Forgive Me Father, For My Underwear's Not Pinned

Resigning myself to the inevitable, once again. Naaa, just feeling sorry for myself. Yknow, if I wasn't looking for Mr. Right, just Mr. Right Now, I wouldn't have this problem. I"ve met a few viable dating candidates, but as soon as I see things that are in the iffy behavioral realm, then I'm ready to apply the brakes. I'm starting to feel like Seinfeld or something. Eating peas one at a time "Uhhh, listen...we gotta talk." OK, maybe not that bad, but the stinky moustache? I coulda looked past that one until I got enough leverage to get it gone. But see, thats what I mean! I don't want to change anyone, I just want the ready-made guy who doesn't smell bad, or have dirty toenails, or ask stupid questions, like "So you cook, you're smart, you're pretty...how come no one has married you yet? Whats wrong with you?" "I'm too fucking smart to get tied down by a moronic, insensitive lout such as yourself, I guess. NEXT!"

In other news, none of my underwear fit, which is not as thrilling as one might expect. Sure, its cool to know that I'm losing weight, closer to my goal, and subsequently closer to the healthy me, the person I became after college who wasn't afraid of making stupid mistakes and just went out there to mix it up for the hell of it. I like that chick, and I cant wait to welcome her back! (No, I'm not schizophrenic; I'm still the same woman). It just feels really good to be healthy again, and I'm only a few sizes from being where I was when I met my ex. But at church on Sunday I had a problem of epic proportions as my chones were gently being lulled to the gound by gravity's siren song, and had gotten to the point of being bunched around the top of my thighs, and there is no graceful way out of that one, my friends. After dropping and retrieving the misalette twice, while stealthily attempting to hitch up my drawers while crouched down, I was finally struck with a horrifying thought: I was going to have to walk up to the front of the church to receive communion with the threat of my panties falling around my ankles, OR I was going to have to sit out communion which would mean that those I've grown up with/around in the church would assume that I had committed a mortal sin, therefore was unable to receive communion. I just knew that news of either occurrence would surely get back to my mom, which opened a whole new can of worms in terms of damage control.

Having always been a gambler at heart, up I went. I figured that if anything did happen I would just nonchalantly step out of them so that the scandal would be minimized to those with a direct view, (I think I was inadvertently channeling a bad Mentos commercial-"The Freshmaker!", but I was much too frightened to think clearly at the time). I'm sure I looked like some kind of zombie, speed-walker the way I was shambling up to the front so as not to arouse suspicions, and I did have the good sense to pick up my keys so that I could pass Go, collect my $200 dollars (dipped into the holy water and crossed myself on my way out), went straight to my car, drove to Wal Mart and bought 3 packages of newly-sized underwear. WHEW! I was practically still choking on the eucharist while in the check-out line. Nothing keeps your ego in check like the threat of major public humiliation, so I'm filing this one under humbling experience #587 in FY06.