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Because it’s LJ worthy, and because inquiring minds want to know…

Posted in Crazy Wisdom on Friday, July 26, 2002 at 2:27 pm by flerly.

The essence of some pleasant email banter:

Moi to Magaroni:

Domo arigato, Mr. Roboto. Your home skillet says you’ve lost clothes. I think all I had was that little blue sleeveless shirt, which I had just washed and returned to the room this morning, but like I told the skillet, I have a huge gaping pile of clothes, correction, piles and piles of them, and I’m liable to have something else I don’t realize. just let me know, and I’ll go on a mad clothes-flinging rampage through my room until any lost items are found. Is it time for cheese yet? Is it time for cheese now? How about now? Can we go now? Now? How about now? I think I’m going to harass the alien this morning. Yes. That should pass the time.

Magaroni to Moi:

was afraid that pesky homeskillet would say something to you. …. I think my arch nemesis kitty takes my clothes off of the hangers and hides them throughout the apt. and then when I buy new clothes to replace the ones that have gone MIA, she
takes those and hides them as well. either that, or the washer/dryer are out
to get me, homeskillet is messing with my head because he’s tired of me
saying ridiculous things like “but I don’t have anything to wear” (when what
I really mean is “but I can’t find any of my fat clothes”), or something
else. I’m missing lots of underwear and my most favorite bra, too. which is
weird. that’s something I know you wouldn’t just…”borrow”, and if you did,
I don’t really want it back. no offense, I love you dearly. but I have to
draw the line somewhere. I’d rather go without than wear the underoonies of
another. gah. I’m losing my mind. and my hair is being all sympathetic and going
crazy frizzy, too. people were staring at me in the elevator.
I feel menstruatia’s presence perched on the doorstep of my sanity, ready to
strike at a moment’s notice with her little, magically irrational wand.
either that, or I’m really annoyed that homeskillet batted me in the face
last night on two separate occasions when I came to bed (and then left and
came back), causing me to experience extremely irritated and broken sleep.
eventually, I ended up downstairs after both of you were out, watching the
Tony Curtis biography on Biography. it was pitiful. around 1:30, I said to
myself, “self, you’re ridiculous. you don’t care about Tony Curtis and his
400 children. just go up there and make yourself sleep.” but I didn’t listen
to myself. I did go up, but couldn’t sleep, because he hit me again, this
time on the arm. so I think to make up for it, I’m going to sleep right now.
at my desk. yeah. good plan. oh. cheese. can we meet there at noon? what about noon o’five? hmmm…no? okay. noon fifteen. that’s an even better plan. we need to discuss the alien some more. I think I must be missing something…

Moi to Magaroni:

He is a pesky homeskillet. What he actually said began with… “So, are you
grumpy, too, or have your cycles not synched up yet?” I’m like “Grrrrrrrrrr!”
I’m hoping/praying/wishing a fairy would make it so that I can get my shit
organized and hung up once and for all so I could find clothes without
having to spend an hour clothes-flinging. I have bought many new packs of
hangers with just such a thing in mind, but it just never seems to work out.
When we looked at that apartment, I said to myself, “Self, that closet
should finally be big enough to tame your mass of collected clothes that all
fit wrong depending on the day of the week.” But I forgot to realize that
I’d be sharing said closet with my strangely-clothes-hogging boyfriend, who
actually ENJOYS shopping for clothes for himself, and also tends to hang
onto everything he’s ever bought to wear (as witnessed by the yellow Charlie
Brown style shirt that hangs in our closet still). Anyway… with that being said, again this weekend, the plan will be to sort and hang. If said missing garments are among my piles, then we shall find them. With the sometimes helpful JamesT having a penchant for dumping all things from the dryer into who know’s hamper and dumping them onto our bed in a huge pile, well, it seems very likely to me that some of your stuff may
have been among them. I do recall recently returning a pair of Mr. Janow’s
boxers that were in our pile of things.. and as you may recall from a few
months ago, I accused Mr. Janow of wearing my short jean skirt behind my
back, since I found it in HIS laundry basket. So… as to the alien… what do you think you’re missing? Perhaps you just have to see him in comparison to the other men of Comstock to realize that he has the highest harassment potential.

Magaroni to Moi:

homeskillets. eh. what are they good for? the following similar exchange
took place this morning:
hs: “when does your period start?” (as if he senses my irrationality this
morning had something to do with that)
me: (eyes narrow with irritation at his speculation, because he’s probably
right on target) “oh, I dunno. today maybe. maybe tomorrow. (I pause to let
him think about this question, eyes get more narrow; I feel my nostrils
start to flare) “why do you ask?”
hs: “oh, no. that means we have to get our shagging in soon.” (a nice
recovery. he’s learned well)
okay, so, I’m bored and obviously not working, so I don’t think you should
be, either. working I mean. ack! it’s 1:00! we missed our cheese
appointment! 2:00 good for you? okay, so I’m not so sure of the alien. I
don’t like long hair on guys, and I don’t know if he reminds me of someone
that I don’t like, or if for the very brief drunken (on my part) encounter
at new years’ he somehow made me mad (I’m irrational, it could have
happened), but I just…don’t get the conference room table yummy
(CRTY)-vibe from him. you’re right, the only men of Comstock I have to
compare him to are Billy, Bobby, and Horace. so yeah, comparatively
speaking, he is nummy-licious. but he drives a sissy-car. lives with his
parents. is his head too small for his body? maybe I’m just blinded
by…something. I dunno what it is. am going to have to spend more
quality-harassment time around him before I can come to a definite
conclusion. apparently, I’m the only one of the four of us who doesn’t find
him deliciously irresistible. I think he’s hiding something. that’s why he
appears to be too…”ken”-like.

Moi to Magaroni:

oh lord.. all this talk of comfy stretchy skirts, and I think I wore the
wrong one for the day. Kit convinced Bobby to drive up 4 exits to the
Zaxby’s to bring us lunch (as it turned out I went with him, which is
another story), but after a nummy little Zax-snak, I am feeling the fact
that this stupid skirt has NO ELASTIC?!?! What is up with that? What was I
thinking? Am I supposed to go to Margaritas and cheese tonight in this skirt
that won’t let me expand?!? It does not bode well. Although, on the “another story” front, I am now officially of the opinion that our dear sweet little lacky, Bobby, is NOT gay. Not only did this tank and skirt payoff with some obvious peeking-glances, but he went on to tell me about this girl he is seeing being like crazy in love with Rick
Springfield even now, and that she’s about my age and we talked about how
Rick Springfield was THE man when he was hot. I confessed to having multiple
posters of him over my bed as a young-teen, and he asked me why women never
seemed to grow out of those girlhood fascinations with people, even though
Rick Springfield is like a super-redneck, wife-beater, now, and SO not
attractive. So… well, sounds to me like the man is not a “man-eater” afterall. In my
opinion, he’s just… really really dull and can’t get women. Heh! I’m cruel. It happens when my waist is trying to expand but is finding a confining skirt there.
Must go to the ladies room and let it all hang out for a little while.

Magaroni to Moi:

oh, this does *not* bode well. skirts sin elastic are the devil, as are
tight pants with strange waists. everything should be made of
elastic. that way, we women could eat in everyday wear, rather than having
to plan on saving the “eating” clothes for fridays.
aha! I KNEW it! he’s so not gay. I think he just has no skillz, like you
said. that and he’s…blah, which I’m sure gets in the way of meeting
attractive and/or available women. I still peg him to be an older-woman
kinda guy. not older by like, a year or two, but a older in a “won’t you
please, ms. robinson” kinda sense. I think he likes the 40-somethings. he
just hasn’t found his sugar-momma yet.
okay. let it hang. let it flop. just don’t break your underwear again.

Which just reminds me that I still have the tragic underwear breaking story to relate in my journal, as soon as I muster the nerve to admit to my own silly sentimentality.



  1. schlemaggle has made a Comment

    you should totally bring your underwear to cheese.
    as kit said, we can have a little funeral.

    ooh! i have an even better plan! we’ll go geo-catching and leave your sad little undies for the next person, along with the background story!

    on third thought…let’s have a little funeral.

    July 26, 2002 @ 7:29 am

  2. flerly has made a Comment

    Dear one, as I did wear said underwear yesterday, and stayed out pretty late last night at AP3, I THINK I will take the time to WASH them before I bring them to the cheese-roundtable for discussion.

    Maybe it’s just a personal preference.

    July 26, 2002 @ 7:37 am

  3. schlemaggle has made a Comment

    as long as you don’t wipe your mouth with them, i’m fine with you bringing them unwashed. i mean, they’re going to be buried. are you afraid that they’ll get twice as dirty?

    July 26, 2002 @ 7:47 am

  4. flerly has made a Comment

    As we have not yet discussed the sentimentality behind this particular pair of undergarments, I will merely explain that my vision of the fitting memorial for them does not include burning or burying, but rather perhaps framing them after a good wash. If not the entire pair, then perhaps a generous swatch of the pattern needs to be preserved. I think I already told you that the preservation of another meaningful pair of underwear actually led to my tattoo, right? =)

    Yeah. I’m a lunatic.

    July 26, 2002 @ 9:34 am

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