Podiatrist

I have a problem with socks. I have no idea whether anyone else has this problem; it really hasn't ever come up in any conversation I've ever had.  The issue is this: my socks get holes in them. In the heels. The Achilles tendon, specifically. I have no idea how this happens, especially as it usually happens on the first wear, and typically only on pairs I have bought at stores that do not include the word "dollar" in their name.
I understand holes in the toes. I understand holes in the heels (because unfortunately there is not enough pumice and/or shea butter in the world to get my feet to look good in sandals). I do not understand holes developing over the softest part of my foot.
I also do not understand how this happens on the first wear. When this phenomenon occurs with pantyhose - which nowadays I avoid like shows having anything to do with New Jersey - I can usually pinpoint what happened, which was me being careless and snagging them on something. Side Note: this has happened with knit gloves, too. Knit gloves + Velcro = Bad. My socks, however, are safely housed inside my shoes, which should protect them from me and any runnings-in I may have with rough objects. Perhaps this is where I should point out that I am not wearing wooden shoes or anything. Get some meddling kids on the case, because this is a mystery to me.

Age Guesser

I received what I felt was an odd compliment: Our waitress liked my hair (not an odd compliment), "It makes you look young," she said (odd compliment). I felt that this was an entirely different comment than, "That haircut makes you look younger," as fed to you by someone who knows what you looked like before said haircut. But this woman was a complete stranger. To her, I just looked young.
It is not new to me to hear people who know the number of candles on my cake say that I look young for my age. Since I've always been my own age and looked the way I look, I'm not sure what to think of this. I am fortunate to not have wrinkles or to have found any gray strands yet. I know it's coming, and I don't dread it, exactly. I've never been ashamed of my age, and once I begin showing my age I don't see any reason to lie about it.
Thanks to the magic of Facebook, I have seen pictures of the classmates I graduated high school with, and they don't look any older than I do. So, since they are my age and appear no older, how is it I look young for my age? Was my entire graduating class genetically blessed? Is my age reading skewed, or are others'? What is my age supposed to look like?
Obviously there are many answers to that question. Our modern times allow for anyone to appear to be almost any age they choose, with the help of unpronounceable chemicals, poisonous injections, and plastic surgery. I have my doubts that everyone else my age has gone to one or all of these lengths to look younger. Certainly there are those that appear older than they are, but you wouldn't dare tell them this. In fact, pair any two humans of the same age, and some will conclude that one appears older than the other. When a person tells you their age, whether they appear older or younger than that is first, a matter of subjective opinion, and second, completely incidental. Rather than blurting a backhanded, "You look great for your age!" or replying with a quiet I-feel-kinda-bad-for-you-then "Oh," how about we just accept that age looks different on everyone?
I want to add that this is a lesson for me, not a sermon. I've certainly been guilty of trying to gauge how old people are. I've also failed miserably at this, which is why you won't hear me barking at the fair's "Guess Your Age" booth.

Um, Part 2

Okay. Normally I own up to my mistakes, cut my losses, move on. However, sometimes I underestimate my workload and think, "I can still do this!" As is the case when, two months ago, I decided to try to play "catch up" with my blog posts. This actually made things worse, because I haven't wanted to post just one story a week; if I couldn't post multiple articles to cover the backlog I didn't want to post at all. Considering I'm still about a month behind, I think it's time I faced up to the fact that I just do not have the time to do these posts. The time I had is long gone. This is a personal disappointment, because it meant a lot to me, as the aspiring writer I've always wanted to be, to make time to write creatively at least once a week. I'll just be moving forward now, and do my best to go back to weekly updates. And if an extra post or two happens, w00t!

Fad Diet Pioneer 9/15/10

I am overweight. This is just a fact, not a complaint. I eat healthily, and I exercise almost daily, yet overweight I remain. Sometimes I remember to record my meals and count my calories, sometimes (ahem, usually) not.
A friend of mine is underweight. This is her own observation, not anyone else's. She eats healthily, but has a stressful schedule and some medical issues, and so remains underweight.
We trade our woeful "can't lose weight/can't gain weight" stories often. Our efforts toward our goals are earnest.
"I think stress just makes it worse," she says, and a light bulb appears over my head.
"So," I say, "we won't stress over it. We'll start a 'No-Stress Diet.'" We gave ourselves a month. I tried not to weigh myself, so I wouldn't think too much about whether the "diet" was working - which was the whole point, not thinking about it. I gave in about 3 weeks in.
"I couldn't resist anymore," I confessed, "and my weight is the same." My friend's weight was also about the same.
While I'll need to delete my manuscript of the - I was sure - best-selling fad diet book of all time (it's ok, I'll make my bajillions of dollars elsewhere), I took comfort in the fact that if I simply trust myself to make the right food choices (however grudgingly), and to keep exercising, I will be fine. I won't balloon to a triple-digit BMI as I secretly feared. My pants will still button. When I am ready, I will count calories again so that I can be sure I am consuming fewer than I currently eat, but even then, I don't have to stress over it to make it work.
Before I delete that manuscript, though, do you suppose anyone would be in the market for a book on how to maintain one's weight? Anyone? Bueller? Bueller?

Friend 9/8/10

I've been unfriended. I am not a friend collector, so my number of Facebook contacts is small. Tidy; you can call it tidy. So I noticed when my number dropped recently. I couldn't figure out who it was for a while, so I guessed it was someone who wasn't really using Facebook anyway and closed their account. The fact that it was someone whose posts I didn't miss meant that it was obviously someone I wasn't close to, so I was not offended by the thought that my guess could be wrong and I was unfriended.
Offended still is not how I would characterize what I felt when I discovered who was missing from my friends list. Especially after reading this article on whether it's okay to unfriend acquaintances. What I felt was confused. The person is a friend from high school, who I hadn't spoken to since, and I'd only sent the friend request a few months ago. I would not have been upset if my request had been ignored in the first place. Since it was approved, I am left wondering if I offended my friend in some way, or if she, like myself, was simply keeping her friends list tidy. On the other hand, do I really want to know? I would certainly never put someone in the position of having to explain why I was removed from their friend list.
If I offended her somehow, I don't want to defend myself, or apologize: All of my Facebook friends are adults, and must know that on the Internet, offensive things lurk. If you are the type to unfriend someone whose viewpoint you find disagreeable, then I am relieved to no longer be on your friends list.
I don't think that was the case, though. Facebook is how I've reconnected with many people I hadn't had contact with for years, and I realize that I don't have a lot in common with many of them. We find people, we friend them, we learn what they're currently up to, and that's about it. What more is there to say? The thing I love best about Facebook is that I know where to find people if I need to. Just know that even if I don't comment on your status or message you directly often - or ever - doesn't mean I don't want you as a friend. I'm really just lazy.

Barber 9/1/10

It's been 6 months since I shaved my head for St. Baldrick's, and I only just now need a haircut. The back grew too long, and my head was looking mullety. I hate it when my husband asks me to straighten up the back of his hair after he buzzes it, so I was reluctant to ask him for help trimming mine. But it had to be done, or I was going to lose a little more sanity each time I looked in the mirror. That lasted a couple of weeks, and now it's too long again.
My son also needs a haircut. My husband said I could decide when to cut it, and I love him for that. Bug's curls are adorable, and as wild and unruly as he is. I love ruffling his hair, calling him Mop-Top. I also put off his haircuts because I have cut his hair before, and while it turned out okay, it is not an endeavor I wish to undergo again. He is squirmy, that one, and my nervousness keeps me slow. Bug, however, has begun to notice his appearance. "My hair is cut wrong," he tells me, "I want it cut nice." "Like Daddy's?" I probe, not completely sure what he means. "Yeah, like Daddy's." Now I'm sure: he means buzzed. I suppose it's not just my decision anymore. Darn it.
I also tried trimming my daughter's hair not long ago, got maybe half an inch off (she needed much more), and was too afraid of messing up to continue. My mom used to trim my, and my siblings', hair all the time. I wonder if she got better with practice, or just assumed we'd never notice if our bangs were crooked. Then again, my mom can do plenty of things I can't do, like sew, bake a dish only once a year without needing a recipe, and use a hot glue gun without burning herself. Time for me to make appointments.

Life Coach 8/25/10

I am generally unadventurous. Bungee jumping? Only if I measure the cord myself, and it measures within my armspan. Cliff diving? Uh-uh. Spelunking? Never. Creepy old house? "No thank you," you hear, my voice quickly growing faint as I run to a safe distance of 3 towns away. Leisurely cruise? Ha! I've seen Titanic. But I love myself a good thrill ride. Amusement park, state fair, or carnival, I am in line for the biggest, baddest ride I can find. Rides that made me weep with longing when I was pregnant. Rides that are high off the ground, fast, dizzying, stomach-dropping, and preferably invert my person at some point. Rides with long lines that lesser-gutted people drop out of as the anxiety overwhelms them. Rides that are terrifyingly fun. In short, the awesome ones.
If I don't choose the right company to go to the fair with, I end up riding these rides by myself, or not at all. My sister - who lives out of state, naturally - was once the only one who would go on these rides with me, but now my daughter is growing to love these rides as well. Missey's been waiting impatiently to grow tall enough to ride the bigger rides with me, and I can't wait. Even last year, she was tall enough for many of them, and she and I had a blast riding together. She has yet to learn the lesson of inviting like-minded friends to the amusement park.
For her birthday this year, she wanted to go to the amusement park, and was able to invite a friend. This friend has a season pass to the amusement park, so, Great! I thought, she'll enjoy it. I didn't know until we started deciding which rides to go on, but when Friend had warned us earlier that she doesn't like roller coasters, she meant she was afraid of heights. I couldn't help but feel bad for Missey. Since her growing efforts over the past year had paid off, she was itching to ride the bigger rides, but chose not to, because her friend wouldn't. I expected disappointment, frustration, and even a little whining, but got none of those. "If Friend isn't happy, I'm not happy," is what I got. I guess the lesson my daughter has learned - one that I didn't understand until I was much older, unfortunately - is that even if it is your birthday, when the thing you want makes someone else unhappy, you won't enjoy it.