-life. Giant, vivid fish slide in and out of plankton and seaweed against a deep blue backdrop.

The scene is rendered in the medium known as “vinyl shower curtain.”

(This is a story, told backwards.)

(If you read down from the top of the page this is the end).

The result of all this bitching about my cd collection is twofold. One is that people often express surprise or jealousy of my racks of cds. Really it’s rather unfounded, because it’s not as though a spend a significant amount of time or cash on my collection; it’s at least a third comprised of singles and has been accumulated over nearly six years. Given those facts and my obviously love of music, i don’t think someone whose favourite artist is “umm… probably Nirvana” should begrudge me my collection.

The second is that when browsing through through my cds see absolutely nothing they’re interested in listening to aside from Alanis Morissette or Madonna. Earlier this summer evilViktor and another OL were polling my cd collection for something listenable and came up emptyhanded. The random OL naively asked me if i had any Whitney Houston and i nearly kicked him out of the room. Viktor then discerned that Garbage was tolerable, but was baffled to find that i had 22 of their cds when they only had two released albums. I didn’t even bother to try to explain Ani DiFranco to him.