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11.11.2003 - 12:40 p.m.


I've been thinking about underwear recently.

..The End.

No, there is context for my underwear train of thought (what a naughty train that would be! Choo choo! All aboard the Bullet Train Panty Express! Next stop: tunnel of love! Metaphorically speaking!). I need more underwear so I can do laundry less often.

JB and I have this snake-eating-its-own-tail thing going on with the laundry, where we run the washer and then forget to put stuff in the dryer until everything in washer is kind of yecccch smelling so we have to run it again, etc. Then when we finally dump everything in the dryer we forget to take it out of the dryer when it's done so everything is hopelessly wrinkled and we have to run the dryer again to un-wrinkle everything, ETC.

The thing is, I hate doing laundry. Which is so dumb, because the only actual work involved in "doing" laundry is putting away the shit you take out of the dryer. Dumping detergent in a machine and turning a knob? Not hard. But man, I will procrastinate until the Granny Panty forces my hand.

Ladies, do you know what I mean? Where you fish through wads of black tights and gym socks and maybe an old bathing suit or two and all you come up with is the Giant Ugly Panty of Doom? And lo, that day becometh laundry day.

So if I had more underwear, I could extend the number of days between Granny Panty Sightings. My inventory was looking something like:

Thongs, asphyxiating: 2
Thongs, non-asphyxiating: 3
Bikinis: 3
Hip-huggers: 2
Lacy tap pant type ensemble, decorative purposes only: 1
Enormous Saggy Frightening Horrible White Diaperlike Panty of Doom: 1

If only Old Navy sold underwear that doesn't crawl halfway up your lower intestine, I'd be good to go. But since they don't, I found myself buying several pairs of "no pantyline promise!" women's (duh) Jockeys this past weekend at Fred Meyers.

The thing about buying clothing for your girly bits at Fred Meyers is there's no discreet panty cashier, like maybe a nice matronly type who wraps your items in pink tissue, there's just regular pimply teenage boy grocery cashiers. Your merchandise gets laid out on the conveyor belt along with everyone's cans of pumpkin and dog food and light bulbs.

I felt goofy about slapping down my hoochie-holsters all on their lonesome, so I started looking around for a few other things to add to my purchase.

I went in for underwear. I left with underwear, a Finding Nemo DVD, fall-themed placemats and matching napkins, 8 water glasses, iridescent nail polish, red lipstick (that, no lie, I tried on when I got home and immediately threw away), an Us magazine, fake orchid flowers, a nightlight, nail polish remover, hair scrunchies, eyeshadow set, and something that is listed as "BATH" on the receipt which I cannot remember.

Also, I still have to do laundry today. WHY GOD WHY?


Today's special focus on undergarments has been inspired by Weetabix, who went 3 WEEKS slacking on laundry, which leads me to suspect she has one of those special fucking armoires designed only to hold one's thousands of pairs of matching bras and panties. She's probably got little lavender scented doohickeys in there, too. DAYAM her!


Question time! From the Hopelessly Out of It Department of Not Understanding These Kids Today.

- What the hell is emo? Seriously. I have this vague notion that it involves sucky bands like Creed?
- If I were to pass Missy Elliot a dutch, what exactly would I be passing her?
- So…ummmm…bukkake. What IS it? (I have the feeling I'm going to regret asking that one.)

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35 comments so far.

I have moved. - 1.03.2005
Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004
Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004
Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004
Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004

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