Single vs. Unemployed

The great thing about being single is that it affords a self-sustaining lifestyle. You don't have to be with anyone, and actually you're better off alone than with the wrong person. You can go your entire life without a significant other and be just fine. (I suppose 200 years ago this was often not the case for women, but it is now.)

Unfortunately, you can't exactly just be unemployed until the right job comes along, and shrug if it never does. That doesn't work too well.

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.