suspenders, saddos, and the schmitz

my friend keera is HOT. she is blonde and busty and wears clothes that every boy (and most girls if they are at peace with their sexuality) would like to see on the floor next to their beds after the making of the sex. she is a fashion designer and at present works in a fancy schmancy lingerie shop in the sydney cbd. last night, they had a vip discount night and i was honoured to be included on the invitation list. and even though i've never bought anything from there and it was a severe case of nepotism i felt special nonetheless. it's nice to feel special isn't it?

so i eagerly ran along to said vip discount night determined to stock up on those pieces essential to any modern gal's wardrobe: corsets, suspender belts, diamante- encrusted bras, see-through negligees, crotchless g-strings...you know, the basics. and i tried on piece after piece of exquisite lingerie and even those pieces of slutty hoochy-wear that i would probably never use but that took my fancy anyway. and what did i leave with? nothing. nada. nil.

was there ever a torture more ego-slicing and soul-destroying than lingerie/bikini shopping? how is it that a bra can look so jizz-inducing on the hanger yet make my breasts look like ill-fitting ice cream cones? why, why must the salesgirls tell me that a certain pair of panties "look fantastic on everybody"? are they trying to fuck with me intentionally? will the male population ever understand the implant-advocating, eating disorder-encouraging, "does my bum look big in this tiny piece of fabric" pain of it all? (i mean other than those bed-wetting oedipal fetishists who get around in high cut knickers all day at the office because it makes them feel "naughty").

i give up. never again. i will fashion an eve-inspired leaf ensemble to cover and protect me for the rest of my time on this evil, fickle planet we call hell.

and just so this post is not solely about my underwear - because i know one day i'll think back to that crazy time in my life when i used to write that little website, did you know that herb, before i met you and settled down on the ranch, oh what was it called again, a grog? blob? spod? and blush a thousand blushes - here is a list of things i did last night that might possibly be construed as sad, stupid, or worthy of a good beating:

- drank more tequila than i consumed during an entire year in latin america.

- messaged someone at midnight to let them know that i "can't stop thinking about them".

- told travis cotton, co-writer (with the schmitz!) of the awe-inspiring hilarity that was 'this blasted earth', in my best sober, smart-voice that he "did a really good job" in writing the play (because i'm such a total authority on playwriting), while trying really hard not to fall into his lap from a tequila overdose.

- went to kings cross oportos at 2am and made VERY LOUD fun of the pathetic people who go to kings cross oportos at 2am. the VERY LARGE, torana-owning, muscle tee-wearing people who go to kings cross oportos at 2am.

okay, so maybe retrospective blushing is inevitable no matter what i write now.

in other news, the schmitz has really and truly started a blog. he is all like "i'm such a luddite" and "nobody will ever read this", as were most of us when first we popped our blogger cherries. i am a bit disappointed that he didn't call it "schmitzel sandwich" upon my insistence. and he seems reluctant to join spa party. but he'll come around eventually. i can't control everyone immediately. well, except YOU.