January 15, 2004
Why I say "nothing" when you ask "What are you thinking about?"
Internal dialogue, laundry day:
Why do I hate my green pants? Why is it that every time I wear my green pants I spill something on them, or lean against a wall clearly marked "wet paint", or get my period four days early and bloody them up, why does something happen literally every single time I put them on? They're ruined, can't be worn out of the house now (for obvious reasons). Why did I have it in for them? I mean, if all recurrent events are self-determined, why did I choose to sabotage a pair of perfectly good pants? And they were the 'good booty' pants too, made the booty look all just so. Maybe that's it. Maybe I'm reacting to an inner need to be free from physical judgment by the patriarchy. Maybe by destroying my pants I'm symbolically destroying the chains that bind me to sexual scrutiny, maybe, subconsciously, I don't WANT any random fucker to consider what my ass looks like in the green pants. Too bad, I love these pants. And what is wrong with this bra? What the hell is with these yellow stains? I know they say it's deodorant that makes the stains, not your sweat, but Jesus...it looks like I've been soaking the armpits in coffee. That can't be right, I must be sick. Maybe I have some disease that makes you sweat brown. Lupus. Cancer. I have cancerous sweat. Wait...where'd these socks come from? These aren't my socks.
Posted by Antigeist at January 15, 2004 09:23 PM
Maybe by destroying my pants I'm symbolically destroying the chains that bind me to sexual scrutiny, maybe, subconsciously, I don't WANT any random fucker to consider what my ass looks like in the green pants.
Tough luck. We random fuckers are out there, considering asses like you would not believe.
Lift and separate at your own risk.
"consider what my ass looks like in the green pants"
Isn't that the first line of an Emily Dickinson poem?
Or maybe it was Angie Dickinson.
Jon- Don't worry. According to the fashionistias the waistline on jeans is predicted to go so low, it'll give new meaning to smoking crack. You'll get all the consideration you can handle come spring.
Monk- You're confused. Emily was the one who wrote "your ass is grass". No wait, that was Angie too.
