A couple of months ago, I wrote about the treasured Bee Bop Video, and how it was recorded over by mistake.
My sister sent me an email, saying “Remember how we thought it was a pretty big deal that we taped over the Bee Bop Video? … NASA taped over the moon landing.”
Yup, that’s right. Read about it here.
Every so often, I catch myself doing something that comes across as abnormal, and I wonder if perhaps I have OCD. I tend to think not, but here is a short list (you don’t believe that, do you?) of things about which I am very particular. I post these as part of an observation on the oddities of humans. We all have little quirks, and they interest me more than is probably healthy. Some of the following are weird, some may not be so unusual.
#1. Numbers. They mean a lot to me. It’s very important that I remember combinations of numbers, whether it be phone numbers, birth dates, or library card barcodes. I get upset if I have to look up a number and can’t remember it off the top of my head. I also like number patterns. The book I’m reading right now is a trilogy in one volume. Each of the three books has exactly 31 chapters. There are a total of 1024 pages in the book, which is a meaningful number if you spend much time on a computer. Right now I am 42% through the trilogy, and everybody knows that 42 is the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything. My favorite time of day is 8:17, because I was born on the 17th day of the 8th month. I worked at camp one year, and each staff member was assigned a number (for role call), from youngest to oldest. By chance, I was number 17.
#2. My eyebrows. I’m fairly obsessed with trimming stray eyebrow hairs. I check them several times every day, and as soon as a new hair breaks the skin, I dive in with my ultra sharp tweezers. It actually started when I bought these tweezers for 88 cents a few years ago at Wal-mart; I’ve never used a pair that were as sharp, which has become significant to me. These tweezers get the short hairs that are only visible if I’m standing centimeters away from the bathroom mirror. It doesn’t matter that other people can’t see them. I can feel them. Consequently, I often accidentally nick my eyelids trying to get the microscopic hairs. Then they turn red and blotchy. I try to cover it up with makeup, but it doesn’t always help. So, no, I didn’t get socked in the face; I tweezed my eyebrows.
#3. Order. I thrive on order. There is only one right way to make my bed, and it has to be the same every time. I have a hard time not vacuuming in straight lines. I only keep from doing it because the nap of the carpet doesn’t follow straight lines, and I have to make it lay flat. I almost arranged the napkin dispenser and salt/pepper shakers during lunch at work today. The napkins weren’t at the direct center of the table, and I really would have preferred that the salt/pepper were at one end of the napkin dispenser, equal distance apart. But then someone would have used them, and thrown everything off. When I take something off a hanger in the closet, the hanger *must* be moved to the end of the bar with the group of other unused hangers. Just about everything I do has a pattern, even if it only makes sense in my head.
#4. Rightness. This can be a struggle for me, because I am very concerned with being right. But beside that, I just want things in general to be right. Last night at Applebee’s, I got my bill and I had been overcharged by $0.50 for bacon. I didn’t care much if I had to pay 50 cents extra, but the amount on the bill was wrong, and that’s what got me. So my conscience compelled me to point it out, and I then felt very awful when the server apologized, because I didn’t know how to bring it to her attention without coming off as petty or rude.
This has become lengthy, so I’ll stop here and pick up some other day.
Bump-ba-dump. I skip briskly down the steps from my office at Cornerstone University Radio and my feet hit the paved parking lot. Thump thump thump thump. I start the long trek to the cafeteria for lunch. It must be at least a quarter mile across the parking lot and down the winding sidewalk to the lunch room. Today is cold, and the wind snaps my hair against my face, blocking my vision. I tuck the ratty strands behind my ears, but the wind soon catches it again, and it flies in front of my eyes. I don’t really need to see where I’m going, though. I walk the same path to lunch every day of the week, across the parking lot diagonally, over two breaks in the pavement where grass and trees have been allowed to grow next to a straight, stark light post. In fact, there are several of these grassy landscaped areas; they are lined up in rows across the entire parking lot, each one with a light post and a tree with fresh red mulch at its base. They bother me, because trees don’t naturally grow in neat little rows like that. I take in a deep whiff of air, and the smell of the mulch trickles into my nostrils, reminding me that spring is here and the wind will be much more bearable when the temperature climbs above 70 degrees. I reminisce about growing up in the country, and spreading mulch around freshly planted Impatiens off the side of our garage.
I take a glance over at the pond in back of the athletic center. There are larger trees there, which comforts me a little. It’s nothing like home, though, where I can lose myself in the woods. My thoughts don’t drift very far today, however, because the wind hurries me along. My mission is to get inside as quickly as possible. I can feel my ears burning, and my nose is cherry red. I reach the curb outside of the athletic center and take a little running jump up onto the sidewalk. I’m halfway there.
A woman in a red coat emerges from the athletic center and I trail behind her, estimating how long it will take for me to catch up with and pass her. I walk fast. In fact, I’m walking so fast, my legs seem to just move underneath me by themselves. I’m not sure I could slow them if I wanted to. I become conscious of the tapping sound my heels make over the cement sidewalk. I remember being told when I was younger that it’s proper to walk with the toe hitting the ground before the heel, but I never could grasp the concept, so I theorize that some kook invented that rule of etiquette just to make tall clunky people like me feel ever-self-conscious when walking. I begin to wonder if I look silly to bystanders when I walk. My head is bent into the wind, so my body must be tilted forward slightly, perhaps giving me an off-balanced look. And my shoes are slightly too large, so I have to grip the soles with my toes so my heel doesn’t slip out and cause me to lose a shoe, which would be the height of walking-induced embarrassment.
The bushes on the right side of the path are budding, and I grow eager for the day they sprout blossoms and begin to fill the air with their fragrance. I glance up at the woman in the red coat, who is still several feet in front of me, and I now realize that it is mathematically impossible for me to catch up with her (unless I run, which would just be awkward) before we walk through the cafeteria door. She must be a fast walker, too. The sleeves of her coat appear to be longer than her arms, so her right hand is conveniently tucked up inside the cuff of her sleeve, away from the cold air. I wonder if she did that on purpose, or if her coat, like mine, is simply not tailored to fit her body. My own coat is slightly too baggy (which will be just fine when I am in my thirties and ten pounds heavier), and my sleeves are actually too short, so in cold weather I conceal my hands in the pockets, which are actually at just the right height for my hands to rest inside them without putting any unnecessary strain on my arms.
As I approach the cafeteria, I glance over at the wall of tinted glass windows, and speculate about whether or not anyone seated inside is looking out at me as I walk. I would be. I always look at people outside walking when I am in at lunch. I analyze whether or not their hair color is natural (especially redheads who don’t have freckles), and admire their coats, if they are stylish and fit well. And I wonder if the way they are dressed has anything to do with how popular they are on campus. Then I realize their popularity is also affected by how busy they keep with their studies and extra-curricular activities, and whether they are an introvert or an extrovert, and whether or not they… but I digress.
My legs feel as if they were put on cruise control and I forgot they were even beneath me. When I realize they are there again, they start to feel tingly, as if they had been asleep and I had to will them to wake up. I am now just steps behind the woman in the red coat, and, as usual, a random man appears out of thin air to hold the door for us (Heaven forbid a woman ever need to open a door herself). I smile tiredly at him and whisk myself inside so he can get indoors before any more women come along. The warmth inside clashes with the cold temperature of my skin so much that my face burns for a while before it adjusts to the indoor climate. I hand my ID card to the cafeteria attendant, making sure I face the bar code in the right direction so he doesn’t have to turn it as he puts it under the scanner, thereby increasing his efficiency in getting everyone through the line in a timely manner.
As I plop down at the table with my food tray, mentally preparing to be sitting motionless for the remainder of the work day, I am grateful for the long walk to lunch. Even if it is windy.
I’ve been thinking a lot about dogs, lately. I think it’s because I’m reading “Marley & Me.” Anyway, it makes me sad, because I had a really awesome dog, and I wish I could go back in time and play in the backyard with her again, and bury my face in her golden-red fur. She used to come up to me when I was sitting on the couch, and she would just lift her paw up and rest it on my leg, just staring at me with those amber-colored eyes. In my mind, she was without a doubt the best dog in the entire world. So this post is dedicated to Tawny, woman’s best friend.
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Internet,
A problem has been plaguing the world on which I must no longer remain silent. There’s no gentle way to put it. Our socks have come up missing. Not all of them, just a sock here or a sock there. One less sock after you’ve finished folding all the laundry. The mate to your favorite sock, mysteriously absent from your sock drawer. Your warm fuzzy sock, disappeared on a cold winter evening, right when you need it the most.
This has to stop.
I would like to propose a few solutions to the missing sock epidemic. I will outline them below.
Proposal #1: Standardized Socks
Upon approval, this proposal would institute a new mandate for the world. All socks must be equal. That’s right, we all wear the same exact socks. This would generate a period of worldwide sock purgation. Upon standardization of socks, any sock that does not match the exact shape, style, and color of said standardized sock will be immediately recycled and re-made into either standard socks, or (if the previous sock is the wrong material, color, etc) something else useful, such as hats or sweat bands. The standardization of socks would be effective in solving the missing sock epidemic because it wouldn’t really matter if you lost a sock, you could get another one just like it.
Proposal #2: Sock Pants
Sock pants are simple: Pants, with the socks built in. You slip your toe into your favorite jeans, and as your foot reaches the bottom, voila! Your socks are there waiting for you. On the outside, sock pants will look no different than regular pants. But the cuff of your sock will be subtly sewn into your pant legs, near the bottom. This eliminates the possibility of losing your socks in the wash! And color and style of the socks may vary with each pair of pants, so you can still feel fresh and unique every day.
Proposal #3: Smart Sock Shopping
This proposal would initiate a new form of sock retail (hey! creating more jobs, too!). The name? SockMates.com. The purpose? Say you get dressed, and go to find your favorite pair of socks. The gray ones, with the thick snappy cuffs, that NEVER slide down your ankles during the day. But lo and behold! One of your socks is missing! What should you do? Is this the end of your favorite pair of gray socks? Absolutely not! Simply log on to SockMates.com, and perform a search for the exact brand, size, and color (coming soon: personality matches) of your sock, and SockMates will send you…not two, but ONE of your favorite socks, absolutely free of charge (shipping & handling not included). How is this possible, you say? Sock insurance! Each and every pair of socks you buy will include a lifetime guarantee (for a small initial fee). Should you ever lose a sock, SockMates will replace it at NO COST (besides s&h)! And you don’t have to purchase a new PAIR of socks, ending up with three socks (does that even solve anything? Really.) Can it get any better, you say? Yes, yes it can! Not only can you get a mate for your sock, of the exact brand, size, and color…but SockMates will even send you your sock in the CONDITION of the matching sock you possess. When you apply for your new sock, simply choose “New,” “Slightly Used,” “Worn,” “Well-worn,” “Gym Sock,” “Slightly Resembling a Sock,” or “LUCKY Sock” when prompted for the condition of your sock.
There you have it, folks! You don’t have to go on living with one missing sock. There are other ways. So which would you choose?
