A recent "How to Start A Blog" article in Chatelaine magazine cautioned me about finding out that maybe I don't have as much to say as I thought I did. How wise was that?

I don't even know if I correctly posted my first entry, so this is a second try all around.

Have you ever gone to the Liquor store and found you've arrived before it even opens? In Ontario, that's not as lame to do as it sounds--since we are still pretty much confined to buying it at the government-run LCBO. They all keep whatever hours they feel like, so they're not all the same. I don't know how long Ontarians have been able to buy booze on Sunday, but it hasn't been all that long.

A couple of hot humid Sundays ago, I thought I was being clever by getting dressed around 9:00 a.m. and heading straight for Runnymede and Bloor, the beginning of "Bloor West Village", to get booze and other shopping for a dinner party later that day out of the way before it got too muggy and gross outside.

I was surprised to see that not only was the LCBO closed, not due to open until NOON--but most of the other shops were also closed until 11 or 12! Just goes to show you how many times I get off my butt to do anything on a Sunday in the Village! I've only been living near it for 20 years!

Rather than go home and have to come back out again later, I hung around, first finding Whites and Things Linens open. Left there with a gauzy white embroidered peasant top,a set of lime green damask and waffle weave tea towels, plus a lime green damask tablecloth. None of these things were on my shopping list, but they were on sale, and it killed some time. From there I went to Starbucks for a Venti Latte and read two or three sections of the Toronto Star; all the while eavesdropping on the post adolescent skanks behind me who were exclaiming loudly about their night before sexual shenanigans. It was pretty obvious they wanted everyone to hear. Where has Class gone?

By now it was about 11:45, so I decided to go and stake myself out on a park bench in front of the Library, where I could smoke a cigarette, finish my coffee and keep an eye on the LCBO store. That's when the fun began. In the 15 minutes I sat there on the other side of the street, I watched and counted as 37 people walked up to those doors, read the Hours of Business sign, and tried the door handle anyway, just to make sure it was really not open yet!

First was a sixty-ish "Grandma" type in a white and beige flowered sundress layered over a long sleeved white t-shirt, a cigarette dangling from her lips, her bare feet clad in sparkly flipflops. With her was a young lad dressed in camouflage and humongous skater shoes--either her son or grandson. They stood around for a few minutes, then turned and headed somewhere further west across Bloor. On the bench along the side wall of the LCBO were two middle aged men with backpacks, polo shirts, sunglasses and sandals. In front of them was a rather scruffy looking guy in dirty jeans and ripped tshirt, cupping the coins he was panhandling from all passersby.

When the doors opened, I had time to rearrange my parcels and cross the street at the light and be the last one in the line of folks descending into the tiny LCBO store. It was like a sale at Walmart, so much chatter and people everywhere I turned. I waited in line for almost fifteen minutes as the first man in line boxed and paid for at least two dozen bottles of red and white wine. The next person had several 26-ers and various cans of exotic beer that all had to be rung in separately. And Panhandling Buddy was next, with three tallboy cans of some obscure cheapo beer called Laker.

Before long, I flagged down a clean, air conditioned cab (the two don't often go together in Toronto) with a polite and capable driver (a real bonus!). Still home in plenty of time to set my table, arrange my flowers, clean up and have a frosty margarita before my guests arrived!