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The real title of this post that is too long to fit in the title field is: Things that pretty much everyone does that make no sense: Volume One

You never hear an athlete, coworker or fellow human utter anything close to "When we all went in for that group high five I really felt a part of a team and it was a valid way of celebrating a big accomplishment. I will remember it for the rest of my life."

Yet...every time anyone does anything....

I feel horrible about writing this, and even worse that it happened. The person in this story is perfectly nice and loved by many but just doesn't fit in with my very limited social skills. Since this is one of my adventures in sarcasm here it goes.

The other day I was walking past the door step of a nemesis of mine when I started pondering. I have an age old quandary. If I ever had a little dog that went places it wasn't supposed to go and it doodled on a nemesis' doorstep, would I pick it up? I like to think that I'm the kind of person that would do so even if the doorstep owner had blown me air kisses. (If you are thinking that Sarakastic doesn't seem like the kind of person to respond well to air kisses you are correct.) In this situation I thought it was for the best that I don't have a little dog.

The next day I was passing the door again early in the morning. I noticed on the mat was a large pile of cat poo. I wondered for a second what the proper protocol was. I didn't have anything to bag it. Plus, it was early so it wasn't like I could ring the bell and say "hey jump over your doormat when you go outside". I seem to have manifested cat poo & for that I feel guilty. That is exactly why sarcastic people shouldn't be allowed to read The Secret.

I really haven't felt this socially inept since I found out that pirate pants were back in fashion.

My new apartment has a balcony. This seems great, romantic even. I'm afraid to go out there. The balcony doesn't have the terrific view of the other half of the place. Oh no, it's on the other side. The one over the parking lot. The conundrum is this: When sitting on a balcony are you expected to say hello to people underneath you? Everyone in the parking lot looks at me and then we pretend not to notice each other. If ever asked I'm sticking to my story that they all look like tiny ants from the second floor.

I am convinced that on every bus, train, subway, and shuttle in the universe, there is the same guy. He's a rather large fellow who declines to sit down. Instead he'll come and stand right next to me and put both arms over his head to hold onto the rail. Then he will proceed to flirt with a seventeen year old who gushes over the attention from a thirty eight year old. I always wonder if I'm the only person tempted to yell "Stop! Just stop it!"

This is why I stick with books. I am reading my first Kurt Vonnegut called Timequake. It might be a good book but I just can't focus because as far as I can tell it's printed on velvet. It's the softest paper I've ever felt in my life. The inside of the book says it's acid free paper. I can see why paper without acid would feel better. I'm obsessed with it and can't track down why this paper has so much awesomeisity.* Also I bought the book used and it had a receipt from it's original purchase in 1999. The reader only got to page 48. They also bookmarked the pages with a love letter. I love finding old letters in books.

*The spellchecker always catches awesomeosity. Somehow I didn't notice the change to awesomeisity which would probably be my roller derby name if I could rollerskate.