Monday, September 15, 2008

Pants: The Antichrist

I found this in my My Documents folder. It was written a long time ago, but had never been uncovered since the original time of entry since my Microsoft Word trial period expired and I never bought the program...until now. So here you go ladies. Let's see how much you wanna wear pants now!

Oh, and on an unrelated note, I accidentally told my boyfriend that I got an offer to start blogging for Missbehave. Then tonight, while talking to him and musing that I felt like I had nothing on which to focus my energy. He said, "What about your writing on Missbehave?" Ai-ya.

Read on:

"I Hate Pants" by Erika - written 1/4/2008

For some odd reason, my place is always way too cold in the winter. Don’ t get me wrong; I’m not Sherri Shepard or anything; I know winter equals hellaciously chilly weather, especially in places like Canada and Rhode Island where it’s winter like, 24/7. Gawd…if I moved up there and opened a cute winter-wear store with like, oh, I don’t know, Bedazzled knit caps and embroidered gloves and shit, man, I would be so rich, dude…But I digress. I thought the whole point of having a place of shelter was so you could live in a climate unlike the one around you. If it’s balls hot outside you want to go inside and cool off. The same is true in the winter. If the nerdy guy on the Weather Channel says it’s like, thirty degrees (ten with the wind chill) outside, I want to be living in sweet, sweet warmth. Ha! unto those who did not purchase sufficient heating/cooling systems. Everyone knows Kenmore is a scam. I should be able to walk around like it’s the middle of flippin’ April in this bitch, not have to cover up in four or five layers of wool and cotton. That’s for those poor saps waiting at the bus stop. In keeping with the aforementioned mindset, it’s not incomprehensible that I should traipse around my house wearing a shirt and leggings. (I make compromises, though, homie. I wear a sweater and socks. Can you even imagine how hard that is for me?) Even then, I’m still past the point of freezing and when I complain about it, like I so easily and always do, my mother tells me to put on pants. Que?! I shouldn’t have to put on pants in my own house! And let it be known that I don’t wear pants not because I feel ugly or weird in them, but because I just don’t flippin’ like pants! The idea of wearing them all the time everyday is second nature to me. And not second nature in the whole “I’m an Olympic diver because swimming is second nature to me” kind of way. It’s like the “I went to Mexico and ended up with a bottle of Valium and food poisoning because Spanish is second nature to me.” Hmmm. In saying that, I feel I may have used the term “second nature” incorrectly, but screw it at this point. What I’m really trying to say, in retrospect, ain’t all that important, but to me, pants are a sign of restriction, i.e. they restrict me from enjoying the nice and casual looking “Crisscross Applesauce” sitting position. Not to mention they’re hella hard to wear sans belt. Try bending down innocently to pick up that Post-It note from the floor and realizing that the entirety of the world can see your cherry colored Thursday panties. (And oh yes, it’s a Monday.) In other words, I like to eschew pants as much as possible. Give me a figure flattering cotton shift from H & M over a pair of “raw” jeans from Cheap Monday any day. We can’t all be size twos. Thus, we cannot all wear jeans. Honestly, this point is becoming more and more moot the longer I bitch about it, so I shall leave you with this pro-anti-jean slogan: Jeans are for losers. (Alright, so I’m not a slogan machine.)