500 Words A Day--Day 12

I was going to disclose the full episode I experienced a couple of days ago with Foster Charmington throwing up on my foot, but I think I will save that one for another day when I can’t think of anything to write. What’s on my mind right now is STILL those pictures of the girl I had the major crush on back in high school.

I know, I know, let it go. I can’t. It’s not something in my genetic makeup. I can not really let it bother me, but I do have to think about it because that’s just the way I process things. I don’t think I really analyze things too much, but I do think about them until I run them into the ground and, hopefully, bury them. It may not be the best way to do things, but it definitely gets the job done.

I’m going to be in trouble if a flash flood ever comes and washes away all the dirt and grime in my mind that covers all of the stuff I have run into the ground.

So . . . the pictures. I don’t even want to say this girl’s name because that seems to give her some power over me that I haven’t had to deal with in close to 20 years. Let’s just call her Lady X. Lady X had a picture of her and her family sitting around the dinner table on Christmas or Thanksgiving or one of those other holidays where everyone sits around the dinner table and wears sweater vests and eats with like 6 different forks.

Everyone at the table is smiling with their veneered teeth and their fancy clothes and their tucked in shirts and, you guessed it, bright red matching sweater vests because red is the color of the holiday season. It’s all just so Norman Rockwell I want to check to make sure everyone isn’t a robot and this isn’t some kind of Stepford Wives type deal. Even the little kids were wearing sweater vests. It would have been disgusting if Lady X wasn’t still so smoking hot.

I’ve been having the most trouble with that one thing, so I’m going to tackle the sweater vests, because the only other thing I feel like taking on is the fact that Lady X’s kitchen looks like something you would find in a magazine or in some show on HGTV where the designer walks in and says, “You don’t need to change a thing in here, let’s go fix your neighbor’s house so your property value can rise even higher.”

Back to sweater vests, because seriously WTF? Those things might be the worst things ever to come out of men’s fashion since V-necks were invented.

As a sidebar here, if you wear a V-neck anything you are either a douchebag or gay. There is NO other explanation. And there is NOTHING wrong with being gay. Douchebag is a choice. Think about that the next time you are planning on donning one of those and hitting the clubs. It’s a perfectly okay wardrobe choice if you plan on taking one up the old highway later on that night, but if that’s not on your agenda you might want to re-think your choice. I’m only trying to help.

Dammit, I keep getting sidetracked by all of this other stuff. Suffice it to say that you will catch me in a V-neck before you ever catch me in a sweater vest. My torso NEVER gets colder than my arms. What a worthless piece of equipment. I understand the sleeveless T-shirt for those hot days when you really just want to make sure everyone can see your armpits, but why layer a long sleeve shirt with a sweater that only covers the part of you that doesn’t really get as cold as the rest of you? That’s fucking stupid.

You know when you’ll catch me wearing a sweater vest? In a time and place called Never. Even if I was sponsored by Polo and they wanted me to represent their sweater vest collection for the year I would only agree to do it if they made some alterations to the sweater vest, like adding sleeves and changing the material from sweater material to some kind of fabric like UnderArmor or Nike Sport Tech gear so I could go play sports in it.

Somebody go work that out for me. Fucking sweater vests . . .

B!