My Name is Abra, and I Have a Problem

Women commonly have a weakness for footwear, and I am no exception. Of course by footwear we usually mean shoes, but I have always had a thing for... socks. Yep, Christmas's worst gift is what I'm drawn to like a clearance sale whenever I'm shopping. I joke a lot about having a sock problem, but I never accepted its severity until this last time I moved, filling a huge duffel bag with socks. It was time to look my sock hoarding disorder in the face.

Turns out I have more than 42 pairs of socks. I stopped counting after that, but there were a bunch more in the laundry. I have sock liners, ankle socks, slouchy socks, boot socks, slipper socks, knee-highs, thigh-highs. White, black, orange, hot pink, striped, checked, polka-dotted, even herringbone. Socks for flip-flops and socks for d'orsay shoes.

In my new place, I even have socks hanging on hangers in my closet. Maybe because my addiction has become too unruly to be stuffed away in my dresser drawer? Or maybe because those are my "fancy socks" and they deserve special care? Or both?? You decide.

She's going to miss me soooo much...

One of my mom's homestay students is going back to Japan soon, and I'm going to be so sad! Here's an exchange we had the other day:

Reika: I hate my hair! I want to dye.

Me: Don't die! You have so much to live for.

Reika: No, I want to dye it!

Me: But you look great! You don't need to diet.

The things I would do to hold your hand.

I was house-sitting for a couple of weeks while my aunt and uncle were on vacation in Italy, and the best part was that it included car-sitting too. (Is it sad that while they were in the Sistine Chapel, just having a house all to myself and a minivan to drive to my temp job seemed like a luxurious vacation to me??)

Anyway, I did miss seeing those kooky signs on my way to work, so this week when I finally rode up to the signpost again in anticipation, I didn't quite know what to make of its latest offering. It was a red heart and a pink heart holding hands (attached to scrawny arms that were the only limbs they had), and it said "LET'S COLLABORATE." ...That's all? I kept staring at it, saying it out loud, trying to find the cheesy pun, but... I couldn't find one. I think these sign-makers need a vacation themselves, because that was rather disappointing. Also, a bit incongruent: the picture looked like romance but the caption sounded like business. Unless "collaborate" is a euphemism...?

I mean, if I were tasked with composing a caption for that illustration, it would be, "I WOULD GROW A LIMB JUST TO HOLD YOUR HAND." Seriously, why am I riding past these silly signs to my silly job every day when I should obviously be designing my own line of creepy Valentine cards?

Earmuffs could use some serious rebranding though.

I started physical therapy yesterday, and when I walked into the office and saw the denim-clad receptionist against the backdrop of the lime green walls, I felt like I was in a daycare... until I heard the obnoxious pop song they were blaring. Then I didn't know where I was.

The physical therapist, who looked younger than me, introduced herself by her first name (which was something like Krystel) and kept calling me "girl." She led me into a room, saying, "My friend Jon will join us in a few minutes if you don't mind." I agreed without listening too attentively, but then I was like, Wait. Your friend? Who brings their friends to work?! What if I do mind? I figured Jon was an intern, maybe some kind of job shadow thing, someone in training? Jon turned out to just be the PT assistant. I'm not sure why the euphemism was deemed necessary. He was worse than Kristul, constantly trying to be all funny instead of giving serious responses to my questions.

I know I sound like a grumpy old man, but these people were actually really nice and probably knew what they were doing. Maybe they were just trying to be friendly to match how friendly they were about to get with my legs. I'm not the Fun Police and I'm not against a cheery atmosphere, but is there some reason professionalism is becoming outdated along with privacy and keeping commitments and earmuffs? These are all good things, fellow millennials.

To-do: Become robot

Thanksgiving might be my least favorite holiday. Too many people and too much food. I've never been very interested in food-eating, but I think my dislike of eating food isn't so much a problem with food in itself as it is an intimacy problem. I mean, it doesn't get much more intimate than food... that pervert travels its way down my whole body, gets its nutrients all up in my bloodstream... gross.

I go into fight-or-flight mode when someone stands too close to me -- eating is much too invasive. Usually when you have an invasive procedure, they medicate you before they get all up in you. But food has the nerve to just sit there expectantly, waiting to become one with you three times a day. Slow down, food. We just met at the grocery store a few days ago.

It can take me five years to feel comfortable with someone and by that time, food will be rotten. Unless it's not really food, like Twinkies. So the life lesson here is... the ones worth waiting for won't wait for me? See, food, this kind of unsolicited advice is not going to help me open up to you.

RIP Semblance of Basic Decency

There's nothing I can say that hasn't already been said a million times on the internet over the last few days, so how about a moment of silence while we sit in the corner and think about what we've done.

Don't even try to mess with me, frogs.

One day I was stopped at a light on my way to work when I noticed something trying to get my attention out of the corner of my eye. I looked over to see a sign on a post that said something like "Reach for your dreams!" I didn't think much of it because there are actually several places in this town that have encouraging signs like this: "Hug your kids." "Forgive." Etcetera. I figured this was just a new one of those I hadn't noticed before.

But at those other places in town, those signs are permanent. And their messages are sensible. And there are no pictures, only words. At this particular stoplight, some time later I noticed something winking at me again. I caught its eye to see that it belonged to a cartoon fox with hearts all over it. "Hey foxy," the sign flirted. Wow, thought I, Someone is going to the effort of coming out here and putting up new signs for me! (I felt like it was just for me because on a bike it's right there, exactly at eye level, challenging me to resist its charm.) Next it was "You're a Star!" depicted by an unreasonably enthusiastic anthropomorphic star shape. I started to look forward to the new signs, taped up there so neatly. It was always something so illogically optimistic that I wasn't at all encouraged by the message itself, but just by the fact that a mysterious philanthropist was doing this especially for me.

But then I noticed they change sometimes as often as twice a week! Forget the dedication required to keep coming out and switching the signs -- who's coming up with new cutesy sayings all the time? Is it one person, or a team? And how long do they think they can keep this up?! So now I'm just entertained by their ever-expanding creativity. Lately such gems have been:

THE SNUGGLE IS REAL

[Picture of smiling grapes] YOU WERE BORN FOR GRAPENESS

[Picture of hearts and frog] YOU'RE UNFROGGABLE

...uh, excuse me? Just because I don't want to frogg you doesn't mean I'm unfroggable. Did they mean unforgettable?! Unforgettable. Unforogable. Unfroggable. I don't know, that's quite a stretch. Unflappable, perhaps? That's even further off, yet I can't think of anything else. Unless they just meant... unfroggable (n): unable to be frogged. Hmm. Seems like a pretty useless superpower, but I guess I can't negotiate with a signpost.

Gotta love this town even if it reeks of B.O. and pot.