Strange Little Collecting Project

So, it had been awhile since I did something really good and embarrassing, and I think my subconscious and the karmic police of socialistic happiness distribution were starting to get suspicious. They both sat back and tried to remember the last time I made an ass out of myself in some type of public forum. “I think it was the push-up bra, deep V-neck incident at the Mexican restaurant,” my subconscious said. “Haha. Yes that was quite embarrassing, but you are mistaken. It was last week at the grocery store. Remember the grapefruit avalanche?” the karmic police of socialistic happiness distribution reminded my subconscious. “Wow. Yeah. We must have buried that memory pretty deep, because we’d already forgotten about it. Is it possible to bury things in your subconscious’s subconscious?” “Well, let’s see what type of damage we can do,” the karmic police officer replied, inviting my subconscious to a hearty chest-bump. Whores. I was enjoying a wonderful, lazy Sunday afternoon fu

Like any single girl of a certain age (as my elders like to say…such a loaded statement) I am jealous of my friends who are in long-term, committed relationships, which describes 99.4% of the people in my life right now. But it’s not for the typical reasons. I’m not jealous because they have a permanent date for weddings. I’m not jealous because they never have to go see a movie by themselves, which is actually a great experience if you’ve never done it. And my non-single friends will never have to eat dinner with a book, another strangely pleasant experience (just not on Valentine’s Day). I don’t envy them the roommate (except when the bills come) because I’ve really enjoyed living by myself these last few years. I have the freedom to do Zumba at all hours, sing as loud as I want in the shower, and leave my American Girl doll (Kirsten just in case you’re wondering even though I’m totally a Molly) out on my bookshelf. Now that I think about it, these things might explain why I am still