Help, I think I’m shrinking.

Recently, I went to one of those hip clothing stores to purchase a new pair of blue jeans. Although I’ve had a 34-inch waist for as long as I can remember, at this store, I’m a 32. What the fuck is going on there? Is it that damn metric system that throws everything off? Is it the low-rise design? Or maybe it has something to do with my bulimia.

No, I kid. Hope I didn’t offend anyone with an eating disorder. I love the bulimics.

Anyhow, it gets worse: I’ve had a 32-inch inseam for my entire adult life. But at this place, I’m almost tripping over what are supposed to be 32-inch-length jeans. I guess that’s the new style. Are the bottom of my pant legs supposed to drag across the pavement as I walk. Is that how it works? Hm.

In any case, after trying on numerous pairs of jeans, each with its own unique ghastly wash, I finally decide on a pair that looks almost normal. Of course, they cost as much as a new hard drive. But a new hard drive isn’t going to keep my ass warm or make it look sooo good. So I clench my fist and say, “I’ll take ‘em.”

As the cashier is carefully folding my jeans, wrapping them in tissue paper and securing the entire package with a silk ribbon, he instructs me on how to care for my new investment. “You want to wash these separately in cold water on the gentle cycle,” he says. “Don’t put them in the dryer.” Yeah, right. I’m gonna do that. Why stop there? Maybe I should soak them overnight in a solution of lavender soap and Evian. Or perhaps it would be best if I rinsed them in a mountain stream and hung them out to dry in a pine forest.

Fuck that. I’m going to shove them in the washing machine with all of my other dark clothes. Sure, they might bleed and destroy my fine washables, but I’m willing to take that chance. And when the wash cycle is over, guess what. Yeah, into the dryer they go — on the highest setting. Who knows, maybe they’ll shrink enough so I can actually walk in them without tripping.

Of course, there is that slight chance that my overly effeminate salesperson was right. Maybe my jeans will come out looking like somebody was beaten to death with them. If that’s the case, so be it. I’ll just go out and buy another pair. Then again, I could use another hard drive.

That’s probably what you’re thinking right now. OK, maybe this blog isn’t your favourite, and maybe you don’t spell “favourite” like that. But… uhhhh what was I talking about?

Oh, right. The new look of my blog. What do you think? I’m still working out the kinks. Right now, there is no search function and some of my archives are missing (YIKES!). Also, my blogroll is MIA. I need to fix all that. Not saying I can fix all of it. But I need to. I mean, I’m no master of CSS. I’m more of a serf.

But I digress. Again. Anyhow, I’m going to get back to trying to tweak this code. Thank you for your patience.

Oh, and if everything looks the same to you, that means I’m not messing with the new template at the moment. Be thankful.

Recently, I rediscovered the benefits of walking. Not just for better physical health. For better mental health. It helps me clear my mind and get my blood flowing for the day — so much better than a cup of coffee. In any case, I thought it might be interesting to record my thoughts as I walked. Since I haven’t figured out how this whole podcast thing works, I’ve had to resort to typing it all up for you. Hope you enjoy.

Well, here I go, out for my walk. Hey, there’s a squirrel. So cute. I love squirrels. I wonder what they taste like. Probably pretty gamey. Not much meat on them either. I would totally eat a squirrel—if I wasn’t a vegetarian. I mean, I’m not technically a vegetarian. I eat fish. Fuck, I almost stepped in some dog shit. I mean, excrement. Bleh. So gross. Oh, here’s a nice couch and a lamp. Why is someone throwing this out? If I was homeless, I would totally live here. Maybe I could get an extension cord and hook up that lamp to something. All I need is a throw rug and maybe some kind of coffee table. Ahhhh pretty comfy. Whoa. And very damp. Bleh. Now my ass is all wet. Great. I wonder if people can see it. Does it just look like I have a sweaty ass or does it seem like I had an accident? Why do people call pissing themselves an accident? It’s not like you ran into the pee. You knew it was coming, but you couldn’t hold it. Then again, what would you call it? A urinary malfunction? Hm.

Paragraph break. Why did I say that? I guess I figured I didn’t want to have one big block of copy. Hm. That was weird. I’m supposed to be recording my thoughts about this walk and not worrying about how it’s going to look when I type it out. Speaking of walking, I haven’t gotten very far. I can still see my front door from here. Actually, I’m next door. Hi! That was some lady with a dog. I don’t know why I said hi to her. I don’t know her and she didn’t seem to really want to know me. Fuck her. That was probably her dog’s shit. Bitch.

Paragraph break. Sorry about the paragraph break thing. I just can’t stop thinking about how this is going to look when you read it. OK, I’m walking again. Ow, my knee hurts. It sometimes gets like this when the weather is colder. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. OK, I give up. I’m going home. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. How do you turn this fucking thing off? It’s so fancy, it doesn’t have any words on it, just symbols. The red dot? Wouldn’t that be for record? Fuck. Maybe it’s—.