My Pants
They're driving me crazy, but I love them. I love the way they look, I love the color, but still they're driving me crazy. Its like they're made wrong. They're this grey/blue color, flared cords and i realized today that they are from Aberchrombie.
I haven't shopped in Aberchrombie in years. I don't really look good in barely there, pre-pubescent clothing. The clothes look cute in the pictures and in the window, but one Aberchrombie fitting room session is enough to send this chick into starvation mode. (Which lasts for about 2 hours, lets face it i love food!)
Because I know I haven't bought anything from them in ages I try to trace the history of my pants. All of a sudden it hits me! I was wearing these pants when I made out with QB! Have I mentioned that I have a ridiculous memory? I made out with QB in 2000 the night before Thanksgiving (again with the memory thing!) Fine! I'll admit it! QB was my first kiss. If you do the math, I was 20. THAT'S why I remember so well.
Anyway, so I at least have had these pants for 6 years. That's as far back as I can trace them. For a girl who fills about three garbage bags a season with old (sometimes new) clothes, to have pants for 6 years is an accompishment.
I love them though. I wish it were unconditional, but the damn waist of them is out of proportion to the rest of my pants. When I stand, they look great. When I sit, I feel like a Two Ton Tessie, which my gut splooging every where, and I don't have a gut. These pants make one for me. Its like they attached a size two waist to size six pants. Humph!
Or it could be the massive amounts of Chinese food I ate last night.
Coffee Mate
I love coffee mate. I'm obsessed with it. I haven't met a Coffee Mate flavor I haven't liked. The lack of Coffee Mate is bound to produce uncharacteristic hissy fits, which in turn has prompted most of my family to keep copious amounts of the liquid joy on hand at all times so as not to have a grumpy, caffeine deprived crazy banshee yelling at them for not having any.
This same reason has also made my parents stock ACTUAL REAL coffee in their house as well, since they drink decaf. (What's the point?) Also, my dad was losing money on all the trips to Dunkin Donuts I was sending him.
Today I had a hybrid of Gingerbreat, French Vanilla and Coconut Cream in my coffee. Not because that's how I like it, but because that was all I had left. Interesting enough, it didn't taste half bad.
My Boss calls it my girly coffee. So be it! Girly coffee is yummy!
My Conversation with G Yesterday
First of all, he calls me at 3:30 in the afternoon. Obviously I'm at work. I answer anyway, because I hate my job and secretly hope they will fire me for taking personal phone calls at work.
G: "Something wrong with your computer?"
Me: "Yah, How did you know?" (remember its possible that he's a secret spy, so I'm always suspicious of him and how he knows things.)
"Well I emailed you, and you haven't responded and I know you wouldn't be at lunch, so I looked on messenger and you weren't signed in, and you don't sign off of that until you leave, so I figured something must be wrong with your computer."
"You do realize if I had done the same thing, Email, twice, and then call you at work, you would call me crazy."
"Well this is about your Christmas presents."
"Oh in that case, continue." I had sent him my wish list a few nights ago. He insists that I make one even though I feel funny doing so. I can never think of anything on the spot. The list was random in itself, containing books, DVDs, a Padres baseball hat, and a Noise Machine from Brookstone. My heater is waking me up about 3-5 times a night, and of course when i wake up i have to use the bathroom. Its all just a pain in the ass, I just want to be able to not hear the CLANK, CLANK, CLANK of the stupid heater. Punching it and kicking it have yet to produce results. I told G in Lieu of the Noise Machine, he could come and take the termostat out of A's room and put it in mine, but he opted out of that.
"So this baseball hat," he continues. "Are you sure you want a small?"
"Yes, I want a small, I have a small head. Trust me I've tried on Boston ones. I even got one as a large, exchanged it for a medium, and that was too big, but I was too embarrassed to exchange it again, so I gave it to M." It took a little more description that is too tedious for words, but I think he finally got it. I mean I sent a PICTURE!
"Okay, so what sizes are you? Just in case?"
I rattle off my sizes.
"What about jackets, you know, just in case?" I can see there are going to be NO surprises this Christmas.
"I'm a woman's medium, men's small."
"You're really a medium?"
"Yes, I can wear small in shirts too, but usually I go for mediums."
"Well I'm just thinking because I'm a medium, but you have a um..." He searching how to put this delicately, "a larger chest."
"You do realize that men's sizes and woman's sizes are different?"
"But you're not that much shorter than me."
"I'm shaped completely different than you are! I mean most of my shirts are medium, if not medium than small. Do I look obscene in my shirts?"
"No! Not at all! In fact you could stand to look more obscene. I just can't judge sizes. I'm just saying I would think with your chest...I don't know."
I laugh, its funny how clueless he is. How could he think that a men's medium and a woman's medium are the same. How can he not see that we have completely different shapes? He just doesn't think, its almost endearing.
I'm still going to use this conversation as ammo for a long time to come.
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