Whore-ding

Mr. Waste thinks I am a hoarder. Or, as I like to say, a whore-der.

I do like to collect things. My drag dungeon is filled to the brim with six long shelves of purses, three tackle boxes bursting with crazy earrings, one corner devoted to hats and headdresses and platform shoes strewn about like flotsam and jetsam. I won’t even get into the racks and racks of dresses and sequined gowns, the piles of fabric for future outfits and the huge boxes filled with props. And that’s just our basement.

I watch the show Hoarders on A&E and I tell myself, well, at least I am not like them. I don’t have to wade through piles of cat poop to get to my foam core xylophone that I use every two years in my annual “Island of Misfit Toys” holiday show (coming up, by the way, Dec. 11 at Tracks). But hoarders watch the show and say the same thing, “I’m not THAT bad.” That’s the first sign you have a problem.
Upstairs, our hall closet is filled with coats squeezed so tight that you can barely slide them off the hangers. You cannot see the closet floor any longer, covered with roller blades, kites, free weights and a yoga mat. This is not a good sign.

As I sit here writing in my home office, I look at my desk. Well, I look at what is probably my desk. I actually cannot see a square inch of my desk since it is completely covered in papers, pens, magazines, and not one, but five long metal rulers. How often do I need to measure things?

And why don’t I keep at least one of those rulers in the nightstand? Sometimes you just want to answer, “Just how BIG is that thing?”
And then there’s my iPad. My iPad allows me to play games in the living room while Mr. Waste watches his sports. It feels like we are doing things together since I am in the same room and not upstairs playing Dragon Age on my Xbox.

Yes, the first one.

Dragon Age 2 sits in my “to be played” pile of more than 60 video games. A quick check of the number of apps I have downloaded for my iPad? 1,691. Granted, some of those are not games, but most of them are. I am at a point where it’s probably impossible for me to ever play them all. But I will die trying. I hope they have iPads in heaven so I can keep knocking down those pigs in Angry Birds. If only Steve Jobs could send us a tweet update from beyond the pearly gates.

The beauty of hoarding on my iPad is that no matter how many apps I cram in there, it’s still paper-thin. And I can carry it around, light as a feather.

It’s a digital hoarder’s dream come true.

So should I make an appointment to attend the next Hoarders Anonymous meeting? Perhaps.

But first I need to jump on the Internet. iTunes is having another sale.

What’s the deal with shoes along the side of the highway? Every time I see one, I wonder, “How did a single shoe end up there?” A pair of shoes, I can understand. But how does one lose just one shoe? Losing a pair of shoes sucks. But losing just one: even worse. The one left behind sits there taunting you.

Was someone riding along with a foot out the window and a gust of wind just blew it off? Or worse yet, did that shoe come off with a foot still inside? Did a road-rage-filled driver rip his shoe off and hurl it across the lane at another windshield? Did some high school kids pull a prank by tossing their friend’s shoe out the window? Did some dog lose his favorite chew toy by putting his head out the window?
And what happens to those lost shoes along the road? Does the Department of Transportation have a Lone Shoe Collection Agency? Is there a CDOT Lost & Found website for shoes?

I have to admit I have never lost a shoe out the car window. And everyone I see getting out of their cars has both shoes on. Just who are these people, and why do they keep losing a single shoe?