First let me tell you about the underpants...

A few days ago, I came back to work, following a lunch run for me and one other person. I burst into the office announcing that I'd had some sort of adventure at Dairy Queen. My co-worker (who happens to be my ex, so is fairly well acquainted with me) paused what he was doing, looked at me and inquired why it was that I always had a story. I am certain his meaning was tinged with sarcasm, but it made me smile, because, in fact, I always do have one. Today is no exception.

First, let me tell you about the underpants. I decided to wear the same pair of capris today as I did last night. It's ok, they were clean and denim, and in my head it's perfectly acceptable to wear jeans a few times without washing them. Around two or three o'clock, after nearly a full day of work, I strode across the office and what should fall out of my pant leg but my underpants from yesterday. There was a moment of confusion, then denial, then finally a less than graceful snatch just as both my ex and the elderly gentleman who works in the back come strolling into the main office where I was. So there I sat, the rest of the afternoon with a pair of black thong underwear stuffed into my hoody pocket. I've said it before, but this truly illustrates it, I am ALL class ALL the time.

In case you don't believe me about the class, let me tell you another story. I had drinks with some friends last night. It was great fun, due mostly to the absurd turn our conversation took from the get go. We quickly established who still peed in the shower. It went on to who has seen the grossest bathroom, both here and abroad and how anyone who denies touching themselves for fun is an out and out liar. Eventually our servers got in on it and nipples and bum touching were highlighted. Hmmm, did I forget to mention that my one friend brought someone to meet me? I think the poor lad may have been expecting a proper girl, or at least one willing to abide by accepted first meeting dialogue: "So, what hobbies do you have?" (I am not kidding, he actually asked that). "Um... I like to read..." (this is when my friend that invited him piped up something about my reading porn and, or lame romance novels, which I do not read but he thought it was funny so he kept saying it). The poor set-up boy simply never had a chance.

Getting my feet wet

I wondered about what to start this blog off with. I asked my sister if she had any ideas and she replied that I should write about my typical day, or going for Pho, otherwise known in my circle as "soup" (vietnamese soup to all who are scratching their head in ignorant bliss). I resisted the urge to tell her that in fact going for soup would be part of my typical day, since of late, I have become obsessed with the dish and visit a local vietnamese restaurant a few times a week. I resisted because it wouldn't have stopped there. I would have told her of my last soup date with a friend on Saturday and how we discussed the present dating situation each of us finds ourselves in (or in my present case, out of). That would have led to my telling her my own theory that going for soup should be a mandatory first date, since no one can be anything but themselves when wrestling with chopsticks and slippery noodles; no one can look ultra cool while wiping splashed up soup from his or her own chin and cheeks. I could have gone on, letting one thread of thought lead into another. But, like I say, I resisted.

It is the afore mentioned urge that I see as one (and one alone) defining feature of me. It is to take a small piece of a conversation and expand on it, relate some tasty little morsel from my own repitoire, to purge my own head, if only momentarily of the thoughts and scenes that continually swirl around there. Then maybe, if the details are just right, and the delivery is on, I can even entertain. Welcome to my world.