It's not always easy to come up with blog entries each week. I often write about something funny that struck me during the week, but let's face it, there are weeks where nothing amusing happens at all. Like this week.

On Monday, the most exciting thing that happened to me was when I went to my nephew's baseball game (he's on the all-star league, thankyouverymuch) and it started thundering. They didn't call the game, but I high-tailed it out of there pretty quickly, leaving my sister, brother-in-law, parents, aunt, and of course, my nephew and his teammates there to get struck by lightning while I sat in the comfort of my own home, eating grilled cheese sandwiches. It turned out nobody was hit with lightning after all, so there's really nothing funny to tell there.

On Tuesday, I had to clean up dog poop on the pathway to our store. Our landlords have these tenants who are truly vile and disgusting people, and see no reason why feces might need to be cleaned up. We've complained several times. We've strategically relocated the poop back on their front steps. Nothing helps. I suppose I could write a funny blog post about how repulsive it is to leave dog poop lying around, or perhaps the most effective way to clean it off of one's flip-flops after stepping in a warm pile of it, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be very whimsical about the topic. At all. (Excuse me while I go fling some poo at the tenants' door.)

On Wednesday, I started reading The Book Thief by Mark Zusak. Big mistake. If you haven't read it, let me set the scene: it takes place in Nazi Germany, and Death is the narrator. I couldn't put it down, and I cried a lot. It's kind of hard to write something amusing and lighthearted after your soul has been trampled on by a book. I crawled into bed and stayed there until Friday.

(I did make myself to get out of bed a couple of times on Thursday to make coffee and eat some cookies. I felt a little better.)

Today, I forced myself to rejoin the world. I opened the store and went through some recently-donated books. There were a couple of books I would have normally set aside to read later, like one on Jack the Ripper, and another on JFK, but after what I just went through (Death is the narrator--during the Holocaust!) I thought it might be better to just put them on the shelves. Then I watched some Animaniacs cartoons and read some Erma Bombeck to cheer myself up.

To finish off the week, Jason and I rented Venom, a movie about a woman and her daughter who hit a snake in the desert, and now every snake within a 100-mile radius is chasing them to get their revenge. Of course, their car breaks down, they lose their phone, and drug dealers are scouring the desert  looking for lost drug money (as they do), and overall, it was a real stinkeroo. It only served to remind me that my blog writing would be just as terrible as this movie if I couldn't find something ridiculous to write about, and fast. But what? If only something would strike me, much like an angry coral snake intent on revenge!

Alas, it was not to be. No banana cream pies hit me in the face; I didn't step on any rakes or bees which might have resulted in a hilarious post about an emergency room visit. Nothing. Nada. Just thunderstorms, dog poo, a book that left me emotionally drained, and a movie about vengeance-seeking snakes with a score to settle. Nothing funny to see here, folks.

Hopefully, something witty will strike me next week. Maybe this copy of The Lovely Bones will inspire me to write an extended funny anecdote or something. Hey, it's got "lovely" in the title, right? How bad could it be?

Dear Stacey at 15,

Hey you! Yes, you there, the one putting a hole in the ozone layer with all that Aqua Net you're spraying in an effort to make your bangs stand up straight! It's me--you at 40. Boo!
How are you doing? You seem a little angst-ridden. Why don't you turn off that music? Yes, I know the Violent Femmes rock, but they're awfully depressing, and since you will eventually be diagnosed with clinical depression, they certainly can't be helping. You know what you like to listen to now as you're be-bopping down the highway? That's right, Duran Duran. THAT's how cool you're gonna be at 40.
Right now, you're probably thinking about how you're going to meet Megan in the girls' bathroom for a cigarette before your first class. Guess who you don't speak to at all anymore? That's right, Megan. We don't even know what state she lives in. Stop worrying so much about being BFFs. And see this turkey neck? Those cigarettes gave us this. Quit now!
What's that, you ask? How could we have possibly lost touch with Meegs? Take a careful look at your friends. We don't see any of them anymore, except on Facebook, which I don't even want to explain to you right now. You know who you do get together with a couple times a year? Alicia and Laura. That's about it. People grow up and grow apart. Stop worrying so much about your friends' dramas and worry more about getting that chemistry grade up.
The good news is you'll never forget your English teacher right now, Ms. Lacosse. Be nicer to her--she will have a huge influence on your career path. And you know your secret dream to own a bookstore and read all day? We get to do that! Except for the reading all day part. Businesses take a lot of work, you know.
Hear your mother out in the kitchen, telling you to get a move on before you miss your bus? Know how everyone always says you two don't look anything alike? That'll change. You're pretty much her blonde twin now. That's right--you, too, will soon carry a big purse and wear sensible shoes. You won't care at all about how silly you look. And no, sadly, Converse All-Stars do not constitute sensible shoes. But you will occasionally throw some arch supports into your Cons and wear them for nostalgia's sake. We haven't totally changed, you know.
You and Mom are even friends now, can you believe it? Being an adult isn't so bad. You know who your best friend in the whole world is? That's right, your big sister. That hasn't changed. Awesome, right?
You should be nicer to your aunts, by the way. Three of them will be rather influential role models for you as you get older. What's that? Why did I say three, and not four? You're going to lose one when she's fairly young. I'm not going to tell you which one. That way, you can be more appreciative of the four you have now.
Why are you sighing and rolling your eyes at me? What do you mean, I just don't understand you? I WAS you, stupid. Let's get a few things straight: first of all, you're not fat. One day, you're going to make it your personal weight loss goal to stay under 170 pounds. That's about 40 pounds heavier than you are now. Shut up and put on a bikini. I do wish we'd worn those more when we could.
Second of all, know that guy who you get all crazy and giggly around when you pass him in the hallway? Yeah, we don't even remember his name anymore. He's not the love of your life. In fact, pretty much everyone you've ever dated isn't the love of your life or even good enough for you. You'll meet a guy your senior year that actually knows who Roald Dahl is. Date him. Date that guy.
I know right now you're thinking that nothing could ever be more important than whether or not Amie's pregnant, or if whatshisname will notice the cool tie-dye you're wearing today, or when you will finally be able to escape the farm and live on your own. You're so wrong. Here are the answers: Amie's not pregnant; nope, whatshisname doesn't know or care that you're alive; and someday, you'll miss both the farm and not having to worry about a mortgage. 
The most important people in your life now are your family, a guy you won't meet for another couple of decades, and a handful of friends you haven't even met yet. And some kids who haven't been born yet. No, not ours. We haven't completely lost our minds. But you do have a sister and will have in-laws that will be inclined to reproduce. It won't be as terrible as you think. You'll actually like your nephews and niece. Because you're going to be the coolest aunt ever.
Take another look around your room. Take note of that poster of Nick Rhodes rolled up in the corner; those Jack Ketchum and Stephen King books on your shelves; that old snapshot of Gordie Howe you have taped to your mirror. Good news: you're going to meet every one of those people at some point in your life. Yes, even Nick Rhodes. I'll allow you a little teenage scream for a moment. And know how you're a closet wrestling fan? You're going to have the best time hanging out with Jake "the Snake" Roberts when you're thirty-nine. I know. Sooo cool.
I wish I could tell you more, but it's time for me to go. There's so much more I want to tell you--like which college you should pick, and which marriage proposal to turn down, and a million other things, but I know you still need to make those choices and mistakes on your own.  Good luck. You're not alone.
Oh, and if you could play these Powerball numbers on February 14, 2007, that would be helpful: 
35 01 15 37 45 32 3

Love,
You at 40.

Back in July of 2012, Jason and I started talking about opening our own business. We discussed the pros and cons: the economy was terrible; we'd be dependent on others (namely, book-buyers) to earn our living; but we'd be doing something we love (talking about books is one of my favorite things, second only to reading books!) and eventually decided to make the big leap. It was wonderful and terrifying.
I love our little bookstore. The biggest drawback is that it is rather little; our overstock quickly spilled over to our home office, dining room, and basement. But I can't emphasize enough how awesome it is to have so much reading material right at my fingertips. (The downside is we can't have company over for dinner in the dining room anymore, but I was never much of a socialite anyway.) I can't remember the last time I was this happy.
But owning your own business is hard. We've missed holidays and birthdays and nephews' baseball games and nieces' dance recitals. We've lost sleep over how to pay the electric bill and the rent. We've had author events cancelled due to blizzards and illness. We've even had a puppy piddle on our carpet.
Why am I going into all this now? Because, quite frankly, we've had a terrible month. I'm not sure if it's due to the rise of the Kindle or the impending cicada invasion, but June has been our worst sales month so far (yep, even worse than February, believe it or not!) So I'm asking everyone I can think of to help support our bookstore.
How can you help? The easiest way, of course, would be to stop by and buy some books. We'd love to see you, and as I mentioned, sometimes you can't shut me up when I'm talking about a good book. If we're too far away, check out our Amazon storefront and see if we have any titles up there you might be interested in. Or visit our website at www.booksandboos.com to see other titles we carry. 
Perhaps you're a Kindle reader, and don't like to buy physical books anymore. In that case, please consider donating to us directly by either visiting our donations page or PayPalling us directly at stacey@booksandboos.com. Donating is the only way to guarantee that I won't chastise you for owning a Kindle.
I can't thank our friends, family, casual acquaintances, and total strangers enough for your support.
And I promise to be funny again next week.

Just this week, I had the opportunity to take a train to New York City. If you've ever been on one of these trains, you may have noticed how rude, disgusting, and utterly @@!# self-absorbed train riders can be. Here are my rules of etiquette for riding the train:

1. If you're hungry, please grab food to go that doesn't smell. I'm lookin' at you, tuna sandwich on the Metro North to Stamford last night at 9:37 PM. Though he wasn't as bad as the guy who stopped at Taco Bell before getting on the train. Jason kept asking me if I'd passed gas. No, no, that's just how that guy's food smells. Like bad farts.

2. If you sneeze and don't cover your mouth, you don't deserve a "God bless you." It's appalling how many people were not raised to cover their mouth when they sneeze. And the pollen count was high yesterday, so there were "achoos" flying all over the place. One woman almost 'bless you'-d a sneezer who didn't cover up, until I shot her a look of death and waved my finger at her. Poor manners does not get you a blessing. Plus, then I had to wear a bandanna across my face so as not to breathe in any of the snotty germs that were flying, and the conductor almost kicked me off  because I looked like a train robber. I should NOT have to explain myself to the transit authority because of YOUR disgusting habits!

3. Yes, I can hear you now. And now. And now.
Please don't talk on your cell phone on the train. Everyone on the train can hear your conversation. I'm very sorry that Pauline was diagnosed with scabies, but I don't want to hear about it (and I really don't want you sitting near me, either, since you're so worried about the scabies.) With these people, I like to take their picture with my phone (courteously set to vibrate, of course) and post their picture on Facebook with a description of what they're talking about. Unless I can't quite hear you clearly, in which case, I'll make it up. (It's possible that Pauline was taking care of the babies, but I can't be sure.)

4.  Don't let your children travel alone. Ever.  Maybe you think they're mature enough to travel by themselves. They're not. As soon as that train door closes, they're going to be running up and down the aisles, seat-hopping, laughing about how they clogged the toilet with burrito wrappers (thanks again, stupid Taco Bell-eating guy who wouldn't share his churros) and talking about how stupid you, their parents, are. That's right. Your kids are talking badly about you, loudly, to a train full of strangers. Mrs. Antonetti, who let your 11-year-old son travel alone to Westport last night? I now know you dye your eyebrows. Little Manny thinks they look purple and dumb, by the way.

All in all, it was an unpleasant ride. I blame everyone else on the train. I myself was perfectly behaved. But then again, I am a people person.