Bacon, Tearaway Pants... and other things I love.

So, here's the deal:

Ever since I went on the "happy pills," I haven't had that much to blog about. Because I'm not grumpy anymore as grumpy anymore.

In fact, most people that talk to me now are like, "Holy hell, what's gotten into you!? You're so... upbeat!"

Well, I am. At work, one of my co-workers was like, "What are you on, and can I have some?"

She was kidding... but I was like, "Uh, Zoloft, nosy, and get your own fucking pills, you never offered me Xanax when you had the prescription and I didn't have one yet!" Then I spat in her face and put my fist through her monitor. I kid! I kid!

Tee hee.

It's not me, being happy, it's the pills. But whatever. Oh, sure, I have no desire to "reproduce" with my fellow men, but sex is overrated anyway, right...?

::crickets::

::tumbleweed::

::chirping::

Moving on...

So, in the absence of me actually being funny or relevant, or having anything worthwhile to say, I'll talk about two things I love:

1) Bacon; and
2) Tearaway pants from Abercrombie and Fitch

1) Bacon: Is there anything better than bacon? All crispy and salty and smoky and seductive? No, my friends, there is not. Is there anything worse than frying bacon in your house and smelling like saltpork for the next three days? Yes. Frying latkes in your house and smelling like a greasetrap for the next month, but I digress...

Bacon is delicious. I don't know why our ancient and venerable God decided that we were not allowed to eat it, but I consider that a lapse in judgment on his part, just like that admonition that us cockgobblers are an abomination and should be stoned to death, and so, just like the forbidation on homo-sexuality, I gladly ignore the "No Bacon!" laws of Kashrut (or "Jew-Food laws" to all y'all Arkansians (Hey, Nikki Mae!)) and consume as much bacon as I can.

That probably explains my immensely high blood pressure and the fact that when I do have a panic attack, my heart has to work extra hard to pump the blood around the congealed lard in my arteries.

But regardless, I enjoy Bacon with a fervor only exceeded by my friend Danya, who, occasionally, when I'm trying to convince her to do something awesome and she's being a boring jerk, (which is infrequently!) I pull out the, "There will be a bacon buffet there!" line... and for a second she's like, "Really?" And then I'm like, "Yeah." And then she's like, "No there's not going to be a Bacon Buffet at the MAM Party on the Plaza, stop lying, jackass." And I'm like, "Well, no, but come anyway, I mean, what else are you going to do, go home and pet your cat?" And she's like, "Yeah," and I'm like, "Oh my God. Two strikes, bitch, next time I invite you to something and you don't come, in favor of sitting at home and petting your cat Olive, you're off my list," and she's like, "Shut up," and I'm like "Well, seeing as how you're of no use to me, I'm going to find someone else to go with me, peace out, homeslice." And then I hang up on her.

And that, my friends, is why I love Bacon so.

Thing the second:

Abercrombie and Fitch Tearaway Pants from 1999.


I love Abercrombie and Fitch Tearaway Pants from 1999. Although, I think I might like their drawstring zip-up trackpants from 1999 slightly better, because the have a drawstring, meaning that when I put my George Costanza wallet, my Lesbianistically huge keychain and my phone in my pockets, they don't instantly zip to the ground, showing everyone my Boxers that say, "I PARTIED MY PANTS OFF AT MOLLY'S BAT MITZVAH, NOVEMBER 26, 1997!"

Yeah, I have underwear older than children in the 4th grade... deal with it.

But I love windpants. Tearaway. Drawstring with zippers... they're a thing from me old college days that I daren't give up. I'll be one of those old people with a walker, shuffling around in a pair of yellow tearaway wind pants with a big "AF" on the front left pocket. And then they'll probably fall down (because that's what windpants do) and I'll traumatize young children by exposing my old junk to them.

Awesome.

They're nice because they're soft inside and swooshy outside, and they make noise when you walk, and you can unbutton them to go over your Blue and Grey Nike Airmaxes

(those are the orange ones)

and everyone has a great time wearing black puffy Northface Jackets and windpants and Airmaxes and smoking Parliament Lights outside Memorial Library on Library Mall across from the Book Store and the Tyme Machine, talking about going to Stillwaters or Angelic later on after you're done studying for the J546 Exam, and Hey Jessica, Doug, Amy, Matt, Darcy, Aaron, Dara, Dan, Feinstein, Dan, Matt, Baron, Orly, Matt, Dave, Dave, Gabby, Aly, Gabby, Aly, Jen...Michelle, Evan, Sara, Rachel, Dan, Jen, Allie, Shara, Sari, Becky, Aly...

If I could wear windpants to work, I would. If I could wear windpants all the fucking time, I would. Miami doesn't have windpants weather, we're in a spate of it right now, but that's just cuz it's like in the 60s... any other time windpants= sweating and swamp-ass (that no one can detect, because you're wearing watertight pants!)

I guess maybe I just like the time in my life I associate with windpants. They're not particularly flattering or easy to wear (because they fall down) but still, just like my soon-to-be-fatal obsession with bacon, I'm obsessed with Abercrombie windpants.

And now you know.