Recovery Pants: Yesterday, walking home from a half day’s work, all I could think was: “I feel like a million goddamn dollars!” So what if I looked like the guy from The Darkness? My week-long hangover has finally lifted and I want to eat bacon and eggs.
Mass Exodus Pants: Eerily quiet at Winners today. Odd, as all the cashmere was on sale, including the many colours of cashmere track pants. Cashmere track pants cost $120, even in baby-blanket yellow. I wonder if they wick away the sweat when you run marathons in them.
Deep Dark Truthful Pants: I found plaid pants, many pairs, but all the ones that fit were $50. Why must I have such expensive taste in pants? At Sears, the red and brown plaid pants were marked down to $54, while the more tasteful blue and green plaid pants (trust me, they were more tasteful) were marked down to $81. Stupid stupid pants.
No more smoking that wacky-tabaccy Pants: There is a television show called Dog the Bounty Hunter. The hunter in question has the best mullet I have ever seen. And he was convicted of murder in the first degree IN TEXAS and got out of jail after 18 months. He must have murdered a Democrat.
Spice Girls Redux Pants: Caught the Pussycat Dolls on some random NYE NYC ball-dropping (heh) extravaganza. They wore short, spangly pants and fringey dresses and shook their bon bons a lot and one of them sang about undoing some buttons. They were kind of terrifying in that “if I took turpentine to your face and waited 48 hours, then would I see skin?” kind of way but having now visited their website, I know that they are sophisticated burlesque with intricate choreography, not extras from Showgirls. It is a fine line.
Predictive Pants: Georgia Nicols has something nice to say to every astrological sign; a needed kindness on the first of the year.
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