Speed Dating in a Bag

I have something I call the mating bag, and I often play the dating game with it.   Abandoned, lonely, and mismatched signatures all gather  in this

The Infamous Forbidden Closet, where all things go that shall remain nameless

little bag of mine.  Some lay straight, some crumbled and crushed, some are young and new, others are old and worn; but all are awaiting and willing to play this game with me.  I play  mainly, no… always, in the winter.  This secret game started well before I married.  It is an addiction that I do not wish to stop.  It is a game I so look forward to every year.  This bag is kept hidden deep within a closet that know one dare enter.  Just the thought of this bag sends goose bumps down my neck,  moisture to my lips, and then concludes with gloriously, sensual warm feet! FEET?

Yes, people.  I am talking about my white plastic sock bag.  What did you think I was talking about?   Dirty, dirty, dirty little minds.  I am sure many of you have one, a sock bag not a dirty mind. There may even be a few of you that also play this game of shame with Nike, Nononesence, and others.   This bag is where the lost and misplaced one-sided sock goes.  I can’t bear to throw them away.  Heck, half are brand new.  Most of the mates suffered an unknown death, others were eaten by the washing machine or met their demise by the playful antics of my Mutt; however, all the remaining partners still have life and great potential when hidden by my knee-high snow boots.  There are soft cuddly ones, rough but warm ones.  There are short ones and tall ones.  Socks of every color in the rainbow adorn my bag and delight my eyes.

The sock bags of many colors

In winter I can pull this bag out and play the dating game.  Sometimes the game is nothing more than   catch and release other times a true courtship will ensue.  Qualified applicants must pass a series of questions. Do the potential mates have compatible texture or weave?   Do they have the same  integrity?  Do they have fun together on your feet? How about their comfort value and what about that “wow!” factor, is it there?  Do polar opposites attract?  For example,  would the sophisticated plaid entertain the idea of being paired with the, oh so special, fun loving Ho Ho HO  message sock?

After careful consideration, I often use the speed dating technique, in which I try them on my feet and do a short test run through the house. I love how the newer ones slide across the hardwood floor when I take them on a test run.   If it all works, they are then paired and put into the sock drawer until it’s time to put away my beloved snow boots.  Of course, this marriage of blended colors, designs and textures are forbidden in today’s society but who will be the wiser under all my layers of cloths and boots?

I take pride in my rebel ways and look forward to winter.    However, the New Year will bring change.  You see, my bag has seen better days and my mates have been put through the ringer year after year.  Most are ready to move on to the retirement home they call The Good Samaritan Compost Heap.  There, they will find new uses beyond their comprehension.  For me, this year will bring something more than a plastic supermarket bag to stash them in.  I have a new recycled, reusable bag which will hold all my potentials looking for mates.  I also went shopping for new socks.  They are stacked up on the washer awaiting a good spin.  My Mutt has spied them and the drool has started flowing.  In her mind, this is equivalent to a new toy just out of reach.

So here is to all the mates I’ve loved.  The good. The bad.  The lost.  May your next life bring happiness and ripe juicy tomatoes!

Other uses for socks are: dusting, also storing your prized Christmas tree ornaments for next year.

Oh yeah, you can cover your golf clubs with them when putting away for the winter.

Just out of curiosity, what do you guys do with your lost mates?

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Whacked out Wednesdays: Mooooove on Buddy!

I sort of hate to write on Wednesdays because that is my ‘can you believe it day’ or ‘vent day’ or ‘ whacked out day’  whatever you want to call it it seems so unbecoming of me.  But I must face facts, I am only human and I get peeved just as easily and as often as the next human so here is my vent Surprise of the week.   Here’s to hoping I have very few Wednesday post.

There were a couple of reasons I moved to the mountain. One- it is my hubs home and two- I wanted a great place to raise my child. One added bonus that I did not even consider was the anger free commute to work. In the city it was always stop go, stop go accompanied by several angry honks followed by a few shout outs (the obscene type of course) and on more than one occasion the birdy salutes would fly towards me left and right. The bad thing is I had nothing to do with the traffic jams 20% of the time, but I got the salutes anyway.

I had compulsive dorfenbergerthalamus when I was living in the city. It was only heightened by the fact that I knew I would be stuck in traffic and I HAD to be at work before anyone else. I don’t know why… I just did.  I had been cursed with it since High School but now those days are slowly fading. People up here live on mountain time. There is nothing, NOTHING, that opens before 10:00 even if there is a line to get in… restaurants, bar (notice no ‘s’ on the end of bar) and gas station excluded. The streets fold up at 5:pm sharp, except restaurants (they close at 7:pm), bar (closes whenever) and THE only gas station (open 24 hours). Heck, we don’t even have a traffic light of any kind we have yield signs at least that is what most people think our stop signs are. There is very little action in this town so you could imagine my surprise when on my way to a girls day out hiking trip I ran into trouble.

It was early afternoon and we decided our hike would be at Bluff Springs. Bluff Springs is about 45 minutes out of town way back in the mountain. It is beautiful back there. No sounds only nature at its best. We turn off the highway and start the long trek toward our destination. We did not get far when I heard honking and the occasional shout outs. I found myself in a TRAFFIC JAM out in the middle of nowhere. I could count at least 9 cars on my end and more behind me. Who knew this road got so much traffic? I could barely make out the oncoming cars on the uphill side of the road. What in the world could have happened? A wreck. It had to be a wreck. I mean what else would it be on a dirt road with a speed limit of 10 miles per hour? Oh well, stranger things have happened. My dorfenbergerthalamus urges were at bay. I mean the first three cars ahead of me were my hiking buddy’s so there was no reason to be in a hurry. I waited. More and more time passed and we still sat there. WHAT IN THE WORLD? The city girl in me wanted to get out and walk the half mile or so to find out but I sat tight. Finally we started to move. Hallelujah! Slowly we inched up. As I turned the bend, I saw what was jamming up my day. Round up, yep, a round up was happening right on the road. Cows were everywhere. OMGosh only in New Mexico!

The back road I was on. See what I mean? Who would ever expect a traffic jam on this road?

As I turned the bend this is what I saw. A friging cow convention. COWS

Finally a break in the herd.

Spooky, aren’t cows a little unpredictable?

AY CARAMBA! What big horns you have.

Hey! how did that get in there????

Ahh! This is more like it. A few of my hiking buddies.  As you can see, we had a few little ones with us. All in all, we ended with a great hike and a story.

Whacked out Wednesday – A Sunflower Seed By Any Other Name

I may not have mentioned that I throw  deliver mail with my husband but I do, on the two days a week I am not at my other job.  Yes, we are glorified USPS rural postal carriers.   On a good morning we manage to work well together, but on other days we just work.  This was one of those days….

I was running late.  My hair was just not making nice.  My clothes were left in the dryer over night and wrinkles were set in hard.  I couldn’t find my shoes and my makeup was half on.   “WE ARE GOING TO BE LATE!” encourages my husband.  Of course, “encourages” that is my sarcasm shining through.   I throw everything down, walk out with one shoe in hand and an attitude that would make a bad dog run.

“Large letters to the back,” he croaks.  “Get busy,” he says, while doing nothing!  Or at least nothing I can see.  Okay, now I’m about to go postal on him…

Humph! I yelled…in my head. You see, I am a firm believer in picking your battles. I looked at him and contemplated going for the big one…instead I decide to walk away, cool off and get some sunflower seeds from the local corner store. I really like sunflower seeds.    They are nature at its finest and when humans add the salt it sets my soul at ease.  I try not to eat them often, but when mad they do the trick to occupy my thoughts and keep me from ringing my other half’s neck!

Our drive started pretty good.  Things had calmed down and I was getting into the music while sucking on a handful of seeds.  Before I knew it, my toes are tapping out the beat of the current song. Things were looking up until the man I married, the man that saw me getting ready this morning in frustration, the man I just gave a stern look to only minutes ago, looks at me with a look that said…THAT SAID…well I don’t know what it said, but I didn’t like the look!

Again, to battle or not to battle…decisions decisions.   I came to the conclusion that I would wait to fight the good fight another day.  It was already a hot, hot day and tempers flying would just make it all worse.  As I was pondering the question of whether to talk it out or not, I realized I had a hand full of empty sunflower seed shells in my hand and nowhere to put them.  So I rolled down the window and took all that rage I was feeling at the moment, wadded it up into those sunflower shells then I let ‘er rip with the biggest throw I could muster.

OMGOSH!  It landed on the car next to us!    The poor man’s window was down!  If any thing flew inside, he didn’t notice.  I think he was more concerned with the connect the dot puzzle of seeds on his windshield and car door.  He sort of gave me the same look I just saw on my hubby’s face.  I gave him the most apologetic look I could.  I stuck out my bottom lip and shrugged my shoulders.  I think I may have even batted my eyes a time or two in hopes that he would forgive my stupidity..   I then give a panicked look over to my husband.  I realize he saw nothing, notta, no clue as to what I just did.  He turned on his blinker and drove off.  I turned to look back at the poor man as we drove away.  I could not see his face because of his wipers racing at 90 miles an hour.  I keep watching in the rear view mirror.  All I could imagine was the sight of him pulling up beside us and cussing my poor, poor husband out.  I was beginning to think that all of this crumby day was all my doings.  Our next units of boxes were just ahead, and still no sight of the victim…. I mean gentleman.   I go about putting packages in their respective boxes, all the while, looking over my shoulder.  Ten minutes later, my heart is finally starting to settle down.  I grab the last of the out going mail and look up to find that polka dotted seed car driving S-L-O-W-L-Y by.  I pray he just keeps on driving.  I mouth, “I’m so sorry.”  He gives me a look, slightly waves and drives on.  My husband is a witness to this exchange and I can see he wants to ask what it was all about.  I have no idea what kind of look was on my face but it must have been good because he went about his business and never said a word.

I still look for that gentleman from time to time.  I have yet to see him and if I ever do see him again I will apologize profusely, beg for forgiveness and divert my husband away from the whole conversation.