Favorite Pants

All of you Castro hooers are going to assume I'm talking about the enshrined Castro pants, but I'm not. I'm actually talking about my pants and their awesomeness. It's November and I finally put the shorts away, probably a solid two months too late, but only because we were blessed with some unseasonably warm weather during our autumnal splendor and I got an extra run out of my shorts.

I had to suck it up and pull out the long pants. I hate all my jeans. Just hate them. I can't ever find jeans to fit my disproportionate "egg on legs" body. Sure they may appear to fit, but they are either miles too long or too short, or too stretchy and the crotch ends up hanging down to my knees by the end of the day. I've been suffering through my sucky jeans for the last few weeks until I had to dig through my closet in search of a top that had longer sleeves because we've finally hit the freezing mark.

There tucked between an old sweatshirt and a suit jacket were my favorite pants. My friends call them my "teenager" pants because they are too long and the ends have started to fray and split since they drag on the ground under my shoes. They are khakis that have some stretch and the fabric is uber light and soft. I may look like a piece of teenage shit in them, but I'm super comfortable piece of teenage shit. I could wear them every single day. It's silk on my ass.

As I covet my favorite pair of pants, I'm faced with the realization that I must go shopping so that I don't end up on "What Not to Wear" on TLC. As much as I love Stacey and Clinton, I don't want them digging through my overstuffed closet pulling out my dumpy clothes, while making snarky comments on national TV. I know what not to wear, yet I still do it because I'm all about the comfort. We might have a throwdown if they tried to put my favorite pants into their metal-for-effect trashcan. And for the record, who still uses metal hangers?

So here's to my favorite pants. May you get me through another winter season without falling apart.

S: Entropic Sauce - What the Hell Does That Mean?

So when I started this blog several years ago, I wanted to give it a really kick ass name. JMR's Blog was so blasé and boring. Mine needed sizzle. Pizazz. Bring on da funk, bring on da noise, y'know?

I spent hours scouring the net for really cool names and found myself drawn to the word entropy - a doctrine of inevitable social decline and degeneration. Hmmm, yep, that's me, socially declining by the minute and a complete degenerate. In statistical mechanics, which I know nothing about, entropy's symbol is S, meaning a measure of the randomness of the microscopic constituents of a thermodynamic system. Keyword here: randomness.

Add in a little mind gravy and S: Entropic Sauce was born. Random, declining blather that consumes my mind in which I absolutely refuse to drown in. It's a constant battle.

And I keep dripping gravy on my clean tablecloth. Damnit!

She's Alive! She's Alive!

Holy frijoles, I've been away for over two years! Sure I made a lame attempt in 2007 to resurrect this blog, but notice how well that worked out for me.

It's time to return to the lunacy. I've missed it. I realize that it's a good medium for me to vent my frustrations, to make fun of others and to be a complete waste of Blogger's server space. I'm gunning to become a Nobel Laureate and a real pain in the ass at the same time.

In my upcoming entries, expect short tales of what I've been up to during my two year hiatus. I finally got that job I was hoping to get and it only took 4 years. You'll learn of my new interests and friends, and I'm sure I'll continue to bore you with mundane observations of my life as a wife, mother and slave to the paycheck.

I know. Your loins are tingling in anticipation.