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Darn socks

“My socks aren’t matching. It’s that point in the laundry cycle,” I fibbed to Dustin yesterday, as if laundry has anything to do with my occasional habit of sticking it to the man by refusing to follow his Byzantine sock laws. “I noticed,” said Dustin, with just a hint of judgment in his voice. “And you have holes in one of them.” I pretended to find this surprising—as if I  hadn’t been feeling the inside of my shoe making direct contact with my skin in four places earlier that day. Then Dustin revealed that he’d once spent a night at home darning socks and waiting for the permanent to set in his hair. Then he drew lines up the back of his legs while sipping on bathtub gin. I didn’t even know you could darn socks. I figured you just wore them till they disintegrated and then threw them out. “But aren’t you left with a very little sock?” I asked. Apparently the sock’s stretchiness allows for the darning though. Still, there’s something depressing about the idea of sewing up the holes in a sock. I prefer to indulge myself by never coming face to face with a needle and thread. In fact, I’ve watched various men sew buttons in my presence and felt like something less than a true woman upon realizing they were better at it than I. Which is not to say that I didn’t once take a sewing class where we made skorts and then made scrunchies with the leftover fabric, because I did.

“We had to do it in the army,” explained one guy. It was yet another reason I’d have been terrible in the military. But I know there will probably come a day when, under duress, I will have to sew a button or a sock. I hope there’s a serviceman nearby.

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So I was reading about how to drive in snowy/icy conditions and then I clicked on “what to do if you get stranded” because I was curious and in addition to building a tree fort with discarded mittens you’re advised to “suck on a hard candy to keep your mouth moist.” So then I was thinking, how do they know you have hard candy with you on your snowy/icy drive? I’m packing right now—attempting carry-on, I might add, which is rare for me since my hairdryer alone barely fits in the overhead bin (it’s one of those old fashioned over-the-head inverted colander looking things that comes with its own reclining seat—okay not really, but you know—and I’m not planning on packing hard candy, or even soft candy. Nor flares or a shovel. Basically, I’m fairly fucked if I get stranded except I’ll have my blackberry and it’s not like I’m going to get stranded anyway. So then I scrolled up though and it mentioned things you should have in your emergency survival kit and it talked about non-perishables like dried fruits in case you need to celebrate passover seder in your car (is dried fruit part of seder? see, I know less than I bet you think I know but that’s a topic for another blog). My point is that it didn’t list hard candy. But back to my blackberry. While in California a friend said, “Is that a corporate blackberry?” and I said “no, it’s a private blackberry” which then struck us as a great porn or stripper name: Private BlackBerry.

And thankfully I’m not sick as I was worried I might be in last night’s post, but I’m not quite well either, so I’m still worried.

And I still owe you all a riveting story about yesterday’s street kerfuffle, but for now, there is folding that must be done. And button-sewing, which isn’t one of my strengths, not even by a long shot. In fact, I may be so bad at button-sewing that it might be crucial that I marry someone who counts it among his skills or else my future family will have to wear only zippers and snaps.

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Books I'll Never Write

How I Learned to Quit Being a Neat Freak

So You Want to Skydive

Yoga for Leos

Feel the Fear and Brew It Anyway (or, A Diary of the Year I Spent Growing Hops in my Broom Closet While Collecting Welfare)

Confessions of Fashion Addict

Confessions of a Person Who’s Really Good at Sewing Buttons

Human Pretzel: My Body Bent This A-way

Mmmm, Mayonnaise!

Tuesdays with Larry, My Gynecologist

It’s Friday, I’m in Love (with Gloves!)

Building Your Own Gun Racks for Fun and Profit

Russian Roulette and Other High Stakes Rainy Day Games

Secrets of Someone Who Always Keeps Plans

1001 Uses for a Soiled Doily

Kinko’s: A Love Story

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