Pants @ MindSay 
clothes
Beware: No Intellectual Content To Follow!
So, at work, and in the space of seconds, I catch glimpses of a very strange phenomenon.
Ready?
Okay. (Weird...that sounded like a cheerleader)
First, I see this group of teenage boys. Not at all unusual--they're wandering around the library, looking for trouble or something, and each of them is rocking the boxers-showing-waistband-at-the-knees look. Again, not unusual. But what is unusual is the fact that each of them has as least one hand (some had both!) down their pants. What the--?
I don't know. I thought it was maybe some sort of gang thing. Who knows?
Unable to stand the sight, I decided to straighten shelves (plus it was slow in here) and as I round the corner between a stack of shelves, I see two teens macking on each other and he has his hands down the back of the girl's pants. No lie. Them, I can't ignore. I tell them that's inappropriate behavior in the library and to knock it off. I also told security that they had a warning in case we catch them again.
Okay. I head back to my desk because my boss was going to be away for a few, and as I sit, I see a man stand up and tuck in his shirt--by putting his hands down his pants.
Then, within seconds, I see a woman stand up and stick her hand down her pants. Weird?!?!?
I don't know what the woman was doing and I didn't watch long enough to find out.
Finally, as I turned my head away from the woman, I see a toddler with his hand in his pants.
No freaking kidding.
All of this in minutes (no more than five from start to finish). I actually wondered if I was on Candid Camera or something. What a freakishly bizarre trend. I don't understand the purpose of any of these people sticking their hands down their pants in public (except the toddler who gets a pass because he was maybe 3..tops). Even the guy tucking in his shirt was odd. Why?
Now, I am blogging about it and I feel as though I may actually have lost some brain cells in the past few minutes. I'm in a library-I expect intelligent (or at the very least, non-moronic) interaction. Sigh. What a disappointment.
Still, makes for a kind of funny story.
10 days.
The American Apparel ads are advertising men's wear. In particular, I see they are selling a men's travel pant.
Don't we "travel" everywhere in our clothes? What defines one pair of pants as travel pants from another? Or travel wear in general for that matter?
Do they have extra pockets to put things in, like toiletries?
Do they have wheels?
Do they get me to the airport faster?
Do they mute the blabbing idiot in the row behind me or next to me?
Now those would be travel pants.
Since some of us have been blogging about our dingbat moments, I figured I'd blog about one of mine.
Either my sophomore or junior year of college, a very hot French guy moved into our dorm. U of H has co-ed dorms so you can imagine the hijinks that ensued, especially during rush week. (But I digress...)
Anyway, Eric was about 6 feet 2 inches of lean, golden brown muscle. He was built like a soccer...er football player and he was the type of blond who could get a nice golden tan because, as he said, "Ma mere est Hollandais". (My mother is Dutch). Another very distinguishing feature about Eric was he wore his very blond hair in microbraids. His girlfriend back in France was actually Senegalese and she would do his hair. It was his ferverent wish that his braids would eventually lock up and turn into dreadlocks.
My good friend Karina and I would literally swoon everytime we saw Eric walk by in the dining hall. We actually scheduled our meals around his normal eating times. This guy had a walk on him that any runway model would die for! One day the man had the nerve to show up in the dining hall wearing jeans and a white denim vest. No shirt. Just a vest and inches of delicious golden sinew! Karina squeezed my wrist so hard that she dug her nails into my skin. Right then and I there I decided I HAD to make his acquaintence!
Luckily, I knew a girl who couldn't help but brag about the fact that she kinda knew him. She lived on the same floor that Karina and I lived on and she said she knew him through her boyfriend. I guess he was in some international students' club because her boyfriend was from Ireland. After begging her for days to introduce us, she finally did. I hardly remember the exchange because I concentrating very hard on NOT tripping or falling. As some of you know, I tend to get a wee bit clumsy around guys who I think are hot. I have no idea why meeting a hot guy affects my equillibrium but it does. I do remember, however mentioning that I was taking conversational French and I was having a hard time. It was the truth. I swear! I really was having a hard time in the class. Eric actually offered to help me which surprised the hell outta me! It was like fate smiled on me!
After that, my pathetic ass was, too shy to ask him for help. Karina ragged on me for having an "in" and being too much of a candy ass to take it. I would always say "hi" to Eric when I saw him on campus, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him for help, until I got a C on the first test. That day I saw him in the elevator I told him I didn't do, too well on the test.
"What grade did you get?"
"A 'C'," I sighed.
"Ah, non, Myclette. You did not ask me to help you study. Why?"
Ohmygod! He says my name so damn sexy. JesusMaryandJoseph!! "I don't know. I guess I should have huh?"
"Do you have the test with you or did he just show you your grade?"
"I have the test in my bag."
"Okay, give me the test. I will correct it for you. Come by my room around 4:00 and pick it up."
Yes!!! Ohmygod, Ohmygod!!!!
I gave him the test and he gave me his room number (I already knew it) and he got off the elevator. I almost melted into the floor! I ran to Karina's room and told her. We both shrieked and jumped up and down like 12 year old girls at a slumber party. I was nervous the whole rest of the day. When the time came to pick up my test, I made sure I wore something that looked cute on me, but was casual. I didn't want to give Eric the impression that I was trying to look cute. I had to be subtle right?
When I got to the door, I took a few steadying breaths before I knocked. I had to calm myself down before I went in there and tripped over my feet or knocked over a lamp or something. When I finally decided I was calm enough, I knocked and he yelled "come in". I opened the door and there was Eric, lying in the top bunk in all of his golden glory! Homeboy wasn't wearing anything but a navy blue, extra long, twin-sized bed sheet! I must have looked like a deer caught in headlights. I know I stood frozen for what seemed like an eternity. I just couldn't move.
"Oh, Myclette, I am sorry. I fell asleep."
"Uh..okay...I can come back later...I..."
"No, no, no. I finished your corrections. They're right here." He smiled and pulled the test out of the small compartment in the headboard.
He then asked me to hand him something and pointed in the general direction of his desk on the other side of the room. I stammered "okay" and for some reason handed him a pair of pants.
"Non, not ze pants -- cigarettes. Hand me my cigarettes please." Oh damn it! Why did I hand him a pair of pants. How do the words cigarettes and pants sound anything alike? Smooth move Myclette! Not exactly your finest hour!
"Oh, yeah...s-sorry..heh..." I handed him his cigarettes, but for some reason I stood as far away from him as possible. It was like I didn't trust myself to not do something stupid like drool on his arm or something. He signaled for me to come closer.
"Let me show you how I corrected your test."
As he took the time to explain his corrections I can honestly say I heard maybe half of what he said. I was too busy trying to recover from my moment of dorkdom while simultaneously willing the bedsheet to slide further down his hips.
I love comfort. I'm seriously its biggest fan. And that's why I love pajama pants because aside from being A.)Naked or B). Only wearing a towel, pajama pants are the most comfortable things on the planet. They're soft and warm and I like feeling them against my body. They keep me warm, and I happen to love that too. But after about six months most of my pajama pants decide "Hey, I think I'll ruin this relationship we have." And I'm like, "Gee pajama pants, what ever do you mean." Then suddenly BOOM, they rip a hole in the crotch. And this hole is never a small hole, this is a gaping hole. And I'm like "Dick Move Pajamas". It's as if the pajama pants industry is run by the biggest douches in the world. I mean there are terrorists and then there are people who manufacture faulty pajama pants. If we got rid of those two the world would be a much better place.
So then I end up having to throw them away, which is kind of sad. It's not like they died. Because if they died I could just bury them. My pajama pants turn into that friend you don't want to be friends with anymore because they got hooked on drugs. I mean, they'll still be okay and borderline enjoyable. But in the end you always end up dissapointed with them. And that's really upsetting. It feels like you have to find another reason why your relationship with your pajamas is coming to an end. You have to point out there other flaws like "Gee pajamas what's up with your pockets? If you didn't have them, do you think I'd just sleep holding onto things? What do you think I find things so important that I have to sleep with them? What's in there a schedule? Cell phone? Screw you pajamas I hate you."
And that's why I hate the pajama pants industry.
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