Sometimes I get bored at work and instead of talking about how it’s fall and the leaves are changing and this car is red and that car is blue and we sit in chairs when we eat, I start talking about football or novels or cooking. When I do this, the toddlers listen, with this quizzical expression on their faces, and after a monologue about how I’m not sure if I have almond extract at home, they smile and say, “Extract!” I’ve decided that counts as education.

Occasionally I have to wait for the bus in the rainy cold night. Not all bus stops are well-lit. This raises the problem of monsters, obviously, but I can usually combat that by talking on my phone – the monsters, you know, won’t want to interrupt my conversation. The larger problem is that the bus will drive right by me. To avoid this, I hurl myself into the street, actively deciding that it’s better to be HIT by a bus than to MISS one.

I volunteer at this store, and I was closing this afternoon for the first time, which entails counting all the cash in the register. We were fifteen dollars short, and my co-worker and I were trying to figure out what happened when he said, “You counted the change, right?” I . . . had not.

Sometimes while I'm watching a baseball game, I’ll forget I paused or rewound my DVR, at some earlier point, and the score on my computer will be ahead of the score on my television, and my first thought is always that I’ve somehow entered the future through my computer. Even though I do this fairly often, and my computer is not generally capable of bypassing the mechanics of the universe.

People are always saying this to me about the cleanliness of their homes: “I don’t mind when things are messy, I mind when they’re dirty.” The consensus appears to be that clutter is okay, but soap scum is not. This makes me nervous, because I hate clutter, but I also hate cleaning my shower. I, in fact, do not ever clean my shower, which means I have a tidy, dirty home, and that’s apparently the wrong team.

Because I’m a girl, I feel like I can only say legitimate, baseball-y things about baseball. Like, I can have conversations about Ryan Braun’s VORP, but not about how much more attractive Ryan Braun is than other humans. Here’s the thing, though: I’ve always loathed the Rockies, and I think it’s because of their uniforms. Their uniforms are from hell. The black and purple thing alone is a nightmare, and then they sometimes wear those caps with one color on the head-covering part and a different color on the bill, which is the worst, most terrible look in the entire world. Just thinking about it makes me angry. I want the entire team to get eaten by bears.

I have a friend who’s obsessed with the fact that Ted Bundy tricked people into becoming murder victims by wearing an arm or leg cast and asking women to help him move something into his car. My friend is always like, THAT WOULD SO WORK. I don’t think it would work on me, because I’m a big fan of completely ignoring anything strangers say to me – unless that person is asking me questions about bus routes. I don’t know if it’s possible to get someone into a car by asking her questions about bus routes, but if it is, I’m in trouble.